Dao of Money
Date: 2026-02-21T09:42:28.848000+00:00

Information

Table of Contents URL: https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/97353/dao-of-money-xianxia-business

Dao of Money [Xianxia] [Business]

by
Extra26

Co-Author: TC_Liyanage1

Original ONGOING GameLit
Reincarnation
Progression
Wuxia
Comedy
Action
Adventure
Fantasy
Cultivation
Male Lead
Slice of Life
Strong Lead

When Chen Ren transmigrated as a trouble-making young master in a world of cultivation overrun by sects, beasts and clans full of murderous people, he wanted nothing to do with it.

He simply wanted to make money.

After all, even in a world of magical murderhobos, money reigned supreme.

Ignoring the numerous martial daos, he chose the dao of money which lets him reach higher cultivation realms, the better his businesses do. Using his brains and earthly knowledge, he build businesses and acquire resources to reach immortality.

But before that, he had to deal with a mountain of debt, the cultivators who wanted to kill him and deciding on his first business idea.

***

What to expect -

1. Lots of businesses and mc getting rich.

2. A highly competent main character.

3. An interesting Cultivation journey.

4. Mysteries.

5. Face slapping.

6. Sect building.

7. Cats.

8. Average 3k words chapters

What not to expect -

1. Harem

2. Not cats

Inspired by Black Market Litrpg, Laws of Cultivation and Calculating Cultivation.

Discord - https://discord.com/invite/k6WEAvuqek

Patreon for 15 chapters ahead - https://www.patreon.com/c/extra26

1. I'm a Young Master?

The moment Tang Xiulan's broom touched the dry cobblestone tiles, a piercing, frustrated scream resounded through the courtyard.

A jolt of fear shot up her arms as she clutched the barren wooden handle tighter, her blisters rubbing against its coarse surface while she pulled up the broom away from the tile. Soon enough, her fright was replaced with confusion, her eyes locked on the dust-covered bristles that had been the same for the last three years.

She shook herself out of her stupor, and continued to sweep, but instead another scream erupted once more the very moment the bristle touched the tile. A sharp thud of an object hitting the floor followed it.

She lifted the broom up high, inspecting the head. Strange. Did the master change all the brooms to elicit screams and sounds?

However, despite her broom's bristles not touching the tiles, another loud noise came out loud and clear. A scream of pain followed it as if someone had fallen on the ground and hit their head hard.

Tang Xiulan finally located the source of the disturbance. But instead of investigating any further, she decided to keep her head down, sweeping quickly while ignoring the repeated screams of pain and frustration.

A few minutes passed, and the screams finally died down until the morning was as silent as ever.

Footsteps approached her rapidly from behind, the click-clack of slippers knocking against mouldy wooden panels shocking Tang Xiulan into alertness. She spun on her heel, her body preparing to lock into a submissive bow when she finally saw who was coming towards her.

Tang Xiulan relaxed her guard, returning to her usual self while crossing her covered arms in exasperation, the loose pale blue robe accented with silver cranes flapping gently in the wind. "What are you doing here, trying to skive off work again? Do you even want to continue working as a maid?" She chided the young woman with flabby cheeks that looked barely an adult.

"What are you talking about, Sister Tang?" The other maid looked aghast. "I heard a terrible scream, it sounded like someone was dying in one of the guest rooms. Is young master Chen Ren okay?"

Tang Xiulan rolled her eyes, knowing fully well why she was worried. "Don't worry about him, there's nothing we can do for him. Master already gave him the best mortal healer in the city."

"But still—"

"And even the healer said only the heavens can decide his fate now. If he dies, then at least the guest room could be opened for other, important guests. It's already a miracle that he woke up and was able to let out those screams, but he seemed to have gone back to sleep since it's so silent.” Tang Xiulan swept her long black hair back behind her ears, returning to her sweeping tasks.

The other maid frowned and looked like she wanted to argue, but she held it in.

She hurriedly walked up to the guest room where the screams were coming from, the same robe uniform trailing her feet. She tried to peep in through a gap in the sliding wooden panels before returning. “Looks like he's still up… just going through one of his books and clenching his fist. Young Master Chen Ren seems pretty frustrated.”

"Hey, why do you care so much about him? Do you really think he would make you his concubine just because he talks sweetly with you? You need to know your status and let him be. Nothing good comes out of getting involved with a cultivator, especially one with such a bad reputation,” Tang Xiulan snarled, saying the last part in a whisper, albeit Chen Ren managed to hear it.

“He’s not so ba—”

“Someone who squanders away money everyday, philanders with young girls like you, fights all the time in bar brawls and brags about challenging the heavens yet can't succeed in the Soaring Sword Sect entrance examinations! Too bad he got matched with the City Lord's son, Li Xuan and had been on the bed for a week."

“He’s still an esteemed guest and a cultivator. What if he got to know what you think of him?”

“Then, that would be the end of me.” Tang Xiulan glared. “So be it, but anyone in the city who knows him thinks of him like that. It's only you who has rose tinted lenses for your eyes.”

"When you put it that way..."

"When I put it that way, it means you should go back to scrubbing the damn clothes. Sun isn't going to be up for much longer, you know. You want to get scolded by the young miss again when she comes back from the market?"

"Oh no!" The young maid glanced up at the rising sun, gave one last look at the guest room before frantically running away and leaving Tang Xiulan alone.

Tang Xiulan sighed, releasing her pent-up anger on her broom sweeps, each movement kicking up clouds of dust accumulated and fallen leaves from the nearby trimmed trees.

She couldn't care less about Chen Ren and for all she knew, it was only her master's goodwill and business connections with the Chen Clan that let him stay here.

She continued about her task of cleaning up the courtyard, finally reaching the last task of the day— cleaning the guestrooms.

That also involved changing the bandages of Chen Ren, a task she vehemently hated. Still, she had to do it and as she moved towards the guestrooms, she heard him talking to himself in a strange tone.

“What's going on? Have I really crossed over to another world? Fuck! I want to return back to my apartment.”

A-par-t-ment?

She had no idea what that meant and as she peeped in through the gap, she saw him pulling out his hair in exasperation. She wondered if he had gone crazy due to his defeat to Li Xuan and had gained a heart demon.

That thought scared her and she took a step back, aiming to run away and inform her master, but before she could turn, Chen Ren noticed her.

“Hey, please come in. I want to talk to you,” he said.

She wished to refuse, but had no reason to. Slowly, she slid the door open and stepped inside, taking a look at the room which seemed to have gone through a storm.

The round wooden table tucked neatly into the corner of the room was chock full of medication and ointments left behind by the healer, while bloodied bandages were strewn all over the floor. Books were scattered alongside crumbled parchments. Clothes and bedsheets lined the floor and it seemed like Chen Ren had practically searched through the room for something.

As she sized him up, she saw him staring right at her with his amber eyes. His long black hair, same as hers, was untied and reached the floor and his skin was pale and unblemished. With a sharp jawline, he looked handsome, holding a medallion in his hand that she recognised as an heirloom of sorts.

He should have been on the bed, barely being able to move as the healer had told them. Yet, there was a sharpness in his voice. “Who am I? And your name… it's Tang Xiulan, right?”

She looked at him in surprise. He had never spoken her name out loud before and it was strange that he even bothered to remember it. “Yes, young master. And you are Chen Ren, the scion of the Chen Clan of—”

“Red Peak City and I'm a third star body forging realm cultivator and this is the Tang Clan courtyard in Cloud Mist City. Recently, I lost a fight against someone named Li Xuan, trying to enter the Soaring Sword Sect and had been bedridden since then with half of my body scorched in the battle.”

She nodded her head slowly, confused as to what was going on. “Yes, that's correct.”

As soon as she said that, he lowered his head and almost smacked it on the ground. His whole body slumped against the floor and he looked as if he had just learned of his whole family dying to a rogue demonic cultivator. Obviously, nothing of that sort happened, making his reaction even more mysterious.

“This can't be… these memories are all real,” he muttered, looking stranger and stranger every second.

She moved towards him. “Young master, is everything okay? I can call a healer for you if you want.”

“No, nothing is okay, but I don't need a healer. I will just rest and process all this. Can you please give me some space?”

Once again, she looked at him in surprise. Not only was he talking strangely, he had never been this polite to her before. Had the loss affected him to such a degree for him to change his ways? No, she doubted it.

“As you say, young master,” she said, turning on her heels and sliding the door open. Looking back, she saw him muttering something under his breath, but none of it made sense to her. She could only leave and report it to the master.

Tang Xiulan still harboured curiosity in her heart as to what was going on, but she wasn't brave enough to ask him. She won't be able to bear the consequences if it angered him and she didn't want to take any chances.

She slowly made her way outside the guest room, hoping to find a cat that would often come around in the courtyard when she heard footsteps coming towards her. Looking up, she saw the young maid walking with a man who she recognised as Feng Ming, one of Chen Ren's drinking buddies and another cultivator.

A charming smile hung on his lips as both of them stopped before her.

She quickly bowed to him. “Young master Feng Ming.”

“Has Chen Ren woken up?” he asked, promptly. “I need to meet him urgently.”

Tang Xiulan hesitated, thinking back to the strange behaviour she had just seen. “He did wake up a while back, but I don't think it's an appropriate moment to meet. Young master Chen is still in the middle of getting his bearings.”

Feng Ming's face fell at that, the smile disappearing. Tang Xiulan felt as if she had said the wrong words.

“It doesn't matter. If he had woken up, he would be happy enough to see me. Lead the way to his room,” he said in a commanding tone.

She had no way of refusing him, so she nodded and turned back before giving a subdued glare to the young maid who had led Feng Ming to her. “This way, young master.”

As they walked through the hallways, another scream resounded out, causing her to pause and rub her forehead.

What is really going on with him?

***

Chen Ren screamed, looking at the ceiling as if cursing at whatever deity that was responsible for his current situation. He felt like he had been tossed into an awful situation, one he had no way of coming out of.

Panic clawed at his heart and his whole body trembled as he slumped onto the cold floor. Memories that were not his constantly moved around in his mind and he didn't ignore it. He couldn't after he had confirmed that they were real.

“I guess… this is really me now,” he whispered, looking at a mirror on the side.

An unfamiliar face reflected back. He frowned, running his hands through his long black hair. He used to have brown hair before.

From a business management college student that was busy looking for a job, he had become Chen Ren, the exiled young master of Chen Clan. Not only that, he had somehow transmigrated into a Xianxia world, one where strength ruled and immortals reigned supreme.

A land rife with danger and opportunity in equal measure. Here, murder wasn't a crime, it was a statistic and any rogue cultivator had the right to murder you for small offences.

His situation couldn't be worse. Yet, as he looked down at the parchments at his feet, his reality came crashing down even further. They were debt records, money that he had taken from various people in the city to run his hedonist lifestyle. As he counted them all, his heart fell, cursing the body he had found himself in.

Still, Chen Ren tried his best to stay calm. He had already spooked the maid with repeated screams of frustration. He needed to act normal to deal with his situation.

He squeezed his eyes shut, taking deep breaths and processing everything. As he was in the middle of it, footsteps rang outside the door. He opened his eyes, wondering if Tang Xiulan was back.

The next moment, the door opened, revealing Tang Xiulan followed by another maid and a man that didn't look like a servant.

He had short black hair with a stubble growing on his cheeks. From the silver robes he wore, it was clear that he was someone important.

The man's boisterous voice immediately dominated the serene courtyard the moment he stepped over the wooden threshold into the room. "Chen Ren! You're alive! Thank the heavens — I watched that battle between you and Li Xuan. It was certainly the most unfair fight to pit you against the City Lord's son, but you did well. Not many can even survive against [Blazing Hawk Fist]. How have your injuries been?"

Chen Ren starred in a trance-like state for a few brief moments as Tang Xiulan moved to leave and close the door, giving them privacy.

Who is this now? I faintly recalled someone like this. Ah, Feng Ming!

From what he remembered, he was one of his few “friends” and drinking buddies, a cultivator on the same realm as him. Why was he here? He had no idea, but he needed to act like Chen Ren.

Finally, he snapped out of the trance, replying with a joyful face and an exaggerated voice. “Haha, a mere [Blazing Hawk Fist] wouldn't deter me at all! This entrance test was nothing but a mere hiccup in my path to be a cultivator who would challenge the heavens."

“True,” Feng Ming said, scooping closer to him until he stood right in front. “You have always been very motivated about your cultivation,”

“One needs to be motivated when they are on the path to being immortal. You know that very well, Brother Ming,” he replied, growing tired of maintaining a smile. “I am happy that you came to check on me, and as you see, I'm recovering well.”

Feng Ming crossed his arms, his original enthusiasm clearly diminished for some reason. He gave a look around the messy room before snarling. "I can definitely see that and since you're recovering so well, then perhaps you would be able to return all the debt you currently owe me, right?"

"Of cou— wait what?"

2. Market research

Chen Ren stared into the eyes of the man, a cold realisation sinking in. Had his luck gone this bad this soon? He had just entered this world and was already thrown into an inferno of trouble.

Trouble in the face of a not-so-friendly man. His gaze had turned cold, the pleasant smile that adorned his face when he entered the room was no longer there.

A chill ran down his spine under the gaze.

Feng Ming's previous demeanour was probably a ruse, simply to know his condition and now, he was revealing his true motive for coming here. It was a clever ploy and one that he hadn't expected.

His mind had been too preoccupied with things to prepare for debtors.

He sifted through some of the memories related to this man, Feng Ming. In those, he witnessed how they would often go drinking together and it was also Feng Ming who had told him to take a debt from him when Chen Ren's money had run out. Originally, the debt was small, just for drinks and food but over time, it has accumulated to a good amount.

It was almost as if he was trying to get Chen Ren in debt. A little more probing in his mind and he realised why it was so.

Feng Ming’s eyes narrowed. "You're not going to back out of this, are you?" The menacing undertone brought him back to reality.

Chen Ren met his gaze, his expression unchanged. In his mind, he was still calculating how to act with him with all the memories he had. He didn’t want to act out of character or make himself sound more suspicious than he already had.

He cleared his throat after a while.

"Of course not, Brother Ming," he replied, his tone laced with feigned nonchalance. "I wouldn't dream of it. I was never going to hold back the money from you"

The man's eyes flickered with doubt. "And how exactly do you plan to repay me? You have no job, no prospects, and you've failed the sect entrance exams. Don’t you think you’re just fooling me… Or yourself, at this point?"

"I would never dream of breaking my promise," Chen Ren said, his voice firm. "Even if I'm down on my luck, my honour is intact." He paused, his eyes glinting with defiance as he thought on the right words to say. "Besides, I still have my connections. I'm a member of the Chen Clan of Red Peak City. I've already sent a message requesting financial assistance to repay my debt."

The man’s expression shifted. His eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Although Chen Ren had been exiled, most people in Cloud Mist City had no idea about it. Even the merchant family he was staying in was tight lipped on this matter and others only knew that he had a great background. They had no idea about the specifics.

The original Chen Ren hardly spoke about his family, so this was probably something unexpected for Feng Ming.

"You haven't asked them for money in months," he said, his voice laced with doubt. "Why now?"

Chen Ren shrugged, affecting a nonchalant air. "I've been trying to make it on my own," he explained. “As you know, a cultivator needs to be brave enough to explore and challenge the world without the help of his family. But circumstances have forced my hand. The Chen Clan is an ancient and powerful family. I'm sure they will come through for me."

As soon as the words left his lips, a new fear crawled through his skin. Will his bluff even work? From how the black eyes bore into him, and how the man’s lips had formed to a tight, thin line… he couldn’t say what was going through Feng Ming's mind.

He was fully prepared for a punch to fly and could only rely on his ability to shout to call for help from Tang Xiulan. Hopefully, she would be able to come to his aid with guards.

At the same time, he faked a confident smile to Feng Ming who still looked at him with scepticism. Finally, the man spoke. "Even if you get the money, when will it arrive? I can't wait indefinitely."

“It won't take long.”

“I don't know how long it might take. I don't even know where Red Peak City is. Just tell me how much I would have to wait.”

The question worsened his worries. Chen Ren knew he had to come up with a solution quickly. He couldn't afford a physical confrontation as cultivators loved to talk with their fist, especially young ones like Feng Ming.

The debt was around five hundred silver wen, and even if it was a fraction of the total debt he owed to various people, he knew it wasn't a small amount.

It was safe to say, Chen Ren's body wouldn’t handle another bloody punch. But he wasn't going to just die after finding himself in this world.

That would be too short of a life.

As he looked around for a solution, an idea formed in his mind. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the medallion that he had been looking at before Feng Ming had arrived.

If this works, it’ll buy me time. I don't even know what use it is for.

"If you're so worried about your money," he said, his voice steady. "You can keep this as collateral until I repay you. But I want a promise from you that you won't sell it. It's an heirloom, and it holds significant sentimental value… It’s also ancient, so I don’t want to lose it."

The medallion had been a gift to Chen Ren from his late father who had gotten it from his own father, meaning it was fairly old.

The former body owner obviously didn’t care for it— no emotions were attached to it and it was nothing that would keep him awake at night even if it went missing. However, he didn’t want it to be sold, especially to this man. For all he knew, it was ancient enough to go for a few thousand silver wen, but it could also be worthless.

Ordinary looking ancient treasures were one of the staples of Xianxia after all. Chen Ren didn't even have the idea of the metal the medallion was made up of.

Feng Ming’s eyes lit up with greed as he took the medallion, examining it with a keen eye. "Very well. I’ll come for the money in a month," he said, his voice dripping with condescension.

"Two months," Chen Ren quickly retorted. "The city my clan lives in is far away."

The man paused, then nodded. "Fine. Two months. Don't disappoint me."

With that, he gave a final, menacing glance, turned and left, leaving Chen Ren to ponder his next move.

Chen Ren slumped onto the bed, his body aching with exhaustion. Everything that happened since morning came to him in waves. The transmigration, his current identity and most importantly, the big, bad news— the debt. The ordeal had drained him physically and mentally.

Although he wanted to think of an immediate solution, he knew he couldn’t. Not at this state. Therefore he did something he should’ve done right when he woke up in this body, and closed his eyes, allowing sleep to claim him.

There was a lot to do and a part of him wondered if this was all a dream and he would wake up in his original body on Earth, going back to sending resumes to every company on LinkedIn, but for now, he just wanted to rest.

***

It wasn't a dream.

It had been two days since he woke up in this world, and no one else came to see him, partly because he instructed Tang Xiulan to spread the rumours that he had gone back to being unconscious after waking up once.

His memories had assimilated by now and even his injuries seemed to have been healing at a considerable pace. He had no idea if it was because of his cultivation, the transmigration or because of the potency of the medicines of this world.

Still, the speed of healing was miraculous and it wouldn't be possible on earth. Even Tang Xiulan was shocked when she came to check on him.

It made him more curious to learn about this world and the secrets it held. At the same time, he realised that he was highly inadequate to do so.

Chen Ren hadn't been much of a cultivating genius nor was he hard working enough to fill the gaps between him and others.

The way to identify a cultivator's talent was by the number of spirit roots their dantian held and he had merely 21 of them, meaning his talent was on the far lower end of the spectrum. He did have lightning aspected roots which was considered rare, but with his abysmal number of spirit roots, it was of no use.

If he had even a semblance of talent or hard working nature, his clan wouldn't have kicked him out.

But maybe, he might be able to do something about it.

On his third day in this world, Chen Ren was finally trying out something that he should have done on the first day itself.

He was going to see if he had a system inside of him.

It felt a little silly, but transmigration itself was the strangest thing that could happen to someone.

If two days ago someone had poked him and said he would transmigrate to a world where his body wouldn't be his own and his memory would be of learning magical kung fu in a land full of magical beasts, he’d slap that man and walk away without looking back.

But now transmigration had happened, there was a chance that he’d get a system to guide him through the ups and downs of this world.

He had to try.

Similar to the countless books he’d read, he focused on his mind— on the memories of Chen Ren. The solution he had in mind was simple; if he could control the memories, he should be able to control the status screen.

“Open status screen!” Chen’s voice came loud enough in the empty room and he hoped that the maid wasn't standing outside.

He opened his eyes, expecting a see-through screen with information.

Huh? Nothing… Maybe if I use different words.

“System start!” Chen Ren commanded again.

He squinted his eyes in focus and tried once more.

Essence Display. Ascendant Tracker. Chi Monitor. Celestial Dashboard. Divine Panel. Mystical Overview. Harem Giver. Milf monitor. Young master system. Pathway Gauge. Enlightenment Screen. Aura Interface. Qi Status. Destiny Grid. Heaven's Ledger. Immortal Ledger. Soul Metrics. Fate Indicator. Dao Interface. Sage Summary. Warrior's Console. Sect System.

… And nothing.

No holographic menus, no character stats, and no inventory. Just the cold, hard reality of his new world. He couldn’t count the amount of alternative words he used, but in the end, he gave up on that.

If there was any status prompt to pop up — it would have already.

He didn’t necessarily expect a system, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that it would help him find his lefts-and-rights in this world.

Without it, he needed to find new ways to gain strength, but before that, he needed money. Over five thousand silver wen of debt loomed over him and one look at his memories was enough for him to realise that most people he had taken money from weren't simple folks.

They would surely come for him and he wasn't strong enough to deal with them. Running away wasn't an option either and he didn't want to contend with the wild lands until he had a semblance of ability and money to hire guards.

Chen Ren preferred plans that left room for adaptation and there were only so many things that could make money in this world. It was fairly easy for a cultivator to make money, but most of that required him to move to dangerous places and fight monstrous beasts.

So, he decided on a different way. One which employed his memories from Earth, the knowledge he had gained. He didn't remember everything, but he had a good memory and it would come in handy here.

He decided to use his experience of working odd part time jobs, learning things in his university and online knowledge to start a business. He didn't have the required capital to do much and he didn't want to borrow more, but he had connections and a bundle of knowledge.

As he recovered, he saw enough differences between the technological level of the world and the one he had come from. His memories revealed a lot and even if he had no knowledge of qi and cultivation, there were a lot of ideas in his mind.

He could employ those to draft up a business plan. So for the next two days, he scribbled away plans of ventures he could dabble in and also wrote down things that could potentially harm him. From debtors to rogue cultivators, Chen Ren wanted to take no risk as he went on with his ideas.

I might be in a rotten situation. Practically, an orphan and exiled. Failed to get in a sect and heavy on debts. But I'm not one to give in to circumstances. If this was a sinking boat with holes, I had no option but to learn how to swim.

***

It had been a week since he had woken up in this unfamiliar body and finally, the day to venture outside had arrived.

Thanks to Tang Xiulan, and the kindness of the merchant family, he was able to recover in peace. She had been his only visitor as per his request to not allow anyone inside the room and even if someone came, she would turn them down by saying he hadn't woken up.

Unsurprisingly, it worked. No one wanted to visit an unconscious Chen Ren and it seemed like most of his debtors had decided to leave him be.

He could feel that Tang Xiulan didn't like him, but she had worked with a quiet efficiency when she brought him medicines to recover and cleaned his room. He was thankful and tried to be polite with her, but her wariness hadn't dropped. The previous occupant of this body hadn't been a pleasant person and it took time to change perception.

Still, he was thankful for her and planned to return the favour once he had some money to spare.

First step would be to check out my surroundings and see if my plan is going to work, he thought as he got up, feeling a surge of energy and excitement on finally being able to venture outside.

He slipped on a loose-fitting robe, making sure to cover most of his face. He wasn't sure if his creditors had taken any drastic measures; for instance, planting people outside to wait for him and he wasn't eager to find out.

It was best to keep a low profile for now. He closed the door of the room and walked outside.

He took a look around and saw that he was in a wide hallway and his memories helped him navigate through it, but as he turned around a corner, he was met with a watchful pair of eyes.

"Where are you going, young master?" Tang Xiulan asked, her voice laced with curiosity. She was holding a tray of food and seemed to be heading towards his room.

Chen Ren offered a reassuring smile. "I'm going to the market. I need to check out a few things."

She hesitated, her eyes scanning his face. “I know you have healed, young master, but the master wanted to see you after lunch," she said, her voice low.

He paused in his steps. The merchant family he had been living with was called Tang Clan and its head's name was Tang Jihao— a man who had started from nowhere and now dabbled in quite a few businesses around the city.

They hadn’t met for more than twice since coming to this city as Tang Jihao was always busy and now that he had healed, Chen Ren could guess what he would have wanted to talk about.

"I'll visit him later,” he said, delaying the inevitable for the moment. “Right now, I have some errands to run."

“May I know what errands?” she asked, her eyes not leaving him.

“Just want to check a few things in the market,” he replied, then realised that didn't know the way to it. Chen Ren hadn't bothered to explore the city and he only knew the location of the bars and the brothels. “Do you want to come with me if you are free?”

“Me?” Tang Xiulan looked surprised.

“Yes, I don't know the way to the market. I want to go to the one in the commoner’s district.”

For a few seconds, she seemed to be contemplating, but soon nodded her head.

She still looked a bit wary of him and told him to wait as she moved back to one of the rooms which he recognised as the kitchen. When she returned, he saw that her hair was down and her clothes were smoothened.

“Let's go,” he said, leading the way outside and Tang Xiulan walked next to him. He noticed that she was putting a fair bit of distance between them and even if her face was blank, her eyes kept glancing at him.

I wonder if she's going to ever warm up to me.

He shook his head of the thought and ignoring her eyes, he looked around him.

Cloud Mist City was one of the biggest cities in the region and as he moved through the crowd, he could see why. The streets were wide and carriages rolled past easily with enough space for the pedestrians. Every street was occupied by a good number of houses and it was planned well.

As he raised his head, he could even see mountains and at their peaks, he knew the Soaring Sword Sect was located. A tang of unease and guilt flowed through him as he thought of the sect.

Chen Ren's feelings hadn't completely gone away from his body, so even if he was in control, the memories brought forth more than a few displeasing things. From his guilt to his aspirations.

“Young master, can I ask you something?” Tang Xiulan's words took his attention as he turned to look at her and nodded. “Why are we going to the market?”

“I want to check out the market and see everything that's being sold there,” he replied as they rounded a corner.

“There's mostly street stalls and small shops there. They won't satisfy you. If you want to buy something, you need to walk a bit more to reach the upper district.”

He stopped and looked at her. She stiffened. “I'm not going there to buy something. I plan to start up a business and for any business, one needs to scout out the market. You can't enter a lake without knowing what type of fish swims inside of it.”

“A business?!” Tang Xiulan looked at him aghast, but he started moving again.

She followed after him, taking the lead to take him to the market, but she kept tilting her head and looked confused.

Chen Ren knew she wasn't going to believe him. His predecessor wasn't the type to like merchants and businesses, and even looked down upon them. He was using Tang Clan as a residency, but he always had an air of superiority about him.

He was an idiot and now, it was his job to change that. Soon, they reached the market and found it bustling with activity.

The air was thick with the scents of exotic spices and the clamour of merchants hawking their wares. He looked around slowly, taking in the details in broad daylight.

Silken fabrics in every imaginable hue fluttered in the breeze, their rich textures on display. On one side, artisans displayed intricate jewellery, each piece shining, catching the attention of multiple women who stood by the stall.

He guessed that most of them were fake, if not all, but they were good enough to use in daily lives.

They rounded another corner. The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the aroma of sizzling meats from food stalls made his mouth water and stomach grumble.

They didn't linger, but he took in all the items that were selling here. Most of them were meat dishes, especially pork, and he also saw a lot of fish getting grilled. There were also steamed buns getting sold and quite a few people clamoured for them.

“There seems to be good demand for the food stalls. I wonder where they get the ingredients from,” he muttered, moving to stand across a crowd that was gathered around a steam bun stall.

His words were directed at Tang Xiulan and she immediately picked up on it. “They have dealings with farmers, fishermen and the pigsty. From what I know, a lot of stall owners directly buy from them in bulk and they also give money to hunters to get specific meat.”

“What about beast meat?” Chen Ren asked, squinting to check out the different types of meat dishes on display. “Do any of them sell that?”

Tang Xiulan shook her head. “No, even a Tier 1 beast is hard to deal with and even if a group of hunters sometimes manage to hunt one, it's rare. Only a cultivator could procure beast meat easily and no sane cultivator would start a food stall or have dealings with one.” He felt like that part was aimed at him, but she continued without skipping a beat. “As you know, there are restaurants in Cloud Mist City that serve beast meat, but they have direct dealings with Soaring Sword Sect for the meat.”

Chen Ren recalled that his predecessor dined in one of them and didn't have money to pay, so he had borrowed money from Feng Ming. The majority of debt he owed to him was due to that.

He nodded at Tang Xiulan as his mind raced with the information. A part of him felt like a beast meat stall would work wonders, but if he actually started selling it, most of the commoners wouldn't be able to afford it. Beast meat was expensive and he had no plans of taking a loss.

Moreover, selling it directly to commoners might be going against the sect who probably sold it as an additional source of income.

“Let’s keep moving,” he said. “Do you know any shops that sell cultivation supplies here?”

“There will be some ahead. We are almost at the boundary of the upper district.”

They walked with the wave of the crowd. His eyes planted on the bunch of children who darted between adults, a carefree expression on their faces. For a moment, he felt like it would have been better if he had transmigrated as a child. At least, he would have more time to find his way around this world then.

As he moved further away, he suddenly felt a gaze on his back and his heart fell. A prickling sensation crawled up his skin and he wondered if he had been identified by the debtors, but he kept walking for a while before stopping around in front of a stall and sneakily looking around. But he found nothing.

Was it just my mind playing tricks on me?

“What happened, young master?” Tang Xiulan asked, following his gaze.

“Nothing. Just stay still for a while.”

She kept quiet and he pretended to check the trinkets that the stall was selling. Ten minutes passed like that before he finally gestured for her to move.

“What was that?” Tang Xiulan finally asked. “Is there someone following us?”

“I just felt like someone is. It's nothing now. Sorry for scaring you.”

She stiffened at that and he wondered if she had noticed someone, but her gaze was locked onto him. “Young master, have I offended you?”

He shook his head, wondering what it was about. “No, you haven't.”

“Then, why are you so polite to me? I have never heard you say sorry to anyone before.”

Chen Ren didn't reply for a few seconds. He had given up on acting more like his predecessor, mainly because it was too much to act as such and if he wanted to change his image, he needed to change the way he addressed people. “I'm just trying to change. My defeat at the hands of Li Xuan gave me a new perspective.”

He had no idea if she was going to believe him, but if he kept up with his current personality, Tang Xiulan had to accept it sooner or later.

They eventually reached a corner where an herbalist’s stall was booming with activity. Next to it, there was a blacksmith, creating different items. A few city guards seemed to be talking to him and even if Chen Ren was interested in eavesdropping to find out their relationship with the business owners, he didn't want to attract their attention.

There would be ample time to look into the internal structure of the city later.

Finally, they found their destination which was a small shop located in an area beyond the market space. It was called the upper district, an affluent area in the centre of the city, and he had been here before more than once.

Still, Chen Ren had no idea the market was right next to it and had never entered this shop before.

Its shelves were lined with an assortment of herbs, pills, and talismans, each item bearing a price tag that made Chen Ren's eyes widen. A low-grade healing pill, for instance, costs nearly two month's worth of a common labourer's wages in this world, which was around seventy silver wen.

The more he moved through the shelves, the higher the prices rose.

“Young master, you lookin’ for something?” The shop clerk walked from behind one of the shelves.

He was a tall, lean man with baggy eyes. He seemed to be overworked from one glance and Chen Ren had no idea why since the shop didn't seem to have a lot of customers at the moment. Maybe, he had simply come at a dull phase.

“Ah, not really, no. Was just wondering about the prices, that’s all,” Chen replied faint-heartedly.

The clerk smiled at that. “They’re expensive, I know. The path of cultivation is not for the faint of heart or the empty pocket. These herbs, pills, and talismans you see are not mere commodities. They are the essence of years of research, rare ingredients, and countless hours of refining and I'm pretty sure they would help you out on your journey. Our items are much better than anyone else in the city, directly procured from Soaring Sword Sect and if you wish, I would like to show you one of our special pills that would help out anyone in the body forging realm to make a breakthrough.”

Chen Ren smiled at the clerk's words. He had clearly identified him as a first realm cultivator due to his age and tried to use it to sell him pills.

“How much will it cost?”

“Just a hundred silver wen. If you want a few of better qualities, it will be three hundred silver wen. Do you want to take a look at it?”

His face fell hearing the prices.

“I would refrain from doing so,” he said as a matter of fact. “Like I said, I simply want to take a look around the shop for now. Thank you.”

The clerk nodded and moved out of his way to talk to someone else who walked through the entrance.

Chen Ren took that time to wander farther inside the shop with Tang Xiulan following behind him.

His mind calculated prices and noted the names of the items in his mind— just in case, for the future. As he had expected, he could buy none of the items right now.

Even the lowest grade pills would cost him a lot and he could simply not afford it right now. If he actually planned to cultivate, his talent was going to be a big obstacle for him and for him to go past realms even with his below average talent, he would need a lot of resources.

After more than fifteen minutes of staring at them, he decided to take his leave. On his way out, he looked at the clerk and gave a small nod.

“May fortune favour you on your journey, young master,” the clerk’s optimistic voice rang after him.

May fortune favour me… I hope so too.

He had no idea if the clerk was being nice to him because of his robes or if he was just like this to all potential customers. Either way, he decided to remember his face and made his way back towards the streets that housed food stalls.

The smell of fresh bread hit his nostrils once again, but this time, his mind reeled. He kept thinking over the prices of cultivation resources and his debt.

The world of cultivation was a realm of opulence and exclusivity. He knew that well, but seeing it was different. It was a cold slap of reality that sobered him up.

What kind of a mess have I gotten into?

Chen Ren winced at that thought. That was followed by another thought… And another. Until a train moved in circles inside his mind and he found himself in front of a vendor selling skewers of grilled pork, the savoury scent proving too tempting to resist.

“How much for a skewer?” Chen Ren asked, looking at the juicy meat sizzling.

“Five copper wen,” the man behind the stall replied with urgency, tending to the other customers who had already taken space.

“Give me three.”

Chen reached into his pocket inside his robe, pulling out two copper coins of five and ten denominations respectively. He passed one of them to Tang Xiulan who bowed her head in gratitude before giving the rest to the man

Soon, his taste buds were filled with the enriching proteins. After a few bites, he felt possibilities rising in his mind.

In this world, mortal currency was in wen and it mostly had copper and silver coins with a hundred copper making up one silver wen. It was an easy enough system for him to learn and his goal for today was simply to find out how the economy worked around here, for both cultivators and mortals.

His trip had told him that even if he wanted, he couldn't look at the cultivation resources until he got through his debt.

Money was the key. With enough of it, he could purchase the resources he needed to cultivate, he could repay his debts, and he could even carve out a comfortable life for himself.

As he finished his first skewer, he looked up at the stall owner and the people around him. He slowed down his chewing and simply observed him, noticing that he was selling at least ten skewers every half an hour.

His mind calculated the cost of the supplies, the time and the price of the licence to start up a stall. The more he thought, the more it seemed like a stall was the perfect beginning business for him.

“Young master, are you okay?” Tang Xiulan brought him out of his thoughts and he looked down at her.

“Yes. I'm just thinking about something.”

“Can I ask what?” she asked, her face curious.

“You can,” he replied. “I’m simply thinking that I should start up a stall. Not for selling beast meat. That would be too luxurious, but to sell food items. I believe I could start one that would sweep through the city and would be very popular.”

Tang Xiulan blinked, her face a shade of disbelief. “Young master Chen, I'm sorry, but most of the stalls around here are old and have a steady set of customers. New stall owners already have a hard time and this work is far beneath your stature as a cultivator.”

“No work is beneath anyone, Xiulan. In the grand sects, cultivators act as maids to other powerful cultivators. Is that work beneath them?”

“But they are still under cultivators, not mortals.”

“It doesn't matter. Either way, I'm starting my own thing and not working under someone else.” Chen Ren shook his head. “As for how I would make a difference in the market, it's pretty simple. I'm just going to create a product that's unique to me and make it popular.”

“An unique product?” Tang Xiulan tilted her head. “What type of dish would that be?”

Chen Ren smiled. “You will see. It will surely be one that you would enjoy.”

The more he talked, the more excited he got about what he had in mind. A dish that he had eaten a lot on Earth and even if he wasn't able to make it exactly the same, he knew a recipe that would work here.

A recipe that would take over the city.

3. Old Man Tian

His first trip to the market narrowed down the scope for what could be his first business, but there were still quite a few worries swimming freely in his mind. One of them was the constant reminder of debtors.

The whole situation was sticky. Sticky enough that it would put him in deep trouble if he didn’t start working on the things he had planned. If only Chen Ren hadn’t been a hedonistic bastard.

Now, he was gone, but the due hangers remained.

Feng Ming, the first taste of the cruelty of the situation, didn't give the kindest of warnings until the collateral was given, but at least, it was just one person. If the others who Chen Ren owed had also come, he wouldn’t have that many assets to calm them down.

In the best-case scenario, they might not come find him at all. Though it didn’t matter since he would have still needed at least five hundred silver wen in the next two months to get back his medallion from Feng Ming.

Upon his return from the market to his abode, he immediately sought the aid of Tang Xiulan to pen letters to each of Chen Ren’s debtors, humbly requesting leniency and an extension of time. It was a gamble, sending out these letters, as it might either buy him the precious time he needed or invite unwanted scrutiny. But at this point, he was no stranger to risk; he would not sit idly by while the wolves circled closer.

It was better to know what was coming to him rather than wait for them to knock on his door.

As he wrote the letters, he understood more and more who his predecessor had borrowed from. Local gangs to even the Li Clan, he had taken money from whoever was willing to give it.

It was a shock to learn that he hadn't borrowed anything from the Tang Clan, but he guessed that his predecessor was already living in the guestroom without rent for months and didn't want to do anything that might ruin the arrangement.

With the letters sent, he knew the first stone had been cast.

Chen Ren knew better than to invite disaster by waiting for it to arrive at his doorstep. His recent encounter with Feng Ming had left a bitter taste in his mouth, a reminder that his standing in this world was fragile. Though his pride chafed at the idea, he recognized the wisdom in humility.

Better to extend a hand in peace than to let a blade come close to my throat.

Moreover, Chen Ren's reputation in this world had been that of a man too proud for his own good, so a humble request for understanding might just catch his debtors off guard.

It was a calculated move— one that could either buy him time or invite further disdain. But in his mind, the roll of the dice was worth it.

Beyond this, Chen Ren established a disciplined routine over the next three days.

Each morning, he would make his way to the marketplace, his eyes sharp as he perused the stalls. He made purchases sometimes, but he was not there to spend money. Instead, he observed, learning the intricacies of the marketplace: the competitions between stalls, unspoken rules, the ebb and flow of customers, and the subtle interactions between stall owners.

His efforts were not in vain.

The stall owners, most of them who were seasoned merchants, were more than willing to share their knowledge. Of course, he had to buy their goods to loosen their tongues, but the information he gathered was invaluable. They didn’t see him as a threat, which suited him just fine.

After all, the more they underestimated him, the better for him.

As he gathered insights, he began to see the marketplace for what it truly was— a battlefield.

But unlike other fights, this one required patience, cunning, and a keen understanding of the human heart. That was an economic market and one couldn't just brute force their way to the top in it unlike cultivation.

Every time he made his rounds through the marketplace, he felt strange eyes on him.

He understood why. Clad in the fine robes of a young master from a reputable household, his appearance alone made him an oddity among the rougher, more practical traders and common folk.

His handsome features, sharp yet softened by the polish of privilege, only made him stand out more. It was clear to anyone with half a mind that he didn’t belong among the stall keepers and street merchants. Yet, here he was, day after day, seemingly more interested in their mundane dealings than a man of his stature should be.

He didn't let their looks bother him, though. They could whisper and speculate all they wanted; he had more pressing concerns.

Still, there was no denying that his behaviour drew attention, especially from the Tang Clan's family maid.

Tang Xiulan didn’t accompany him every day, but whenever she had free time, she would quietly follow, her eyes constantly flickering to him as if trying to decipher some hidden motive behind his actions.

Today was such a day where she had been around.

At first, he ignored her glances. But as they walked, they grew more frequent until he could no longer pretend not to notice. Finally, he turned to her, his tone measured but with a hint of impatience.

"If you have something to say, then say it," he demanded, watching as she flinched at his directness.

She hesitated, clearly torn between her duty and her curiosity. After a moment, she nodded, gathering her courage before asking the question that had been gnawing at her. "Young master, why are you doing this? Visiting the stalls every day, speaking to these merchants… It's not something someone of your standing would usually do."

His eyes softened slightly as he considered her question.

He knew that his behaviour must seem strange to her, someone who had known his predecessor, an arrogant and untouchable young master. But again, it was not his reality anymore. He was not the previous Chen Ren and he could never be like a cultivator too stuck up his ass.

Chen Ren’s response was simple, “I did tell you before. I want to start up a business and I’m doing market research for it,” he said with a straight face as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Xiulan blinked in surprise, her expression shifting from confusion to shock as if he had just uttered the most blasphemous statement she had ever heard.

She stared at him, waiting for the punchline, but when she realised he wasn’t joking, her shock turned to concern.

“Young master,” she began carefully, appearing as if she was trying to find the right words to convey her doubts without offending him. “Starting a business isn’t easy. There are many rules and regulations to follow. You’ll need to establish a supply chain, deal with suppliers, and manage all sorts of details. It’s... it’s not something to be taken lightly. If you really want to start up a business, you should do so with cultivators, not among stall owners.”

“Do you think cultivators would let me deal with them? Even if I have a good product, there's no guarantee they won't just steal it. I'm not strong enough to work with them.”

Tang Xiulan again looked alarmed. “I’m sorry young master, but still, mortal businesses are a complicated matter.”

He saw those words coming from a mile away. From the start, ever since he let her know what his plans were, she had not been optimistic about him starting a business.

Chen Ren nodded along. “I’m aware of that, Xiulan. That’s why I’ve decided to start with something simple, something that’s easy to manage but has the potential to grow into something much larger. A business that could span the entire Kalian Empire if done correctly.”

Her scepticism was palpable, but by how she was fidgeting her fingers, it looked like her curiosity got the better of her. “What kind of business can that be, young master?” she asked, her tone cautious.

Chen Ren turned to her, his eyes gleaming with determination. “You already know the answer to that too. A stall.”

For a moment, Xiulan’s face was a portrait of disbelief. She stared at him as if he had just declared himself the emperor of the empire: her eyebrows about to touch her hairline and her jaw about to hit the floor. But then, as if remembering her place, all her facial features quickly returned to their natural state.

She inhaled a generous amount of air and stood like she normally did. After all, she had no right to question him, even if his plan seemed... contentious to her.

Ah! She doesn't know how far the food industry can truly go. In the Kalian Empire, there's no concept of a restaurant chain or a franchise like how it was on Earth. Most of them here are bound to a city or town.

They soon arrived at the familiar stall, one that had become a part of his daily routine. Today, there were only a few men who stood in front of it.

Unlike some busy days where an extra person would be too much in a crowded place, Chen Ren found it easy to walk closer to the stall and stand in the front.

The stall owner, Old Man Tian, was cheerful doing his daily skewer selling to a tall man who mindlessly captured the entire space. He immediately spotted him and greeted him with a broad grin, clearly pleased to see a repeat customer.

“Ah, young master! Welcome back!” Old Man Tian called out. “You have brought the young miss here again today.”

Chen Ren smiled at that. Without waiting for a response, Old Man Tian started preparing his grill.

“What will it be today? The usual?”

Chen Ren nodded, his expression calm. “Yes, two skewers, please.”

As the stall owner expertly prepared the skewers, Chen Ren turned to Xiulan and handed one to her without a word.

They ate in silence for a moment.

After a few bites, Chen Ren looked up and asked, “Were you able to do that thing I asked for?”

Old Man Tian’s eyes brightened with understanding. “Yes, young master,” he replied with a smile. “It’s all taken care of. All that’s left is to submit the document at the government office, explaining the nature of your stall and such.”

Chen Ren gave a small nod of appreciation. “Thank you. What time would be best to do that?”

The stall owner leaned in slightly. “Tomorrow morning, early. That’s when the clerks are in a good mood and the lines aren’t too long.”

“Understood,” Chen Ren said, finishing his skewer with deliberate care. He handed the empty sticks back to the stall owner with a nod of thanks before turning to leave, Xiulan following close behind.

As they walked back home, Xiulan stepped closer to Chen Ren. “Young master,” she began hesitantly. “What was that conversation about? You seem unusually close to that stall owner.”

“Old Man Tian is one of the oldest vendors on this street,” he explained. “He’s seen many come and go, and he’s always been more than willing to chat. Over time, I’ve made it a point to talk with him whenever I visit his stall and get a good rapport with him. Yesterday, I talked to him about getting a permit for the stall and he helped with it. As you know, doing anything in a government office isn't something as straightforward as it seems.”

Xiulan frowned slightly, trying to piece together what he meant. “Not straightforward...?”

Chen Ren nodded. “Getting a permit isn’t just about submitting a document. Sometimes, you’re expected to grease a few palms to get things done quickly, but I don’t have the funds for that. So, I’ve had to rely on good relationships and advice from those who’ve been through the process before.”

“Can’t you just… force your way through it?” she asked, surprising him a bit.

“I can, but I have realised violence isn't the best way to solve things. If I forced my way in, there'd be tens of ways more trouble could come my way. If I smack a simple clerk, he would bring out his nephew who's in a sect. If I smack him, the nephew would bring out his master,” he said, ignoring the petrified look on Tang Xiulan's face. “I asked the stall owner to put in a word with a clerk he might know. Not every clerk is the same— some are more by the book, while others expect a little something extra. He pointed me toward one who won’t take bribes and will get the job done quickly.”

“What does the stall owner get out of it in return, young master?”

Chen Ren’s lips curled into a slight smile. “He gets to do a small favour for a cultivator and a young master. I’ve subtly hinted at my intentions while enjoying his skewers, and he probably thinks I’m just playing around with the idea of running a stall or that it’s some sort of mental training as a cultivator. It doesn’t matter what he believes. What matters is that he now has a story to tell— how he helped out a young master who’s also a cultivator. That’s worth more to him than any silver I could offer.”

Xiulan nodded thoughtfully as they reached their compound. Chen Ren moved around to start heading towards his room from the courtyard.

At that moment, Tang Xiulan’s voice called him out. “Young master, you might get the permit, but what are you planning to sell? From what I know, most things already have established stalls with regular customers.”

Chen Ren paused, turning to her with a confident smile. “I’ve thought about that for a while,” he said. “And I’ve come up with something that will stand out— a dish that no one here has tried before, something they won’t be able to get enough of.”

Intrigued, Xiulan’s eyes widened at his words. “What dish is that?”

Chen Ren’s smile widened as he replied, “How about I make some for you to try? All I need is a bag of rice and a mortar.”

Xiulan blinked in surprise but quickly understood the intention behind his words. “I’ll get them right away, young master,” she said, hurrying off to gather the requested items.

***

A pair of sharp, shrewd eyes followed Chen Ren’s every move, hidden in the shadows of a nearby alleyway.

The figure observing him had been tracking his behaviour for days, ever since he had begun his seemingly aimless wanderings through the marketplace. Tang Xiulan's flabbergasted expressions and confused questions did nothing to reassure the observer. If anything, they only confirmed what she had already suspected.

Chen Ren was dead and someone else had taken over his body.

The observer’s thoughts swirled as she recalled the events that had led her to this conclusion.

She had already known something was amiss when he had woken up after that fateful defeat. The Chen Ren she knew would have been crushed by the loss, wallowing in despair, perhaps seeking solace in the pleasures of the brothels or the bottom of a wine jar. But this man— he had done none of that.

Instead, he walked around town with a sense of purpose, a glint of determination in his eyes that had never been there before. He seemed... almost fascinated by the world around him as if seeing it for the first time.

Her eyes narrowed as she continued to follow him, moving through narrow spaces, windows and rooftops. Every morning, she watched him converse with Xiulan, noting every detail, every shift in his demeanour.

This imposter was clever, she had to give him that. But he had made a fatal mistake— he underestimated the power of those who could see beyond the surface.

She could see the souls of everyone— and this soul was different.

It was stronger and more resilient, and it was slowly merging with the remnants of Chen Ren’s original soul.

Whoever this person was, he wasn’t the defeated young master who had once inhabited this body. Was he a demonic cultivator? Or perhaps a shapeshifter, one skilled enough to take on another’s identity so seamlessly? She couldn’t be sure. But she was certain of one thing— this man was not Chen Ren.

Her gaze hardened as she stepped back further into the shadows, her eyes glinting with a menacing glow. Whoever he was, she would find out soon enough. Their meeting was inevitable, and when it happened, she would uncover the truth behind this strange soul inhabiting Chen Ren’s body.

As she slipped away, blending into the darkness, a cold smile played on her lips. The imposter might think he was clever, but she was always one step ahead. And when the time came, he would have to answer for whatever game he was playing.

That was her duty.

4. Rice... What?

Tang Xiulan walked quietly to the kitchen, her gaze fixed on the distant mountains that were visible from outside the chamber halls, but her thoughts were wandering away, wrapped around the figure of a man who only recently was known as one of the most arrogant and hedonistic men in Cloud Mist City.

Chen Ren— the young master she temporarily served, had been quite the individual whom she had gotten the chance to observe a few too many times to her liking.

He was bold, brash, and full of empty boasts— but now, she found herself at a loss with this new persona. He had been flaunting his cultivation, tossing around his weight in the city, and flirting with anything that moved, but now…

Now he was different.

It started after the defeat by Li Xuan. It hadn’t been something small, the young master had almost died in front of many people. That day had shaken him to his core, she could tell.

But instead of the loud proclamations of revenge or desperate attempts to regain his lost face, he had retreated into himself.

He kept to his chambers, scribbling away in a language she didn't recognize. She had taken a peek at it when she had entered his room to clean and found the language unfamiliar and foreign.

Tang Xiulan wasn't illiterate and had been taught the common script. But it wasn't that.

Moreover, there was a politeness to him now that hadn't existed before, a quiet respect in the way he spoke and acted. Not just with her, but with everyone.

He even talked about starting a business, of all things! The idea was so far removed from the man she once knew that it made her wonder if he was even the same person.

Is he the same person or a shapeshifter? No, if that was the case, I would have already been dead.

Xiulan couldn't shake the feeling that he was playing some kind of game, that this was all a facade. Yet when she looked into his eyes, she saw something she hadn't seen before— a light, a spark of purpose and clarity that had been missing before.

They were not the eyes of a defeated man, nor of one who sought to reclaim his former glory through the same reckless means.

No, these were the eyes of someone who had glimpsed something greater, something beyond the petty squabbles of sects and clans, beyond the simple pleasures of life.

And that unsettled her more than anything.

The man she once knew might have been a fool, but he was a predictable fool. This new version, with his quiet intensity and strange behaviour, was a mystery she wasn’t sure she wanted to solve.

Though she was certain he'd give up sooner or later, her confidence wavered when she discovered the reason behind his visits to the stall owners. It was a strategy so unexpected that it caught her off guard.

Her mind drifted back to a few months prior when the family head had handed the young miss, Tang Yuqiu, a sum of money to start a business. To test her capabilities. But, she had faltered at the very first hurdle, unable to secure a permit due to the officials' endless delays and other lazy reasons— and her father had barred her from using the family name to sway things in her favour.

But Chen Ren… Chen Ren was already ahead of where the young miss had stumbled, though she doubted his approach would lead to anything substantial.

The idea that he could create a dish unique enough to captivate the entire empire seemed like just another empty boast— a large but empty boast.

So when he had asked her to bring rice and a mortar, claiming he would craft this so-called legendary dish, she nodded and fetched the sack of rice that had been sitting in the kitchen, along with a mortar.

As she handed him the items, a part of her wanted to see him fail— wanted to see that spark in his eyes and movements extinguished by the harsh reality that the world wasn’t so easily conquered, things couldn’t be easily achieved.

When she gave the items, Chen Ren took them from her hands without a word, his expression unreadable.

Then, to her surprise, he asked, “Can you help me out? This might take a while.”

There was no hint of the usual bravado in his tone, just a calm expectation that she would follow his lead.

Tang Xiulan nodded. “Okay.”

They started by rinsing, then soaking the rice, a process that took six to seven hours— an eternity in Xiulan's mind. She had never known a dish to require such long and careful preparation, and the repetitive nature of it wore on her patience.

When it was finally done, Chen Ren turned around and looked at her.

He handed her the mortar. “Grind it,” he said, leaving no room for debate.

Xiulan couldn't help but wonder if she was the one making the dish while he simply watched, but she complied nonetheless, her curiosity piqued despite the work.

Either way, even if the entire thing ends up being an utter waste of time, she was just a maid. How could she defy the young master? Also, they had already spent quite a lot of time on this. Washing rice then soaking them for almost seven hours… Really?

Xiulan shook her head and focused on grinding the rice, resulting in a smooth paste.

Throughout the process, she repeatedly asked what they were making, but Chen Ren remained tight-lipped, offering nothing more than a cryptic smile and a promise that she would soon see for herself.

Finally, she finished her task and turned to him.

“And now?” she asked.

“Now, you watch.”

He prepared a bamboo steamer and lined it with a cloth. Then, he poured a thin layer of the rice batter before closing the lid. After a minute, he opened the steamer and carefully removed the cooked layer of rice, placing it on a cutting board. He poured another layer of batter and repeated the process until all was used.

Once the cooked rice had slightly cooled, he rolled the layers and cut them into thin strips, his hands moving with unexpected precision. The silence between them was punctuated only by the soft rustle of the wind outside.

Xiulan had never seen anything like it before. She watched, half in wonder, half in disbelief, as he took the strips and they moved back to the kitchen.

There, he gathered the strips in a bowl, their texture smooth and translucent. The simplicity of the act belied the anticipation that had built up in the hours of preparation.

“What is this called, young master?” she asked once again, not able to contact her curiosity.

He smiled. “Noodles.”

Tang Xiulan had never heard that before, but before she could ask more questions about it, another order came from Chen Ren.

“I want you to bring me vegetables. Whatever you have, bok choy, spinach, mushrooms, green onions, scallions, carrots, broccoli. Make haste,” Chen Ren said while she tried to keep everything in her mind.

The list wasn’t hard to memorise so she quickly walked off to fetch them, still unsure of how the noodles might taste.

After she brought them back, they chopped the vegetables together, the slamming of the knife against the board being the only noise in the room. From time to time, she would glance at the young master and wonder how he was so skillful with a knife.

She knew about his skills with the sword due to his boasting, but she had no idea it would also make him proficient in chopping.

“What should we do next?” she asked once all the vegetables she managed to bring were cut into small pieces. Her question went unanswered as Chen Ren walked around the small space to reach the boiling water.

“Hand me the vegetables,” he commanded.

She quickly took it to him and watched him throw them into the pot. A few minutes later, he scooped them out and added them to the rice noodles. The smell made Xiulan’s stomach grumble.

He turned and handed the bowl to Xiulan, who blinked at it in mild confusion.

“These ‘noodles’, are they for me?” she asked, tilting her head at the unfamiliar dish.

“Yes, and these are called rice noodles. There are more varieties of them depending on the ingredients you use,” he replied, his tone casual as if the name of the dish wasn’t strange at all. Seeing the bewilderment on her face, he simply added, “Go on, try it and tell me what you think.”

Xiulan hesitated, the nerves evident in the way she handled the chopsticks. She took a small bite, half-expecting the dish to be as strange in taste as its name.

To her surprise, the noodles were chewy, with a satisfying texture that paired well with the boiled vegetables. It could use a bit more seasoning, but the initial taste wasn’t bad at all. It was… pleasant.

“It tastes good,” she admitted, her voice carrying a hint of surprise.

Chen Ren nodded and took the bowl from her, tasting the noodles himself. But unlike her, his expression shifted into a frown as soon as the noodles hit his tongue.

“It doesn't even taste half as good as ramen,” he muttered and all Tang Xiulan could think of was one thing.

What is this thing called ramen now?

***

As Chen Ren set the bowl down, his mind churned with dissatisfaction.

The rice noodles had come out well enough for a first attempt, but they were far from perfect. The texture was decent, and the flavour was acceptable, but “acceptable” wouldn’t be enough if he wanted to turn this into a product that could dominate the market.

The memory of Xiulan’s reaction played in his mind— her initial surprise, the cautious bite, and the eventual approval. She enjoyed it, yes, but she hadn’t been blown away. And that wasn’t good enough for him. He couldn’t afford to settle for mediocrity, not when the stakes were this high.

If he was going to make a name for himself, if he was going to sell this dish across the empire, then it needed to be more than just acceptable. It needed to be exceptional. Every bite had to leave an impression, something that would linger on the tongue and make people crave more.

Hence, from that day onward, he began experimenting in earnest.

Each day brought new variations, new attempts to refine the texture, balance the flavours, and elevate the simple ingredients into something that’d leave his mark behind. He knew he had a long way to go, but he was determined.

Because if he knew anything, it was that food could be something that would be etched into one’s mind like a tattoo, whether it was good or bad. Foods were memories, and they could easily shock the taste buds, digging into the senses of one’s very being.

Another important thing when it came to them was their scent.

He needed his noodles to be something that people crave daily— and for any dish to truly succeed, the details had to be perfect. For that, experimenting was the key.

If he didn’t dive deep into each aspect of the process, his efforts would be wasted, and customers wouldn't return.

He must not give up, especially when his life was at stake.

Fortunately, the Tang Clan had an abundant supply of rice because one of their businesses was selling rice, and with the guest room courtyard currently unoccupied, he had the space and freedom to test his recipes.

So, each day, he set to work, creating rice noodles with a focus that bordered on obsession.

He experimented with everything: the exact amount of rice, how long he soaked it, the boiling time, the vegetables, the salt.

Every evening, he called Tang Xiulan to taste the newest batch, using her feedback to make incremental changes. She was candid with her opinions, sometimes too much so, but it was exactly what he needed. Each critique helped him refine the recipe further.

At the same time, Chen Ren kept a careful eye on the cost of ingredients.

He knew that while rice was relatively cheap, it alone wouldn't be enough to draw in a large customer base. The addition of salt and vegetables, though necessary for flavour, also increased the overall cost, which was something he had to keep in mind if he wanted the business to be profitable.

He realised that creating a sauce to accompany the noodles—especially a spicy one— could be a key factor in making his dish stand out.

But before he could even think about adding that extra layer of flavour, he needed to perfect the texture of the noodles themselves. They had to be more than just edible; they had to be something that left a lasting impression, something that people would come back for.

Fortunately, it seemed that Chen Ren’s efforts were paying off.

Xiulan's once sceptical eyes now watched him with anticipation every day as he prepared the noodles. He could tell that she expected something different every time she brought the chopstick to her lips.

But it wasn’t just her— word of his daily experiments had spread among the servants, and even a young maid, who was too enthusiastic to know about the dish and taste, began showing up regularly, eager to sample it and offer her thoughts.

Her name was Lihua and she had been supportive throughout, not just with trying the dish, but also with words of motivation. It seemed as if this young maid rooted for Chen Ren due to the flirting of his predecessor.

Whenever she was done with tasting a meal, she’d say things like, “Young master, I will come by tomorrow too. It was better than yesterday and I feel less boiling time would do wonders. Firmer noodles like two days ago would be great, or it could be my personal preference. Either way, eating a dish from your own hands seems like a dream.”

Xiulan squinted her eyes at Lihua before turning to the noodles. “I prefer softer noodles. Maybe young master, you should try adding oil to the boiling water to prevent sticking and to add a subtle flavour.”

Chen Ren nodded. He had thought of it considering there were so many ways that noodles could be made.

“How’s the broth?” He asked.

“The salt ratio is perfect, I feel,” the younger maid replied with excitement. Xiulan on the other hand, simply nodded along.

“Thanks,” Chen Ren collected the dishes and went back, knowing the other maids would come rushing in soon. It was quite… exciting.

At first, Chen Ren thought they were merely being helpful, giving him feedback to refine his recipe. But the stars in their eyes and the way they eagerly awaited each new serving told a different story— they genuinely liked the noodles.

A small part of him was tempted to start charging them, but since he wasn’t paying for the ingredients, he decided against it. Besides, he didn’t want to risk discouraging them from coming back; their enthusiasm was valuable in its own right. These taste testers were the key to refining his dish.

As he continued to make noodles for them every day, he found an unexpected joy in the process. A type of joy that couldn’t be put into words but warmed the heart from the inside when he thought about it.

Creating something that others enjoyed was fulfilling in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

While his ultimate goal was to make money, the satisfaction he felt when he saw the pleasure on their faces made the effort worthwhile— at least for now.

I always thought being a full-time cook was nothing but stress, but was this how Gordon Ramsay and Marco Pierre felt? Maybe I should’ve tried working at my uncle’s restaurant, I may have had a hidden talent for cooking.

He started piling the bowls so that he could be ready to serve when the maids came rushing in.

It was during these moments of focus, that he noticed something strange.

His qi would occasionally flare up in his core, a sudden surge of energy that caught him off guard. He felt it everywhere to the tip of his fingers. A sensation, a tingle— a rush of something.

It happened a few times as he worked on the noodles, but since there were no other effects, he didn’t dwell on it too much.

Like all those times, he chalked it up to his lack of training since arriving in this world, dismissing it as a minor side effect of his current lifestyle.

For now, his focus was entirely on perfecting his noodles.

With each new batch of noodles, he refined his process, and more and more servants began lining up in the guest room courtyard.

Their eager faces waited for their turn to taste his creation. It almost felt like he was already running a stall, and the idea of taking the next step— moving outside and starting a real business— began to take root in his mind.

***

Tang Yuqiu, the young miss of the Tang family, returned from overseeing one of the family’s businesses. There was no work, but just checking if everything was going right was also a part of running a business.

As she entered the main courtyard that evening, she was struck by the unusual stillness. The place was eerily quiet, with not a single servant in sight.

Normally, they would at least be picking up water from the well and there would be the sound of footsteps or chatter, but today it was as if the place was abandoned.

Frowning, she turned to her maid, who always accompanied her.

“Where is everyone?” Tang Yuqiu asked, her voice laced with irritation.

Her maid hesitated for a moment before replying, “There’s been a rumour, miss… about Young master Chen Ren. They say he’s been making a dish for the servants every evening in the guest kitchen. They could be there.”

Tang Yuqiu scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Chen Ren? That idiot? He can’t do anything right. What could he possibly be making that’s worth their time?”

Despite her dismissive words, curiosity got the better of her, and she motioned for her maid to lead the way. As they made their way through the corridors towards the guest courtyard that was adjacent to the main one, the distant sound of chatter and laughter grew louder, guiding them toward the source of the commotion.

Finally, they turned a corner and came upon a long line of servants stretching out from the guest room courtyard. Even some of the older servants had joined the queue, waiting patiently with eager expressions.

At the front, Tang Yuqiu spotted Chen Ren and Tang Xiulan working together, preparing something and handling the bowls with utmost care.

The moment the servants noticed Tang Yuqiu’s arrival, the lively atmosphere froze.

All eyes turned toward her, the air thick with tension as everyone stepped back, unsure of what to expect.

Tang Yuqiu marched forward, her gaze narrowing as she approached Chen Ren.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked loudly, unable to hold what she was witnessing.

Without looking up, Chen Ren responded with slight irritation from being disturbed, “Who the hell are you?”

5. First day

“Who are you?”

Chen Ren’s hands paused over the steaming pot of noodles as a shadow fell over him.

He looked up and felt immediate regret when his gaze met the figure before him.

Not because her presence commanded some sort of attention, but because her face resonated in the depths of his memory. The young miss of the Tang Clan— there was no mistaking her. Different memories came rushing into him as he looked at her for a second more.

She was young, with sharp, thin eyes, pursed lips and a pointed nose, with an elegance that belied her age. Her long, black hair flowed, framing a face that could easily be mistaken for a painted portrait. Her eyes, dark as night, held a sharpness that pierced through him— or anyone who could be standing in his position. He finally noticed how her short figure was looking up at him with an unwavering look of questioning—‘Who are you?’ — really?

Chen Ren mentally slapped himself knowing he could’ve at least looked up before questioning with such a commanding voice. But what was done was done.

Before Chen Ren could speak up and clean the little mess he made, she spoke.

"So, now you need me to introduce myself?" A slight mocking smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she continued, "I’m Tang Yuqiu, the young miss of the clan you’ve been staying with all this time. If you can put on this show with the servants, it seems your injuries have healed. I thought even if you woke up after losing the battle, you wouldn’t dare show your face in the Tang Clan."

Chen Ren, unfazed by her words, bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. He knew better than to take offence; the relationship between them was complex as he had seen and known from Chen Ren’s memories. "I didn’t know you’d be around," he replied calmly. "And yes, my injuries have healed. As for the servants, I’m just cooking something for them."

Tang Yuqiu arched an eyebrow, scepticism clear in her eyes.

"Cooking? Do you really think I believe that? You’ve never been one to speak kindly to the servants, let alone cook for them."

Chen Ren allowed a small smile to play on his lips as he gestured to the steaming bowls and the line of servants waiting eagerly. "As you can see, I’ve changed a bit."

Before Tang Yuqiu could respond, Tang Xiulan stepped forward, her tone respectful yet firm. "Young Miss, young master is indeed cooking and distributing noodles to the servants. I’m helping him with that. It’s also not interfering with their work; they come here after finishing their duties."

Tang Yuqiu stared at Tang Xiulan, her expression blank with shock. Her eyes went from his to the sight of the servants eagerly waiting for their turn, empty bowls in their hands.

The idea of a servant, especially one like Xiulan, defending Chen Ren was unthinkable, yet here it was, unfolding right before her eyes. Chen Ren himself was taken aback.

Snapping out of his surprise, Chen Ren turned to Tang Yuqiu, his tone casual yet inviting. “If you’d like, young miss, you can try the noodles for yourself.”

Tang Yuqiu looked down at the steaming bowl of noodles in the servant's hand, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What even is that? Noodles?”

“It’s made from rice. You’ll like it,” Chen Ren replied with a hint of confidence as he quickly prepared a bowl for her.

Scooping up the already prepared noodles, he added a good amount of vegetables and broth. After all, he couldn't be stingy with someone who had technically provided him the ingredients.

Tang Yuqiu’s eyes widened as he handed her the bowl. She glanced between it and Chen Ren, unable to hide her shock at the sheer audacity of the situation.

The longer she hesitated, the more awkward the moment became.

Without missing a beat, Chen Ren prepared another bowl, this time for her maid, who took it with a clumsy bow. “Don’t worry,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s not poisoned.”

Tang Yuqiu’s cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and irritation. She looked at the bowl again.

Finally, she relented and took a cautious bite.

Chen Ren watched her closely, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. The pride of a cook settled deep in his heart.

The last few days had been spent in a relentless pursuit of perfection. Rice noodles were a simple dish, yet within that simplicity lay countless possibilities. He had worked tirelessly, refining the texture and firmness of the noodles, adjusting the broth, and adding just the right amount of vegetables to enhance the taste. Seeing Tang Yuqiu’s expression soften as she ate, he knew he had succeeded in conquering the tastes of probably his richest customer until date.

He recalled her father was quite the foodie and because of that, she had eaten quite a lot of different types of dishes. If his noodles could impress her, then he definitely had the required skills to make it big.

When she finally finished, Tang Yuqiu looked at him, her gaze softened by a touch of wonder. “It was… good.”

Chen Ren’s smile widened. “Would you like seconds?”

She hesitated, her pride flaring up again, but from how she looked at the noodles, it was clear that the allure of them was undeniable for her.

After a moment’s pause, she nodded, albeit reluctantly.

As he handed her another bowl, he couldn’t help but tease, “Mind if I finish distributing the rest to the servants? There’s a lot of noodles, and you can’t eat it all, right?”

Tang Yuqiu glared at him, a mix of irritation and amusement in her eyes. “Obviously not. You can continue. We can’t waste food.”

With a light chuckle, Chen Ren resumed serving the noodles, the servants smiling appreciatively as they received their portions. As he worked, he could feel Tang Yuqiu’s gaze on him, her curiosity growing with each passing moment.

“What are you doing with these noodles anyway?” she finally asked, her tone laced with suspicion. “Are the bars closed or have they finally decided to kick you out due to pending tabs? Why are you here cooking these dishes?”

“No,” Chen Ren replied, his tone steady as he finished handing out a bowl of noodles. “I’m not interested in bars anymore.”

Tang Yuqiu blinked, clearly taken aback by his response. “You’re not?”

Chen Ren shook his head. “No, I’m doing this to test out a business idea.”

“Are you serious?”

Chen Ren sighed, more to himself than to her. “Why does everyone think I’m not serious? Yes, I’m serious. Very serious. That’s why I developed these noodles, and I’m going to start selling them tomorrow.”

Tang Yuqiu’s expression remained doubtful. “I don’t believe it.”

Chen Ren’s lips curled into a confident smile. “Then come see it for yourself. Do you really think I’m just giving noodles out here for fun?”

She hesitated, clearly torn between disbelief and curiosity. Finally, she nodded. “Sure, I will,” she said, setting her bowl down and preparing to leave. But before she could step away, Chen Ren gently reached out and grasped her hand.

Tang Yuqiu’s eyes flared with anger, her posture stiffening as she shot a glare at him.

Touching her like that, especially in front of the servants, was a breach of decorum, bordering on something far more intimate. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

Chen Ren quickly released her hand, his expression earnest. “Let me buy ten pounds of rice from you.”

“What?”

“I really want to sell these noodles,” Chen Ren explained. “Right now, I’m using ingredients from the guest room kitchen, but if I’m going to sell them, I can’t keep doing that. There’s honour and ethics in business, and I want to do this the right way, unless you have fallen for my noodles and want to donate the ingredients.”

Tang Yuqiu studied him for a long moment, ignoring his last few words before replying, “I won’t sell it cheap.”

Chen Ren nodded, undeterred. “We can negotiate. Right now. I don’t need a lot, but if this works, we can talk about a bigger purchase.”

Tang Yuqiu gave a thoughtful nod.

“Let’s talk tomorrow,” she said before turning to leave, her posture more composed than before.

***

Early the next morning, Chen Ren found himself standing with Tang Yuqiu in a quiet corner of the Tang Clan’s storage area, the soft light of dawn casting long shadows over the bags of rice stacked neatly along the walls.

A few guards stood nearby alongside Tang Yuqiu's maid, their faces blank as they did nothing more than to add to the background.

Ignoring them, he focused on the rice bags.

He needed just ten pounds for now, enough to test his idea and see how the evening crowd would react to them.

Tang Yuqiu watched him closely as he inspected the rice on his palms, her expression unreadable.

The grains were clean, and polished to a near-perfect sheen. It was above average, at least— definitely not the cheap stuff. Setting the small sample back down, he looked up at her.

As one pound was priced around four to ten copper wen depending on the quality, Chen Ren thought for a moment.

“I’ll give you five copper wen per pound,” he said, his tone straightforward.

Tang Yuqiu arched an eyebrow, her voice firm.

“Ten copper. This rice is worth way more than what you’re offering.”

Chen Ren resisted the urge to sigh. He knew this wouldn’t be easy. “It’s good quality, but ten copper is too much. Six copper per pound, and I’ll take ten pounds.”

She crossed her arms, clearly not inclined to back down. “Nine copper and that’s my final offer.”

Chen Ren shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Seven copper is fair for both of us. I’m not asking for charity, just a reasonable price. Seven copper and I’ll consider this a done deal. Either way, this is probably not much for you to gather and I'm giving you a good opportunity to make a small profit.

Tang Yuqiu narrowed her eyes, sensing the determination in his voice. After a long moment of silence, she relented with a slight nod.

“Fine. Seven copper per pound, but don’t expect this kind of generosity next time.”

Chen Ren chuckled, pleased with the outcome. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

With the negotiations settled, Chen Ren quickly weighed out ten pounds of rice and handed over the agreed amount of copper coins.

As he turned to leave, he noticed the young miss watching him with an expression of mild surprise.

“You’re good at this,” Tang Yuqiu remarked, almost as if she couldn’t quite believe it. “I didn't know your clan birthed merchants too.”

Chen Ren offered her a modest smile. “They don't. At least not anyone I can remember. But they do have cultivators with a silver tongue who strive to get more than what's in their fate. You can think of me as one of them. Either way, I’ll see you around, young miss.”

She nodded, still looking a bit stunned as he walked away, using a guard to carry the rice back to his temporary kitchen in the guest courtyard.

Honestly, he didn't need any help, but he was still a guest and a cultivator, and it wouldn't look good for him to carry all that load. Though, he guessed that he was either way going to break a few cultivation conventions by selling noodles on a stall.

The rest of the morning was peaceful. As it was going to be his start of the stall, he had to inform the servants he won't be giving out more noodles to them.

At the same time, he needed to make sure he had everything before he ventured to the streets. He already got the permit, so he just needed to prepare the ingredients and the stall.

Chen Ren soaked the rice carefully, taking his time with every batch he took to wash. He also got a few vegetables. He wasn't going to add them in the regular noodles, but he could always add more variety for more money.

As the grains soaked, he turned his attention to setting up his stall.

Carpentry wasn’t his strong suit, so he scoured the Tang Clan manor until he found an old, unused stall in the old storage room. It wasn’t much to look at—cheap, weathered wood with a few splinters sticking out— but it would do for now. As long as he had space to create noodles, he wouldn’t bother to complain.

He hauled it back to the guest courtyard and set it up, giving it a quick once-over to ensure it was stable.

Next, he paid four coppers for a set of cheap bowls.

They were plain and unadorned, but they would serve their purpose. Finally, he set to work on a signboard. His drawing skills were decent, and he carefully sketched out a simple image of a steaming bowl of noodles. Below it, he wrote in neat characters: “Rice Noodles — 5 Copper Wen.”

He knew that most of the population was illiterate, so the drawing would have to do most of the work. The image of the noodles, simple as it was, would hopefully catch the eye of anyone passing by.

As the day went on, he felt more and more that he was ready. The stall was there, the rice noodles were prepared, and the signboard was prominently displayed.

It was going to be the first evening of his first business venture in this new world.

***

Chen Ren stood in the marketplace, setting up his modest stall in one of the few empty spots that were left.

Tang Xiulan was by his side, helping him arrange the bowls and make sure everything was in place. It was a simple setup, nothing fancy, but it was all he needed to get started.

As they finished arranging everything, Old Man Tian from the skewer stall across the way wandered over, eyeing Chen Ren’s stall.

“I didn’t expect to see the young master personally selling stuff,” he said, his tone both amused and respectful.

Chen Ren smiled and shrugged. “I wanted to cook, and there’s nothing better than seeing the satisfaction on people’s faces when they enjoy good food.”

The old man nodded, looking around at the crude setup before asking, “So, what are you selling?”

“Noodles,” Chen Ren replied simply, gesturing to the signboard with the drawing of the rice noodles.

The old man squinted at the sign, clearly puzzled. “Noodles, eh? Never heard of them. How much, young master?”

“Five copper per bowl, seven for vegetable rice noodles,” Chen Ren said, hopeful that the man’s curiosity might lead to a sale.

But the old man shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Five copper, huh? Too much for a dish I never heard of. I think I’ll stick to my skewers.” With that, he moved back to his own stall, leaving Chen Ren and Tang Xiulan to wait.

Chen Ren didn’t think of it much either. Was the noodles overpriced? Not in any way. If anything, he had observed, calculated and measured if it was worth the price they were selling. Expectedly, anyone with a brain would know that it is.

After Old Man Tian returned to his stall, Chen Ren and Xiulan waited.

They waited... and waited.

As the minutes turned into hours, not a single customer approached their stall.

The market was lively, with the other stalls busy with activity, but Chen Ren’s corner remained stubbornly quiet. He could feel the stress of each passing moment, the growing tension gnawing at the back of his mind.

He couldn’t blame the crowd. His stall, with its plain appearance and lack of seating, didn’t exactly scream for attention. Plus, he was offering something completely new. A slow start was to be expected.

But as the second hour dragged on without a single customer, Chen Ren’s patience began to wear thin.

He glanced over at the Old Man Tian’s skewer stall, which was surrounded by people.

The old man noticed him watching and with a mischievous glint in his eye, gave a smile that only served to stoke the embers of Chen Ren’s frustration.

“I’ll show him how to get a stall running,” Chen Ren muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening in determination.

Tang Xiulan, who had been quietly observing the situation, looked up at him with curiosity. “What are you going to do, young master?”

He didn't answer right away as his mind worked. In this world, most of the online marketing stuff he knew was useless and he had to rely more on word of mouth to attract attention, but if no one tried his noodles, there was never going to be any of that.

The more he thought, the more he felt like he was close to getting an idea until his expression brightened with sudden inspiration. “I have a great idea,” he said, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Once it works, Old Man Tian would change his sly grin to one of envy.”

6. Marketing idea

Chen Ren stood at his humble stall, the scent of freshly made rice noodles wafting through the air. Ever since he’d been making those noodles, he felt like he smelled of rice noodles and broth.

He looked around, taking in the sights and sounds.

Lines and lines of stalls lined in the street, each vendor shouting out their wares with practised fervour. Brightly coloured banners fluttered in the wind, and the mixture of haggling voices melded with the clatter of carts and the laughter of children.

He had overestimated himself.

Just because he had a product from Earth, he had thought it would be an instant success in this world. After all, it had worked back in the Tang Clan’s courtyard— servants lining up daily, eagerly awaiting his latest batch of noodles. But he realised now that there had been more to their enthusiasm than just the taste.

They were curious about the novelty he brought with him, intrigued by his sudden transformation from a disinterested youth to a diligent cook. And, of course, the noodles were free.

Out here, on the crowded streets of the city, it was a different story. His stall was just another face in the crowd, blending in with the myriad of other food vendors and merchants selling everything from exotic spices to handmade trinkets. No one stopped, no one even glanced his way. He was invisible among the throng, another forgettable peddler with no charm or allure to his setup.

Chen Ren frowned, tapping his finger against the wooden counter.

He needed to rethink his approach. Marketing, that was the key.

Back on Earth, businesses rose and fell on the strength of word of mouth. He had learned that firsthand during his brief stint working in a noodle shop back in high school. He needed to create a buzz, and he had just the trick to get people talking.

All he needed was a little bit of attention, something to draw in the first few customers and let word of mouth do the rest.

His eyes roamed over the crowd, searching for inspiration.

There were merchants haggling over prices, nobles in fine silks moving through the market with their retinues, farmers with weather-beaten faces hauling produce, and beggars crouched by the roadside, holding out their hands for alms. He took it all in, letting the chaos wash over him.

Then, his gaze fell on a group of children huddled near the entrance of a narrow alley on the other side of the street.

They were scruffy and tiny, with eyes wide with hunger and curiosity as they watched the busy stalls and the food being sold. Every now and then, they whispered among themselves, heads ducked low, as if trying not to draw attention to themselves.

It was clear to anyone who would look at them to know what they were planning to do.

A smile tugged at Chen Ren's lips. They were the ones he was looking for.

He walked with a slow, deliberate pace, blending into the sea of people as if he were part of the marketplace's very fabric. His steps were light, like a leaf drifting along a stream. He approached the group of children huddled near the alleyway without them even noticing.

"Hello there," he said softly, coming to a stop just a few feet away from the kids.

The children jumped at his voice, their eyes going wide with fear. One of the younger boys, his face dirty and hair a matted mess, blurted out, "We haven’t stolen anything, I swear!"

Chen Ren chuckled, shaking his head. "I know you haven’t," he replied, his tone gentle but knowing. "But I also know you were just about to."

The kids froze, their expressions shifting from fear to sheer panic. Their eyes darted around, looking for an escape route, and he could see them inching backward, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

"Wait, wait!" Chen Ren raised his hands, palms out in a gesture of peace. "I'm not here to reprimand you or turn you in. I actually have a job for you, and if you do it well, I’ll feed you. How does that sound?"

The children hesitated, still on edge, but his words made them pause. Hunger and curiosity warred in their eyes, and they glanced at each other's uncertainty. Finally, one of the older boys, who looked to be around twelve, asked, "What kind of job?"

Before Chen Ren could answer, a girl with sharp eyes and roughly chopped hair stepped forward, her arms crossed over her chest. "We shouldn't listen to him," she said to the others. Then she turned her gaze to Chen Ren, suspicion etched across her features. "We’re not joining any gangs, mister."

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow, amused. "Do I really look like a ruffian to you?" He gestured to his simple clothes, clean and well-maintained, and then pointed toward his stall. "I run that food stall over there. The job is straightforward, nothing dangerous. And once it's done, you’ll get to eat your fill."

The girl hesitated, her eyes flicking back and forth between Chen Ren and the other children. He could see the wheels turning in her head as she weighed her options. Finally, she gave a slow nod, her stance relaxing slightly. "Alright, what’s the job?"

Chen Ren crouched down to their level.

"All you need to do is spread a little word around the marketplace and in a few specific places. Tell them what exactly I tell you. Simple, right? Don’t worry about the details, I will let you know about that."

The kids exchanged glances, still not sure of Chen Ren, but the job seemed simple enough. Taking a final glance at the food stall, the girl nodded, staring right at him. "We can do that. Just don't go back on your words."

***

After a long, exhausting day of crunching numbers and balancing ledgers at the city lord’s palace, Scholar Liu Wen emerged from the building, his mind still buzzing with calculations. The sun hung low in the sky, reminding him how long it had been since he walked inside the building. His stomach rumbled loudly, again reminding him that he hadn’t had a chance to eat lunch.

He grimaced slightly, rubbing his hand over his belly as he considered grabbing some street food on the way home.

He was young and hadn't gotten the chance to select a bride which meant that if he went home like this, he would have to cook himself. That was the last thing Liu Wen wanted to do right now. All he needed was some good food and a bed to rest to get over the tiredness of the long day.

As he stepped onto the cobblestone street, a shrill voice cut through the crowd.

"Free noodles! Free noodles on Market Street! Try it out today only! Special noodles from the eastern tribes, now available right here in Cloud Mist City. For free!"

Liu Wen turned his head toward the source of the noise and spotted a young boy, his face streaked with dirt and his clothes worn and threadbare. The boy was standing on a crate, shouting with all his might. Despite his apparent shyness, he was doing his best to advertise, his eyes darting nervously over the growing crowd around him.

The scholar adjusted his robes, glancing around at the people who had gathered to watch.

Most of them were locals, their curiosity piqued by the promise of free food. The boy’s proclamation had even caught the attention of a few wealthier passersby, their eyes narrowed with interest. Liu Wen’s gaze returned to the boy, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy.

Clearly, the child was trying to earn some coin, but the mention of the eastern tribes' cuisine had truly caught his attention.

Liu Wen stroked his beard thoughtfully.

The eastern tribes were a mysterious lot, known for their seclusion and rugged lifestyle that lived east to Kalian Empire.

They were hunters and warriors, living in the wilds, and often looked down upon as uncultured brutes by the refined citizens of the empire. Yet, there were always whispers about the quality of their food— robust flavours that could make even the most discerning palate dance in delightment. He had heard stories of spicy broths and smoky meats, dishes so flavorful that they lingered in one's memory long after the meal was over.

It was said that they harvested special spices, making their meals a delight to feast on and he knew a few emerging sects had tried to encroach upon their territory for the spices, but had been held back due to the terrain. Hence, their food was famous, especially among the upper class.

Unfortunately, the opportunity to taste such exotic cuisine rarely presented itself in the empire, let alone in Cloud Mist City.

As Liu Wen pondered over this unexpected chance, the boy’s eyes met his. Seizing the moment, the boy pointed directly at him, his voice cracking slightly as he shouted, “Sir! You! If you want to try these special noodles, you better hurry to Market Street. Look for the stall with the red banner. If you don’t go fast, the delicacy will run out!”

The boy’s earnestness brought a smile to Liu Wen’s lips. He knew a marketing ploy when he saw one, but the child’s enthusiasm was contagious. And, truth be told, the scholar was intrigued. He had missed lunch, and his stomach growled again, this time with renewed vigour. A taste of the eastern tribes' cuisine was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up.

Nodding to himself, he adjusted his hat and made his way toward Market Street, weaving through the crowd.

He could hear the boy’s voice behind him, still shouting, still pulling in more curious onlookers. As he walked, Liu Wen couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. Today had been a trying day, but perhaps, just perhaps, it would end on a high note with a belly full exotic dish— noodles, the child said?

As he approached the centre of Market Street, it didn’t take long for him to spot the noodle stand. It was right opposite to the usual spot where he bought skewers from Old Man Tian.

A man stood on a small wooden crate in front of a stall, his voice being the loudest of the noise of the crowd. “Free noodles! Free noodles! Eastern delicacy, right here in Cloud Mist City! Come and get your free bowl today!”

The man’s shout attracted quite a crowd. Liu Wen pushed his way gently through the people, his eyes scanning the scene. A young girl stood beside the man, carefully handing out bowls of steaming noodles to those who approached.

The man looked oddly out of place among the typical street vendors. His clothes, while not extravagant, were far too fine for a commoner, giving him an air that contrasted sharply with the usual rough-and-tumble sellers that lined Market Street. Even his face held a certain charm, rare for the place.

As Liu Wen moved closer, his eyes landed on a small sign propped up on the side of the stall, listing the prices: “Five coppers per bowl.” Confused, he turned to the man standing on the crate. “Are the noodles free, or are they five coppers wen?” he asked, pointing to the sign.

The man smiled warmly, hopping down from his perch. “They’re free today,” he said cheerfully. “Would you like a bowl?”

Liu Wen glanced around, observing the expressions of those already eating. The faces of the customers were filled with surprise and pleasure, and the aroma wafting from the stall was tantalising. His gaze met with a woman who was savouring the dish as if it was her last meal. He almost gasped when she drank the broth in one go.

He quickly withdrew his gaze and looked at the delicacy called noodles that he had never heard of before; they were long, thin strands swimming in a rich, fragrant broth that sizzled. His stomach grumbled once again, and he nodded. “Yes, I’ll take a bowl.”

With a swift, practised motion, the girl beside the man ladled a generous portion of noodles into a bowl and handed it over. “Here you go!” she chirped, her eyes lit up.

As Liu Wen accepted the bowl, the man behind the stall leaned forward slightly, his gaze friendly and curious. “I couldn’t help but notice you read the sign. Are you a scholar or a learned man, by chance?"

Liu Wen raised an eyebrow, caught slightly off guard by the question. “Yes, I am a scholar,” he replied. “Do I look like one?”

The man chuckled, nodding. “Indeed, you do. You have the air of a distinguished gentleman, someone well-versed in the ways of the world.” His words were smooth, his tone sincere, and Liu Wen couldn’t help but feel a small swell of pride at the compliment.

“Thank you,” he said, a slight smile tugging at his lips. It wasn’t every day that his scholarly status was acknowledged outside of the palace. He took a moment to study the man again, still puzzled by his refined demeanour.

“Well, please enjoy,” the man continued, gesturing to the bowl in Liu Wen’s hands."If you liked the noodles, please mention them to your colleagues at the city lord's palace," he suggested. "I'm sure they would love to try it too."

Liu Wen nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I will, if I like it," he replied, taking his first proper bite of the noodles. As the soft, chewy strands melted in his mouth, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. The noodles had a delightful texture, with just the right amount of firmness, and the broth— oh, the broth! It was rich and full of complex flavours that danced on his tongue.

If he didn’t know better, he’d be tearing up for how good the noodles were.

There were a few vegetables in it and they were cooked to perfection— just tender enough to bite through but still retaining a satisfying crunch. They provided a refreshing contrast to the rich, savoury broth that soaked into the noodles.

He quickly dug in for another bite, and another, finding each mouthful better than the last. In what felt like no time at all, he had finished the entire bowl, but his hunger was far from satiated.

Without a second thought, he looked up at the vendor and said, "Give me one more. It was excellent."

The vendor, still smiling, shook his head. "I'm afraid each person can only have one free bowl. However, if you’d like another, you can purchase it for five coppers. Also, you actually tried our vegetable rice noodles that come at seven coppers per bowl."

Liu Wen glanced around, considering his options. He could see other food stalls nearby with skewers and buns, but the lingering taste of the noodles on his tongue made his decision for him.

He felt a craving that wouldn’t be satisfied by anything else. With a small sigh of defeat, he reached into his pouch and tossed the coins onto the counter. "Sure, take it," he said, unable to hide his eagerness.

The vendor's smile widened. "Thank you. I’ll make this bowl myself," he said, turning to prepare another serving.

Liu Wen watched as the man skillfully scooped the noodles and broth into a fresh bowl. The way he moved spoke of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. In moments, another steaming bowl was placed in front of him, and Liu Wen wasted no time digging in.

***

After turning away the last group of customers that had arrived too late to try the free noodles, Chen Ren turned and walked over to a small group huddled around a wooden bench.

The children who had been shouting in the streets earlier were now seated, each with a bowl of noodles in hand, eagerly slurping down their meal. The young girl who had been the most suspicious of him before looked at the noodles with glinting eyes, her face bright as she ate.

He crouched down beside them and gently patted the girl on the head. "You all did well today," he said warmly. "Keep up the good work.”

“Thank you!” the young girl yelled in happiness. She slurped the last bit of the broth.

Chen Ren stood up, looking down at the children with a satisfied nod. As he turned back toward his stall, he felt a sense of fulfilment wash over him. Not only had his plan to attract more customers worked, but he had also been able to provide a little kindness to those who needed it most. For him, that was a reward far greater than any amount of silver or gold.

But still, business is business.

Thanks to his clever scheme, most of the noodles he had prepared for the day were sold out, drawing in a steady stream of curious customers.

The promise of free noodles had lured them in, and, as expected, a fair number had come just to try something new without spending a coin. However, six of them had been so impressed that they purchased a second bowl, earning him a modest 34 copper coins. He was still at a loss with how much the pounds of rice had cost, but he didn't care about it.

As the day wound down and the crowd thinned, Chen Ren assessed the stall’s remaining supplies, realising they were nearly out of everything. It was a good problem to have, he thought, given this was only the first day. He had hoped to create a buzz, and it seemed like his plan was working.

As he instructed Tang Xiulan to pack up the stall, he saw a shadow fall over him. Though he’d like it if it was a customer, it was Old Man Tian, one of the longtime street vendors who had seen many young and hopeful food vendors come and go— his words to be exact.

“You got quite a lot of customers today, young master,” he remarked, eyeing the empty noodle pots. “People do like free food.”

Chen Ren didn’t take offence at the comment, instead replying with a shrug, “They do. And if it’s good, they’ll come back.”

Old Man Tian scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know about that. People paying for something and getting it for free are two different things. When they get something for free, they’re often reluctant to pay for it next time.”

Chen Ren nodded, understanding the point. “True, but only if the product isn’t good enough for them to feel it’s worth paying for. We’ll see how things go tomorrow, one way or another.”

Old Man Tian raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical. “Are you really planning to be back here tomorrow?”

“I will be,” he replied confidently.

The old man nodded, his lips curling into a knowing smirk as if he thought this young, new, idealistic, foolish young master was wasting his time. “Well, good luck to you then,” he said before turning and walking away, his gait slow but steady.

As Old Man Tian disappeared into the crowd, Tang Xiulan turned to Chen Ren. “He’s not exactly wrong, you know. We sold out because it was free. But we’re going to take a big loss if this keeps up.”

“I know,” he replied, glancing around at the remaining ingredients and the coins he had made. “But it was just a one-day thing to get the word out. Besides, I don’t have much money left to keep this up for long.”

He paused, thinking about the meagre funds he had managed to scrape together. Over the past few days, he had scrounged through his clothes and belongings, finding about eight silver wen hidden in various pockets and pouches. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had to keep his fledgling business afloat. If things didn’t turn around soon, he might have to start selling his clothes just to get by.

“But my plan wasn’t just to give out free food to spread the word,” he continued. “There’s more to it than that. You’ll see tomorrow. I’m pretty confident Old Man Tian is going to be in for a big surprise.”

Tang Xiulan frowned at that. Her mouth opened and closed as if she was deciding if she should ask. Chen Ren patiently waited until she pursed her lips only to open them and question.

“Oh? What are you planning?”

“You'll have to wait and see. Let’s just say I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

With that, he finished packing up the stall, his mind already racing with ideas for the next day. Tang Xiulan shook her head, already having predicted his answer.

Chen Ren knew he had taken a risk for the business with the current amount of equity they had by giving out free food, but he was betting on the quality of his noodles and the curiosity of the people.

If he could turn that curiosity into regular customers, then today’s investment would be well worth it. And if things went according to plan, tomorrow would be a turning point— one that even Old Man Tian wouldn’t see coming.

7. Booming business

Tang Xiulan wiped her brow as she and Chen Ren finished the day’s work.

The sun had already long set, calming things around the courtyard from the busy state that they’d been in the morning, but she still had some energy left.

She helped Chen Ren carry the stall and bowls back to the guest courtyard. Despite her initial reluctance, she had grown accustomed to their routine, though she still found his behaviour puzzling.

Once they had set everything down, Chen Ren turned to her with a small smile. “Thanks for the help, Xiulan. I appreciate it. I will see you tomorrow.”

Tang Xiulan nodded, caught off guard by his politeness yet again. No matter how many times he thanked her or spoke to her kindly, she couldn’t quite get used to it. It wasn’t just the words, but the way he looked at her— as if she were a person, not just a mortal to be looked down upon. It was an unfamiliar sensation coming from Chen Ren who only ever treated people as livestock rather than humans.

She recalled when he had first come to live with Chen Clan and had nearly crippled a maid because she had dared to take out his clothes to wash without asking. Although he had spared her later on, Tang Xiulan still recalled the look in his eyes. But now he was different.

Like always, she wondered upon the reason for this transformation.

There were only a few times in her life when she had seen people changing to this degree. Most of those moments revolved around the other maids or young girls from Tang Clan who would change drastically after getting their hearts broken by guys who never wanted to take responsibilities. They would then grow bitter, becoming shadows of their real selves.

Maybe Chen Ren was like that too. Maybe his own heartbreak was the fight he lost, the one that seemed to have changed him so completely. She didn’t know all the details, but she could see it in his eyes. Whatever pride or arrogance he once had seemed to have been stripped away, replaced by a quiet grit that was hard to ignore.

The only difference was that rather than growing bitter, he had gained humanity and humility, things she never expected him to ever possess.

As these thoughts ran through her mind, Tang Xiulan began her walk towards the main manor. Her feet moved almost automatically along the familiar path, the stone walkway worn smooth by weather and years of use.

The manor was right ahead, a grand structure of carefully done woodwork and stone walls that seemed imposing. Carvings of dragons and phoenixes covered the eaves, their fierce gazes seeming to watch over the clan and protect them from calamities. The roof tiles were a deep, dark blue, catching the last light of the sun and reflecting it in a soft glow.

She passed through a smaller gate that led to the inner courtyard. It wasn’t her quarters, but she had business here today.

As she approached the gate to the main building, she saw two guards standing at attention.

They nodded to her as she came closer, their expressions neutral. “Wait here for a minute,” one of them said, already familiar with her visits.

Tang Xiulan waited patiently, her thoughts still on Chen Ren and the peculiar path his life seemed to be taking. A minute later, the guard returned and motioned for her to enter.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the gate and into the main hall.

The room had just a few candles flickering in the corners. The air was thick with the scent of incense, a constant in the Tang manor. In the centre of the room sat an older man, his hair grey and thinning, his cheeks sunken and pale. A neatly trimmed moustache framed his thin lips, giving him an appearance that was hard to read.

This was the head of the Tang Clan, the young miss’ father, Tang Jihao. He looked up as Tang Xiulan entered, his eyes sharp despite his frail appearance.

Tang Xiulan bowed deeply and tried her best to keep her voice steady as she spoke. “I am here to report.”

Tang Xiulan kept her head bowed for a moment longer before speaking. “Young Master Chen Ren started his stall today,” she began, her voice clear but respectful. “He managed to sell all the noodles he had prepared.”

The old man’s eyes widened slightly, his gaze sharpening as he looked at her. “All of them?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “How?”

Tang Xiulan nodded and then gave a brief summary of Chen Ren’s marketing techniques. She started by saying how he didn't get a lot of customers at first, but used the slum dwelling kids to advertise free noodles in exchange for feeding them. He also attached the label of it being a delicacy from the eastern tribes. Once people heard about free food, quite a lot of them came to try and according to Chen Ren, they were going to spread “word of mouth” and the noodles will start to do better and better.

“It was a surprise to me,” she admitted. “But he seemed to think it would help with the sales starting tomorrow.”

Tang Jihao listened carefully, nodding as she spoke. When she finished, he leaned back in his chair and asked, “These noodles... Are they actually from the tribes?”

“I did ask him,” Tang Xiulan replied. “But the young master said it doesn’t matter if they are or not. People just need to believe they’re an exotic delicacy. It’s not like the tribes are going to come to Cloud Mist City to do anything about it.”

At that, a small smile appeared on the old man’s lips. “Chen Ren is more brazen than I expected,” he mused. “But also smart.” His expression grew thoughtful. “Is he still acting strange?”

Tang Xiulan nodded again. “Yes, Master. His personality has changed. I don’t think it’s a facade— if it were, he would have let it slip by now. But he hasn’t.”

Tang Jihao’s eyes narrowed. His sunken eyes seemed to look scarier, but Tang Xiulan didn't let it show it on her face.

“That’s interesting. If his personality truly has changed, then perhaps it’s worth not kicking him out just yet.”

Tang Xiulan hesitated for a moment before speaking up. “Master, may I ask something?”

He glanced at her, curious. “Go ahead.”

“Why don’t you just kick him out?” she asked.“Is it because of the young miss?”

Tang Jihao's smile returned, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

He didn’t answer immediately, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make Tang Xiulan wonder if she had overstepped. Then, finally, he spoke. “Partly, yes. At least, that was the case when Chen Ren first walked in. It seemed like a golden opportunity to tie my daughter to a cultivator. As you know, she didn't have the gift of immortality in her body and with her marrying a cultivator, at least the future generations will have a better chance. But with Chen Ren’s personality back then, I threw that idea away. He was arrogant, reckless— definitely not the kind of person I wanted to associate with my daughter.”

He paused, rubbing his beard, “Even now, with his new personality, I’m not rushing into anything. It’s not been long enough to see if the change is permanent. But I have to admit, it’s the first time I’ve seen a cultivator take an interest in business— especially one like a street stall. Most cultivators don’t see beyond selling pills or beast parts, and they usually keep to their sects or clan. So, I really want to see what Chen Ren aims to achieve with this. Even if the man is—or was— a wastrel, he’s still a cultivator. It’s quite unusual for someone like that to end up selling something as simple as these noodles. It suggests something major has happened to him. I know of his clan and they are an aggressive bunch, so him being a merchant is just going against everything his clan stands for.”

Tang Xiulan slowly took in those words. Her master wasn't wrong. Since Cloud Mist City was the closest place to Soaring Sword Sect, a guardian sect, there were a good number of cultivators in the city and out of all of them, Chen Ren had slowly turned the strangest.

“I’ll keep being with him and keep an eye out, Master.”

The old man gave a small smile and nodded. “Good. But tell me, are the noodles actually good? I’ve heard from the servants that they are, but it wouldn’t be proper for the head of the Tang Clan to line up at a stall to eat.” He chuckled softly.

Tang Xiulan suppressed a smile, a bit of amusement flickering in her eyes. Of course, she thought to herself, the master was a gourmet. She bowed again, hiding her amusement. “I’ll make sure to bring some for you, Master.”

Tang Jihao nodded, satisfied. “Good. I look forward to trying them. Now, go on, and let me know if you notice anything else strange with Chen Ren.”

Tang Xiulan bowed once more before leaving the room, a small smile tugging at her lips. For all his sternness, Master Tang could never resist good food.

***

The next day, Chen Ren was up early, ready to start the stall once again. Thanks to the foresight of soaking the additional rice he had brought from Tang Yuqiu yesterday, he was able to open earlier than yesterday.

A part of him was eager to catch the morning crowd— those on their way to work or leaving their homes for various errands. He wanted to see if he could attract some early customers with his noodles.

As always, Old Man Tian was already there, a constant presence in the early hours. He gave a short bow to Chen Ren when he saw him strolling up with Tang Xiulan by his side.

Chen Ren returned the gesture with a nod but didn’t say much. Instead, he busied himself setting up the stall, arranging the bowls and preparing the ingredients for the day.

Once everything was ready, Chen Ren sat down, waiting with calm patience. Occasionally, he would call out to people rushing by who cast curious glances at his stall. His voice was friendly but firm, a gentle nudge to consider stopping for a bowl of noodles. Despite his efforts, the morning was slow.

Throughout the early hours, he managed to sell only two bowls, far fewer than the other stalls nearby.

Still, a smile lingered on Chen Ren’s face as he waited, his eyes occasionally drifting to the street, watching the flow of people. Tang Xiulan noticed this and tilted her head, puzzled. “Why do you look so happy, young master?” she asked, getting more casual with him by the day.

Chen Ren turned to her, his smile widening slightly. “I’m just anticipating lunchtime,” he replied. “Things should start to change then if I’m right. From what I know, a lot of people go out to eat at local restaurants and stalls during lunch, at least those who don’t own their own shops in their homes. And if the marketing from yesterday worked as expected, then they’ll be looking to try my noodles today.”

As he spoke, he could feel a sense of anticipation bubbling in his heart and nerves. This was the moment he had been waiting for— the real test of his efforts.

The free food wasn't just to spread word of mouth in the common public. He had deliberately sent the kids to areas where a lot of people worked together such as the places with big forges, the city lord offices and other similar areas. If he was right, then if even a few of his customers from yesterday had done what they promised, he would be quite busy as the day went by.

He glanced at the sun climbing higher in the sky, marking the approach of midday.

Please, don’t let me down.

***

Liu Wen stretched his arms above his head, feeling the tension release from his shoulders as lunchtime finally arrived. He bent further and heard his spine crack— ah, the relief! Soon, it turned into embarrassment when his stomach rumbled, a clear sign that it was time to find something to eat.

He made his way out of the office where he worked, joining the steady stream of people leaving their own workspaces in search of a meal.

Everyone who worked in the city lord's office had specific things they liked during lunch. Some would bring their own lunch, but most would go out to eat in nearby restaurants and stalls. There were also those who were loyal to specific places and would eat similar things everyday.

He wasn't one of them, liking to savour different kinds of food.

As Liu Wen moved down the street, he found himself walking beside a group of fellow workers, deep in discussion about lunch plans. Zhang Wei, Lin Feng and Yuang Bo — a close friend trio that would always hang out for lunch were talking very loudly.

“Should we try something different today?” Zhang Wei suggested, his eyes twinkling with the thought of lunch itself. “I heard there’s a new place by the river that serves amazing dumplings.”

Lin Feng, who walked in the middle, shook his head. “I’m in the mood for something simple,” he said, his tone decisive. “How about the chicken skewers from the stall on the corner? Can’t go wrong with those.”

“Or maybe some hot buns? I heard they have a new filling today!” Yuang Bo’s excitement was palpable, and he rubbed his hands together, imagining the taste.

The three continued their animated debate, tossing around different ideas until Liu Wen felt that they noticed him walking quietly beside them. “Hey, Liu Wen!” Yuan Bo called out, grinning. “Where do you want to go for lunch?”

Liu Wen paused, suddenly remembering what the noodle stall owner had told him the day before about promoting his new stall. And truth be told, after tasting two bowls, he has been craving noodles ever since he started thinking about lunch. “Actually,” he began, trying to keep his voice casual, “there’s a new stall I heard about that’s selling some kind of eastern tribe delicacy. They call it noodles. Supposedly, it’s really good.”

At this, Zhang Wei’s eyes widened with interest. “Noodles, you say? An eastern tribe delicacy?” he repeated, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I’ve never had anything like that before. Could be worth a try.”

“Yeah, why not? I’m up for something different today. Lead the way, Liu Wen.”

Yuan Bo was practically bouncing on his feet. “An adventure for the taste buds! Let’s do it!”

Liu Wen smiled, pleased with their enthusiasm. As everyone was agreeable about trying out a new delicacy today, he found himself moving to the centre of the group.

He led them toward Market Street, where the noodle stall was set up. As they approached, he noticed something surprising: the area around the stall was already bustling with people, all eagerly slurping down noodles. The sight took him aback since he hadn't expected the stall to start doing such business in just a day.

Just yesterday, they were giving out free noodles in a bid to attract people.

“Looks like we’re not the only ones who heard about this place,” Zhang Wei said, grinning as he took in the crowd. “This must be the real deal.”

Liu Wen nodded, a smile spreading across his face. “Looks like these noodles are going to be a big hit,” he said aloud.

His eyes moved towards the owner of the stall who was handing out the bowls one by one with a smile on his face. “Everyone please get in a queue! It's first come, first serve. All of you are going to get noodles today, so just stand for a while and prepare your stomachs for the best dish you will ever eat.”

As Liu Wen and his group joined the line, the rich smell of freshly made noodles filled the air, and he could practically taste the delicacy all over again.

8. First employee

The line of customers moved at a steady pace as they were being given bowls of rice noodles one after another. Chen Ren felt the stall buzzing like a hive with the people who continued to come and go— making his grin grow wider.

Every time someone grabbed a bowl of steaming hot rice noodles, the sound of coins clinking into his hands was a sweet melody— the gratification of his hard work to make those dishes. What made it even sweeter was the sight of Tang Xiulan glancing at him from time to time, all the while something akin to admiration sparkled in her eyes.

Even Old Man Tian, who never treated his idea of running a stall seriously, stood frozen at a distance, mouth slightly opened while staring at the crowd gathered around his stall.

Although Chen Ren took pride in what he had done in such a short time, he didn’t let the attention he received swell his ego. With each bowl he served, he flashed a welcoming smile, heartfully thanking every customer and urging them to spread the word about his stall.

“Please tell your friends about the stall,” he said with a chuckle. “Come back tomorrow if you like it. I’ll have more ready!”

Some nodded at his words, while others, lost in the flavour of the noodles, barely acknowledged him. But none left disappointed, a fact he didn’t miss. He knew that regardless of their gratitude or the way they showed it at the end, he gained profits by selling the noodles and in return, the customers' hunger satiated— that was all that mattered.

As he reached for the next bowl, he recognised someone from yesterday— there, standing before him, was the scholar who had bought an extra bowl from him. The one who he had requested to spread the word. Behind the scholar was a small group of people, clearly drawn by his recommendation.

The scholar’s knowing smile didn’t go unnoticed by Chen Ren.

"Ah, it’s you again! Welcome back!" He said, his eyes lighting up as he gave a subtle nod towards the small group behind the scholar. “Looks like your words worked wonders!”

The scholar gave a polite smile.

“I just told the truth. Your noodles speak for themselves.”

“Ah! Thank you anyway. So, one bowl of rice noodles today?”

“Yes, here’s… five coppers.” He pulled five coppers from his pocket and handed them over.

As Chen Ren handed the scholar a bowl and collected the money, a strange warmth flooded in his chest. It wasn’t just any warmth— he felt his qi stirred, pulsing within his dantian in a way he hadn’t felt before. He blinked, the sensation catching him off guard, but quickly shook it off.

“Thank you.”

The scholar’s voice pulled him out of his thought process. Chen Ren nodded with equal enthusiasm and focused on the rest of the crowd. Soon after, he found himself back to distributing bowls one after another.

As the lunch crowd thinned, more satisfied customers left the stall with full bellies and content laughter. Each time Chen accepted their payment, the surges in his qi became more frequent, swirling stronger with every interaction.

The energy in his core felt… alive, almost reacting to the success of his little business.

It was an odd feeling altogether because he didn’t know why it was happening, and what triggered his qi to swirl inside him like that. But there wasn’t time to dwell on whatever was happening.

By the time the rush ended, Chen Ren had sold nearly two dozen bowls. Wiping his brow, he turned to Tang Xiulan, who was covered in sweat, brows raised but he didn't miss the satisfied smile on her face.

“Good job today,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. “We’ve got a bit of a break now before the evening crowd rolls in. Let’s take it easy until then.”

“Your trick worked better than I expected, young master.”

Chen Ren laughed. “If it didn’t, I would've had to try something else. But this is only the beginning. We’ve got to keep it up.”

As he spoke, movement caught the corner of his eye. A few kids stood nearby, watching the stall with wide eyes from an alley. They seemed hesitant to approach him but they were firmly fixated on him.

Those were the same kids whom he had asked for help before, the ones who agreed to spread the word in return for free food.

He waved them over with a grin. “Hey, you all up for helping out again today? Same deal as tomorrow.”

Their eager nods were all the answer he needed.

***

As the evening rolled in, the crowd grew larger than the day before.

“Please give me a bowl!”

“Is this the ‘noodle’ stall I heard about?”

“Some kids had been shouting about it all over town, talking about how it's an eastern delicacy.

“Let's try and see how it is!”

People gathered around Chen Ren's stall, eager to try his noodles— some were new faces, while others had returned for a second helping. Word of mouth was spreading like water ripples in a still pond, touching everyone in the path and the kids he had recruited earlier were doing a great job promoting his business. Their lively voices rang through the city, calling out praises for his noodles, bringing in even more customers.

He felt relieved as he watched the growing line. If things continued like this, he'd be able to chip away at his debts sooner than he thought. Of course, that was still a distant goal, but he was finally beginning on something and it had even started to work.

Chen Ren believed that one simply needed to focus on their present and the future would change accordingly to that. With that belief in mind, he kept at the stall.

By the moment they reached evening, they had sold an additional forty bowls, far exceeding his expectation. In fact, they ran out of noodles much earlier than planned, forcing them to close the stall and heavy-heartedly rejecting a few customers who had been waiting in line.

It couldn't be helped since he hadn't bought the rice in bulk, not wanting to make such a big investment when the stall was still new. Though, now he could finally consider it.

As Chen Ren began packing up, his eyes wandered around Old Man Tian’s stall across the way— except it wasn’t Old Man Tian manning it. A younger man who shared similar features with the skewer stall owner was tending to the customers. Probably his grandson.

Curious, Chen called out. “Hello,” he said. “Where’s the old man today?”

The young man glanced up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, he’s sick. Told me to cover for him.”

Chen Ren smiled, wondering if Old Man Tian had run away out of dejection from doubting him, but it wasn't a big deal. He would return tomorrow and at that time, he wondered what sort of expression the old man would wear on his face. For now, there was nothing more to be done besides this small talk.

He returned to his stall, making sure to feed the kids who had helped with the advertising. Their eager faces lit up as they slurped the leftover noodles, and he was glad to share this with them. They had been the most helpful, aside from the customers who were so pleased with the noodles that they spread the word on their own, without Chen Ren having to ask.

After cleaning up, he finally left the market alongside Tang Xiulan.

The sky was already darkening, and the air had cooled considerably. Other than a slightly sore throat from yelling all day, Chen Ren couldn't feel any sort of tiredness. His body still felt as energised as new and he even had the energy to take a lap or two around the city.

Undoubtedly, this was all due to him being a cultivator and by this point, he was glad that he had been transmigrated in the body of one. It was the only good point about being Chen Ren after all.

If he had been a normal person, he would have been like Tang Xiulan who looked tired and walked slowly, probably because of her aching feet after standing in one position all day. He would have loved to lower her workload, but that would only happen if the stall got more customers.

“We’re gonna need way more rice to soak now,” Chen Ren said, breaking the silence and glancing over at her. “The demand’s only going up.”

Xiulan nodded, a thoughtful look on her face. She waited for a few beats before she replied.

“I could talk to the young miss about it. See if we can get more supplies.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, a bit surprised. “You’ve been following my orders all this time but never asked to help out proactively. Don't tell me you fell in love with me?”

A faint blush crept onto her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. Xiulan hesitated for a moment, her head dipping slightly as she spoke.

"It's not that, young master. I wasn’t sure of your plans at first," she admitted softly. "I thought it was all just an act— a ruse. But when I saw you making noodles day after day, using every trick to market and sell them… I realised you’re serious about building a business. I want to help, if you’ll let me."

Chen Ren looked at her silently for a moment, then shifted his gaze toward the horizon, where the sun was setting in colours of red and orange. Then, in a calm voice, he asked. "Is it because you genuinely want to help, or is it to win my trust so you can report back to the Tang Clan head?"

Tang Xiulan flinched, her eyes widening in surprise.

Chen Ren’s expression remained unreadable, but inside, he debated whether he should have asked her that question or not.

No, it's better to reveal to her that I know it. There's no point hiding it.

He already knew Tang Xiulan acted as an informant for Tang Jihao since she had started following him around.

It wasn’t hard to figure out— he was living under someone else’s roof, surrounded by servants that didn't work for him. Of course, everything he did would reach the ears of the Tang Clan’s head. And Xiulan, being the closest to him, was the obvious informant.

Honestly, he didn't like it, but Tang Xiulan was extremely helpful and he would simply struggle more if he didn't ask for any help and tried to do everything himself. Either way, spying on him wasn't a hard thing and until now, Tang Clan had done nothing more to make them his enemies.

Instead, they had been helpful by giving him a place to stay. But if he wanted to bring Tang Xiulan closer to him, he needed to know her intentions better.

Chen Ren waited patiently, watching her as she grappled with his accusation.

After a long pause, she finally spoke, her voice shaky as she replied. "I won’t lie. I do report to the master. But… I genuinely wish to work for you. Since I am a maid working for the Tang Clan, it's inevitable that I can't hide anything from him, but I do enjoy making noodles and helping with the stall. If you let me, I want to be a part of its success, young master!"

Chen Ren nodded slowly, satisfied with her answer. At least she was being honest. If she didn’t report to Tang Jihao, they’d just replace her with someone else, someone less trustworthy. He didn’t want that.

"That’s good enough," he said at last. "From now on, you’re my employee."

Xiulan blinked, clearly taken aback. "Employee?"

Chen Ren chuckled. "It means you’ll be working for me— in my stall, and whatever other businesses I end up running. In return, I’ll pay you. You can report whatever you want to the clan head as long as I’m living here, but from now on, you work for me."

"But I’m already getting paid by the clan," she said, still perplexed.

"This and that are different," Chen Ren replied, waving a hand dismissively. "I can’t pay you much since I’m still in debt, but I’ll give you five silver wen a month. I’ll raise it once I’ve cleared what I owe. Deal?"

Xiulan stared at him for a moment, clearly not expecting him to offer payment. Her expression softened, and she nodded slowly. "Yes. That’s… acceptable."

Chen Ren gave her a satisfied nod. "Good. Now, go get more rice. I’ll be sitting in the courtyard for a while."

Without another word, Tang Xiulan bowed her head slightly and headed off, leaving Chen Ren standing alone as the last light of the day faded into dark.

***

Chen Ren sat down on the stone bench in the courtyard, stretching his muscles as he looked up at the night sky.

He took a few breaths, regulating his breathing and then loosening his hands; they had been working tirelessly all day. Although he was fine physically, he was still mentally drained. He let his legs fall to the sides and relaxed them forward.

“I feel like I'm progressing everyday with my goal of making money.”

Today had been tougher than expected, but the sales had gone well, and he’d even managed to promote Xiulan as his “official employee”. If he kept it going this way, he might be able to run the stall from day to night and even establish more branches.

Cloud Mist City was big and Market Street wasn't the only place with street stalls. A small grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he thought about that.

Still, now that the day was over, he had something else weighing on his mind. Something he had pushed aside since arriving in this strange new world. He had been preoccupied with setting up the noodle stall, adjusting to his new life, and figuring out how things worked around here. But each night, he found himself poring over the cultivation manuals he’d stumbled upon while searching Chen Ren's belongings, trying to make sense of the realms and the challenges that came with them.

Fighting had never been his thing— he wasn’t the type who sought out conflict. But in this world, strength wasn’t just a luxury; it was a necessity. Sure, he was confident in his ability to amass wealth, but cultivation strength? That was an entirely different game. His talent for cultivation was abysmal, yet he knew he needed to give it a shot, at least.

Especially with the strange qi surges he’d been feeling throughout the day. It wasn’t painful, but it was certainly odd. He wasn’t even supposed to be able to sense qi at this level.

The nine realms of cultivation, as the manuals explained, were; Body Forging, Qi Refinement, Foundation Establishment, Meridian Expansion, Core Formation, Domain Manifestation, Nascent Soul, Deity Transformation and Transcendence.

Only at the second realm, Qi Refinement, were cultivators typically able to sense qi. For most cultivators at his level—Body Forging— it wasn’t possible to sense qi until they reached the 9th star, which was known as the Qi Perception stage.

Until then, the focus was on strengthening the body, sharpening the mind, and chanting mantras to align with the cultivation path. But here he was, at the third star of Body Forging, already able to sense qi like it was second nature.

It made him wonder if his body had somehow gained a better talent through transmigration. He wasn’t sure how that worked, but it was a theory that seemed increasingly likely.

He closed his eyes, focusing inward, trying to peer into his own body to understand what was happening with the qi surges. But before he could delve too deeply, a sharp voice rang out, cutting through the quiet of the night.

"Imposter! I have come to judge you!"

Chen Ren’s entire body tensed, his deep focus disturbed and he heard the thrum of his raging heartbeat in his ears.

His eyes darted around the courtyard, scanning for the source of the unfamiliar voice, but there was no one in sight. Yet he could hear the sound of footsteps on the floor.

His gaze dropped to the ground, wondering if one of the debtors had hired a cultivator with a technique to turn invisible to deal with him before he noticed someone on the floor.

His eyes widened in shock.

"Aren’t you—"

9. Yalan

Chen Ren paused, his eyes narrowing, as he wondered if what he was seeing and hearing was a reality or just something his mind was making up. He had memories of witnessing strange things that he would have regarded as breaking every law of physics and biology in his past life, but he never minded them, as they should be considered normal in this world.

Now that it happened before him, his brain needed a good minute to register it. His eyes stared at the feline perched elegantly on the courtyard ground before finally speaking.

“Aren’t you the cat that Xiulan feeds occasionally?”

The cat turned its head slowly, regarding him with piercing, intelligent eyes. Its fur was a pristine white, thick and luxurious, flowing down like a waterfall down its broad frame. It was large for a cat, easily the size of a small dog.

What were these cats called? Right, Maine Coon.

Chen Ren remembered them as a majestic breed in every way possible.

The cat's ears were tufted, the tips flicked ever so slightly, and its bushy tail stood high in the air, fluffy and imposing the surrounding area as if it regarded it all its own. The fur there seemed even more voluminous, curling in thick waves that almost appeared alive.

The creature blinked at him, again. Its slitted eyes narrowed as the tail whipped sharply, an unmistakable tension taking place between them.

Chen Ren couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over it under the moonlit sky, but it wasn’t the colour, imposing size, immaculate coat or piercing eyes that caught his attention the most— it was the flames.

They danced and curled around its tail, licking the air in a slow, deliberate burn. They were subtle, more like embers of a dying fire, yet they crackled with life. Its eyes, a molten ember glowed with an eerie light, not just bright, but almost… sentient.

They locked onto him with a gaze that felt far too human— Chen Ren didn’t know how or why, just that it spooked a part of him. Because despite the elegance in its posture, there was an air of menace. The tension in its raised tail wasn’t just for a show— this feline wasn’t here for food or a casual encounter if it wasn’t obvious by now.

His breathing slowed as he realised that in his memories, he had seen powerful cultivators unleash elemental techniques, but this… this was different.

The cat's mouth parted, and a voice, smooth like honey, but sharp as a sword cut through the thickened air.

Unsurprisingly, as he guessed, it was a female cat.

"I’ve been watching you ever since you took over Chen Ren’s body. And I’m here for answers."

Chen Ren’s eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat.

The first surprise was his realising that she knew he had taken over Chen Ren's body. But before he could process it, another shock hit him as he noticed that the constant presence he had felt trailing him wasn't one of the debtor's men, but the cat. Everything suddenly made sense as his mind raced.

"I am Yalan," she continued, her flames flaring briefly as she spoke her name. "Now tell me, who are you?"

He blinked, disbelief flooding him. How did she know? His first thought was to chalk it up to his laziness compared to the original Chen Ren, but something told him that wasn’t it. His gaze dropped to the fire trailing along her tail once more. No, it had to be something else— something about her, some skill she possessed that allowed her to see through his facade.

And now, that same skill had placed him under her scrutiny.

Chen Ren hesitated, weighing his options. Should I lie, or confess the bizarre truth? One glance at the flames still licking at the cat's tail told him all he needed to know. He swallowed and spoke, his voice giving away the fact that he was nervous— even though he was just facing a damn cat.

"I... I don’t know how I got here. I remember falling asleep, and the next thing I knew, I was Chen Ren. I have his memories, but I know they aren’t mine. It’s like remembering everything about someone else's life but having no real connection to it. I didn’t try to take over his body... it just happened. I didn't wish for it nor do I understand how or why it happened. It was bizarre even for me."

He watched the cat carefully, his pulse racing. Would she accept that answer? What if she didn't? His gaze stared beyond her, but there was no else in the courtyard. Even if he shouted for help, it would take a swipe of her tail for the embers to burn him down.

He had purposely avoided any places where he would be alone in case he got confronted by some debt collectors, but it never crossed his mind that there would be other forms of threats.

As the seconds stretched out, his heartbeat thrummed in his chest and the flames around the cat's tail dimmed, imitating the last bits of dying fire.

"So," she spoke finally, her eyes glowing faintly. "Were you a powerful cultivator whose soul mistakenly took over Chen Ren's body in the process of ascension? I heard of such a case a century ago."

Chen Ren shook his head immediately, choosing to be truthful.

"No, I was just a mortal in my world. There's no concept of cultivation where I come from— except in books or games. Although it's just a hypothesis, I believe it's because our atmosphere doesn't have qi."

Hearing that, Yalan paced around the floor for a few seconds. Her tail moved to the rhythm of her paws, making him want to reach out and pat her fur, but the flames stopped him from moving.

Finally, she turned around and stared at Chen Ren.

"A qi-less world… Interesting. Probably one of the lower worlds that no one has heard about." She murmured before her gaze sharpened, focusing on him with a newfound curiosity. "Then tell me— what have you been doing with those things you call noodles?"

His eyes lit up at the mention. "Oh, those! I’m building a business," he said, a touch of excitement creeping into his voice. "I’m trying to make enough to pay back the debts Chen Ren owed, so I can be debt-free as soon as possible. I didn't take them, but you know I can't just escape them no matter how unfair it is. After that, I plan to focus on earning more money— hopefully, a lot more."

Yalan's flames flickered again, but this time, it felt less like a threat and more like a signal of amusement. It dimmed once again— quicker than it had before.

"Money? Why?” she asked, stretching the ‘why’ a bit longer, while her head tilted to the side. “You were a mortal, but now you're a cultivator. Why not focus on cultivation, rise through the realms, and claim whatever you desire? Artefacts, women, riches— it would all be within your reach."

Chen Ren chuckled softly.

"That sounds tempting— ideal, even, but I don’t have much of a choice right now. Cultivation is interesting, but making money is... necessary. At my level, I can only hunt low-level beasts, and the debt hanging over Chen Ren’s head isn’t small. It would take me a while to pay it off that way— and be far more dangerous. You see, the knife is dangerously close to my neck, and I know it could strike at any moment. From what I've learned and already know about this world, that's the conclusion I've come to."

He hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "Besides, I've realised Chen Ren's talent isn't exactly... remarkable."

Yalan's fiery gaze softened as she gave a slight what-looked-like nod.

"I can understand that. Chen Ren was never blessed by the heavens. I almost pitied him in his childhood. But instead of challenging the heavens, he allowed them to crush him. The man grew bitter, more with each passing year."

Her tail lashed sharply once before she shook her head. "Alright, I won't be exterminating you. At least, not until you reveal yourself to be a demon who's been lying this whole time. But I doubt it."

Her eyes sparkled briefly, the flames around her tail snuffing out completely. Chen Ren let out a quiet sigh of relief, though he still watched her warily, curiosity bubbling beneath his calm exterior. Her words confirmed that she didn’t consider him lying, or maybe she was simply choosing to let him be for now in order to keep him from panicking.

There was no way to know and hence, he focused on something else— Finding out how she and Chen Ren had been related. There was no recent memory of him talking to a cat that could speak the mortal language. If there had been one, it would have certainly stood out. But, as he looked deeper and deeper, something eventually caught his attention.

A vague memory of a cat lingered in Chen Ren’s childhood. Could it be the one in front of him? But other than that, it seemed like the man didn’t like cats at all— something that, in his opinion, should have been considered a crime.

He glanced back at the cat. "So, in return, can I ask you a few questions? I think it’s only fair."

Yalan tilted her head slightly, her expression inscrutable. She licked at her paw once. "Sure, go on," she replied. "I’ll allow it."

Chen Ren leaned forward, his curiosity driving him to ask the question that had been swirling in his mind the whole time. Despite giving himself time during their conversation to process everything, he couldn’t ignore the fact that there were still things he didn’t understand.

"Who... who are you exactly? And what's your relationship with Chen Ren?"

The cat straightened, her tail following the actions, and her eyes took on a deeper, more thoughtful glow. "My name is Yalan," she began, her voice layered with boredom.

“Okay. But I already know that. I want to know more than your name.”

"I am bound by a pact made with Chen Ren’s ancestors. For hundreds of years, I have been tasked with watching over their descendants, acting as a protector of sorts. This pact has seventy years left on it and by all means, I have expected Chen Ren to be the last one to have my otherwise costly services for free."

Chen Ren listened intently, the pieces slowly falling into place as she continued.

"I’ve been with Chen Ren since he was a child, looking over him from the shadows. But, as you already know, I wasn’t exactly successful in protecting him." Her tail twitched, betraying a hint of frustration. "The boy was too stubborn, too full of pride. He ignored every bit of advice I offered him in his childhood and never liked me— wouldn’t even acknowledge my presence most of the time. He was simply wallowing in despair over his parents' death. So, I simply followed him... silently, waiting for the day he’d come find me himself and listen."

Her voice softened as she sighed, her little face scrunched up in frustration. "But he died a meaningless death. His own idiocy sealed his fate. By the time he was brought to the Tang Clan Manor, he was almost lifeless. That was when I noticed your soul beginning to merge with his body."

Chen Ren blinked, absorbing her words. So he had been right in his early conjectures. His soul had started to enter the body at the exact moment Chen Ren was on the verge of death. And she had been there, powerless to intervene.

It also revealed that the cat was able to see souls, probably the reason she knew he wasn't the original Chen Ren.

He did the mental maths. If the pact between Yalan and Chen Ren’s ancestors was truly that old, then the cat was far more powerful than he had initially imagined. And the original Chen Ren… He hadn't been a simple fool, but the worst kind of fool. Not only had he ignored a protector who could have helped him rise, but he’d squandered a chance to grow stronger under her guidance. Truly, an idiot.

It also explained something else. Now he understood how Chen Ren had made it to Cloud Mist City unscathed, even without guards. Yalan had been watching over him the entire time, silently keeping him alive.

He glanced at her again, curiosity gnawing at him. "So... does the pact extend to me too?"

As soon as the question left his lips, he was rewarded with silence. Just silence that stretched far longer than what he was comfortable with.

Yalan didn’t respond, her fiery eyes narrowing in contemplation.

Maybe I asked something that I shouldn’t have? She doesn't seem unreasonable, but you hardly know in this world, he held back a frown, but before he could retract the question, she shook her head.

"I have no idea.” The voice came out so low that if Chen Ren hadn’t been attentive, it would’ve run past his ears. "The pact should remain in effect as long as Chen Ren is alive. Since you carry remnants of his soul, he isn’t technically dead… She paused, her tail flicking absently. "It’s a very blurry line."

Chen Ren nodded slowly, unsure of what to make of her response. On one hand, the pact stood—barely—which likely meant she wouldn’t or couldn't hurt him. But on the other hand, he doubted she harboured any real care toward him. After all, he was someone else. Their relationship was complicated, a tangled mess he had no desire to unravel right now. It hurt his mind just to think and unfortunately, he couldn’t simply give her tuna to win her over.

Hence, he decided to stick to the reason he had come here.

Turning his gaze to the cat, he asked, "Do you mind if I cultivate for a bit?"

Yalan flicked her tail dismissively as if shrugging off the question, hopping onto the bench beside him. "Go on," she said casually, as though his request was of no real importance.

“Alright, then.”

Chen Ren tried to ignore her presence and focused inward. His strange meeting with the cat bothered him, especially because she had been keeping a close watch on him. Having a spirit beast that could potentially kill you in one blow next to you while you try to cultivate wasn't exactly a great way to concentrate.

It took him half an hour before he dispelled some of his nervousness and focused on the faint surges of energy in his dantian.

The feeling was refreshing like a tender warmth filling him from the inside. He tried to probe the energy, to manipulate it, but his control was clumsy. Frustratingly so.

He shifted tactics, attempting to absorb the qi in the air around him. He could sense it faintly, like a whisper just out of reach, but no matter what he did, the energy refused to respond. Even when he chanted [Thunderstorm Sutra]— the Chen family’s cultivation technique, it was like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands— nothing worked.

As he continued to struggle, the silence was finally broken by Yalan’s voice. "What exactly are you doing?"

Chen Ren sighed, opening his eyes and glancing at her. "Cultivation," he said flatly.

Yalan’s tail swished lazily. "You’re in the body-forging realm," she remarked, her tone dismissive. "Cultivating like this won't get you far. At your stage, you can’t sense qi properly, nor can you circulate it through your meridians. You need to focus on training your body, slowly pushing it to the peak of body forging before you even begin to sense qi—"

Chen Ren, mid-breath, interrupted her, his voice calm but firm.

"I can already feel qi."

Yalan froze. Her eyes narrowed, and the lazy swish of her tail stopped mid-air. "What did you just say?" she asked, her voice low, sharp with sudden intensity.

Chen Ren blinked, surprised at her reaction. "I can feel qi," he repeated, uncertain why it seemed to shock her so much. He knew it was unusual, but by her reaction, he might have massively underestimated such an ability in this realm.

The cat’s gaze bore into him, her eyes narrowing further as though she were reassessing everything about him.

10. Dao of... Money?

Chen Ren frowned as he struggled to explain the strange phenomenon that had been happening to him in the last few days. It took a while for him to get everything out as he thought back to how he had been feeling different since he had first started his stall.

“I didn’t notice it at first, but I’ve been feeling something in my dantian these days. It’s faint, like a soft pulse, but it’s there. I can sense qi in the air too, though it’s barely noticeable.”

Yalan’s eyes narrowed, her eyes sparkling lightly. She licked her mouth— was she amused?

"You sure you’re not just filling your head with air?" she asked, a smirk playing on her feline lips.

It was already odd that a cat could speak even better than some humans, but the fact that he could understand her emotions felt like an out-of-the-world experience. Then again, everything here was out of the ordinary.

Chen Ren shook his head firmly and got back to the topic. "No, it’s real. It’s faint, but I can feel it."

The cat studied him for a moment before giving a small flick of her tail. "Close your eyes," she commanded.

Chen Ren hesitated. "Why?"

She hissed at that question, clearly unsatisfied by Chen Ren’s response.

"You don’t need to worry. If I had any intention of harming you, you wouldn’t even take a single step before it was over."

A chill ran down his spine at her words, and with a reluctant nod, he closed his eyes. Silence stretched between them before the cat’s voice broke through again.

"Do you feel anything now?"

Chen Ren focused, but behind his closed eyelids, there was only a vast emptiness. He could hear the faint rustle of the wind, smell the damp earth beneath him, and feel the breeze brush past him, but it was as if he didn’t exist like a ghost in the night. All his concentration was for nothing. No trace of what she wanted him to find— no swirl of qi, not even a slight ripple in the air.

"No," he replied, trying not to sound frustrated.

"How about now?"

Yalan's voice seemed to hum with a strange energy.

Suddenly, he felt a shift.

A wave of qi had gathered and bunched up around him. His senses sharpened, picking up the energy, however weak. "Yes," he breathed. "I can feel it now. It’s like... something pressing in around me. But not physically. It's mystical in nature."

“Okay, open your eyes.”

When he opened his eyes, he found the cat watching him with an intensity that erased her usual demeanour. Her tail stood straight, completely still, as if she were a guard on high alert.

"It seems like you really can sense it," she said, very slowly.

Chen Ren exhaled, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I told you,” he said, before taking a pause, rethinking the words she told him a while ago. "So... if most people can’t do this, does that mean I’m actually special?"

The thought hung in the air, the idea of having some hidden talent gnawing at him. He might not have gotten a system like if this were a video game, but if he could gain some special talent with sensing qi, he might just be able to progress faster than what he had initially assumed.

Yalan’s eyes gleamed for a moment before she meowed softly— it sounded more like a scoff than a noise coming from a cat.

"Special? Don’t get ahead of yourself," she said. But there was a flicker of something else in her gaze— a quiet acknowledgement that maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than she had first believed. "Well, partly, maybe, but I’ve seen geniuses who could sense qi from childhood. I’m not sure if you’re one of them, but I believe it more that being from another plane has made you more sensitive to qi." She moved towards the left gracefully from where she was, pacing in thought before turning to him. "There’s another thing, though."

Chen Ren’s brows furrowed. "What?"

Yalan’s tail flicked as she explained, "Cultivators often feel bursts of qi or sense it swirling when they practise their dao. It also happens when they experience a breakthrough. After all, a dao is the path a cultivator walks on, and as they progress, they gain insights— small or large— depending on their mastery of it."

Chen Ren thought for a moment, his face twisted in confusion. "Even so, it doesn’t add up. I wasn’t practising any martial arts or swinging a sword when it happened. I was distributing rice noodles or running my stall. Why would my qi flare up then?"

The cat gave him a sidelong glance.

"Dao of noodles?” she said in the most serious tone possible.

Chen Ren chuckled lightly. "I doubt that’s it,” he said. "Whatever it is, I just hope I don’t end up with a dao that I have no interest in."

Yalan shook her head, her tone returning to seriousness.

“That won't happen. A dao is a path you walk upon yourself. No one else can choose it for you. After all, it's a long journey and it's yours, not anyone else’s. You should meditate and reflect on your dao. Think about the path you're meant to follow.”

"But I don’t even know what dao I have.”

The cat’s gaze softened slightly, almost as if teaching a child.

"Then consider which dao you want. The Chen Ren before you walked the martial dao, but clearly, that path was lost. You are not him. You need to search for what you desire—what you seek—deep within yourself."

Chen Ren nodded, settling into a cross-legged position as he closed his eyes, focusing inward. The cat’s words echoed in his mind, urging him to think about his dao— the path he wanted to follow. His thoughts drifted naturally toward the martial dao.

In a world of cultivators, it was the logical choice, wasn’t it? The quickest route to power in a dog-eat-dog world. Yet, the more he considered it, the more he realised how ill-fitting that path was for him.

He adapted well, so given time, he might be able to come around the martial dao, but would winning in fights make him happy? Even if he ignored the fact that he would be risking his life every day, his natural talent of 21 spirit roots was too low for any sect to look at him nicely.

Moreover, he had already strayed far from the martial path, choosing a very different route: business. Earning money, managing his noodle stall, paying off debts— he was more of a merchant than a warrior. If any dao suited him, it had to be that.

As he pondered, he felt a sudden stir in his dantian.

The qi within him began to swirl more intensely as if resonating with his thoughts. He kept at it, focusing on the vision of his products flourishing, the coins piling up, and his success growing as he built a name for himself.

He imagined expanding his business, using the wealth to improve himself, his connections, and his life. He imagined creating more products from Earth, slowly taking over the mortal market before looking at the sects. He imagined creating his own company.

The more his thoughts moved in that direction, the more his qi swirled inside of him.

Then, a chill ran down his spine. His eyes snapped open.

He was no longer in the courtyard. Instead, he floated in a vast, endless space filled with stars, each one twinkling like a distant diamond. He hovered, weightless, in this unfamiliar realm. The silence was profound, and for a moment, he was entranced by the beauty of it all.

"What... is this place?" Chen Ren whispered, his voice swallowed by the void.

As if in response to his question, the stars around him began to move— slowly at first, then faster, shifting in strange patterns.

The energy within him swirled violently, and as he looked up, the stars coalesced into a shape— a massive, serpentine figure. His breath caught in his throat.

A dragon!

Its enormous form twisted through the starry expanse, vibrating with power. Its eyes locked onto him, and Chen Ren felt an overwhelming wave of fear wash over him. This wasn’t just an illusion— this was something else… something greater.

Fear, cold and raw, clawed at his insides. This wasn't a dream; it was a reality more terrifying than anything he'd ever known. The dragon let out a deafening roar, a sound that shook the very fabric of existence. Its celestial form lunged towards him, the stars scattering like startled fireflies.

Chen Ren’s body froze in terror. His blood ran cold. He was trapped, a helpless speck in the dragon's cosmic maw. Panic surged through him, but his body refused to move. As the dragon's shadow loomed over him, he squeezed his eyes shut, a silent scream trapped behind his lips.

And then... he woke up.

Gasping for breath, his eyes flew open, and he found himself back in the courtyard, the faint scent of grass and the cool night air grounding him. His heart pounded in his chest as if he had just escaped death.

What just happened?

Chen Ren blinked, staring up at the night sky.

His breathing was heavy, and sweat beaded on his forehead as he sat up from the bench, holding his head to steady himself. His mind raced, trying to comprehend what had just happened. That dragon, the stars, the overwhelming fear— it all felt so real. He took deep breaths, one after another before the cat’s voice made him turn towards her.

"So," Yalan said casually, perched on the bench. "It seems you actually managed to connect to your dao."

Chen Ren's eyes flickered towards her, still dazed. "What?"

The cat hopped down gracefully and padded closer, her amber eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

"Just an hour ago, when you were meditating, you let out a massive surge of qi. You made a breakthrough," she explained, her tone matter-of-fact. "You're now a fourth-star body forging cultivator."

Chen Ren blinked, processing the information slowly. "A breakthrough? Just like that?" He still couldn't wrap his head around it. That terrifying vision, that dragon... had all of that somehow pushed him to a new level?

The cat nodded, her tail swaying lazily behind her. "Yes. It's rare for a cultivator to skip an entire stage in the body-forging realm, but I guess your connection to your dao must've been strong enough. You finally aligned with it."

For a moment, Chen Ren could only sit there, taking it all in. His heart still raced, but now he noticed something else— a warm energy coursing through his body. It was subtle at first, but then it hit him all at once: his body felt brimming with vitality like he could take on the world. His muscles twitched and flexed with energy, his mind was sharp, and a rush of positivity surged through him, making everything feel… possible.

"So this... this is what it's like to break through." He exhaled, marvelling at the sensation. "No wonder cultivators meditate for hundreds of years. Just to feel this again and again..."

Before he could lose himself in the feeling, the cat interrupted with a curious tilt of her head. "What dao did you connect to, anyway?"

Chen Ren didn’t answer immediately, still replaying the images in his mind: the swirling stars, the dragon, and that strange vastness of space. Then it clicked, and the answer was clear as day. His lips twitched into a small smile as he spoke, almost amused by the absurdity of it all.

"The dao of money."

Yalan stared at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Dao of… money?"

***

The morning sun stretched its golden arms across the horizon over Cloud Mist City as Chen Ren and Tang Xiulan set up the noodle stall.

The familiar clatter of pots and wooden stools echoed through the quiet street, and the air was already carrying the faint scent of noodles as Chen Ren arranged his ingredients with practised hands. His energy felt vibrant today, surging through him in waves, a direct result of the breakthrough from last night. He could hardly contain the bounce in his steps.

Tang Xiulan paused, her sharp eyes catching his unusually light movements. "Young Master, you seem to be in a happy mood today," she remarked, tying her apron as she helped set up the stall.

Chen Ren chuckled, shaking his head as he adjusted the display. "It's because I had some cultivation gains yesterday," he said, his voice filled with pride. "And also, our stall is picking up steam. I have a feeling with the amount of noodles we have today, we’ll be working nonstop until night."

Xiulan nodded, a glint of approval in her gaze. "It’ll be good then. More customers, more coins."

Chen Ren nodded and continued setting up the stall and just then, a sudden movement caught his eye.

The white cat— Yalan, sleek and graceful as ever, leapt onto the counter, landing lightly next to him. Her eyes flicked over the setup before she curled up, sitting calmly beside him as if claiming her territory.

Chen Ren leaned down, whispering, "What are you doing here?"

The cat didn’t bother looking at him. Instead, a voice echoed in his mind, startling him.

“I came to observe you.” Her tone was as calm and haughty as ever. “Although I don't think you're some demonic cultivator or a shapeshifter who needs to be eradicated, the pact still binds me to watch over you. And what better place than here?”

Chen Ren blinked, momentarily taken aback by the fact that she could speak directly into his mind. Cultivation shenanigans, he thought to himself. Then, he merely shrugged and said, "You're free to stay. Besides, having a cat around might attract customers who would want to pat you."

The cat shot him a withering glare, her ears twitching in irritation. “I'm a very accommodating and generous creature, but even I have my limits. Certain acts tempt me to burn down an entire city.”

Chen Ren felt his mouth widen in surprise, but he quickly gathered himself and raised an eyebrow, amused.

"What type of acts?"

“Like the act of patting me.” The cat's mental voice was sharp, like a dagger, her eyes narrowing as if daring him to test her words.

Chen Ren stifled a laugh. "Noted."

He gave her a sideways glance, grateful he hadn't given in to his instincts last night and tried to pat her as he would any other street cat.

Well, maybe in the future I might be able to, he thought, smiling.

11. Esoteric daos

When Chen Ren first found himself in the cultivation world, he’d entertained a few fantasies about what his path might look like. Would he become a sword-wielding prodigy, cleaving through sect rivals gracefully and skillfully? Or perhaps he’d find his calling in the intricate arts of arrays, mastering their complexities to shape the battlefield? And, like any man might in this strange, mystical world, he briefly considered the idea of amassing a harem— after all, that seemed to be a common theme in stories about powerful cultivators.

But making noodles? He’d definitely never expected that to be where he ended up.

Yet, here he was, running a noodle stall that had, in just a week, become the talk of the marketplace.

Every day, a steady stream of customers came by, drawn by the novelty of an eastern delicacy that no one else in the region was offering. It wasn’t just the taste of the noodles that brought them in— Chen Ren’s marketing tactics had spread his name throughout the streets like wildfire. Free samples, word of mouth from his customers and the curious spectacle of his stall with the long queue had made it impossible for anyone to miss it.

The man selling noodles, a dish unfamiliar to most, stood out even among the countless food vendors.

And then there were the kids.

Chen Ren had never been one to encourage child labour, but in this case, he saw it differently.

The group of street children who helped him were hungry, and for them, assisting with his stall wasn’t about earning coins— it was about earning a meal.

According to them, there had been days when they hadn’t eaten at all. Though Chen Ren hadn’t lived a life on the streets, he understood enough to sympathise with them. The thought of them going hungry left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he saw this as a way to offer them something better, however small it might be.

Over the days, he’d gotten to know the kids better. The leader of the group was a girl named Mei Lin, small but fierce, with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue. She was the one who had organised the others, making sure they didn’t cause too much trouble around the stall.

The boys followed her lead: Chun, the quiet one who always worked the hardest; Bo, who often tried to sneak extra noodles when he thought no one was looking; and Jian, the smallest but the one with the loudest laugh.

Thanks to his noodle business, the kids seemed to be in far better shape now. Their cheeks looked a little less hollow, and their energy had doubled, quite the difference from when he’d first met them.

From selling sixty bowls of noodles a day, Chen Ren’s business had doubled. He now dished out a hundred and twenty bowls, sometimes barely keeping up with the demand.

The small pot he used to cook noodles wasn’t enough anymore, and every morning, he had to haul back twenty pounds of noodles just to meet the appetites of his growing customer base. It wasn’t just the number of bowls sold that had increased— his profit margins did too.

All the ingredients were cheap, and thanks to a little bit of ingenuity (and the connections he had through Tang Xiulan), Chen Ren had managed to cut costs even further. Vegetables, which should’ve eaten into his profits, were basically free compared to the other costs.

Tang Clan regularly bought high-quality vegetables to serve to guests, but often, the excess went unused and would have spoiled if no one ate it. He figured he was doing them a favour by taking the leftovers off their hands. With the vegetables thrown into the mix, the noodles appealed more and even when they cost more, there was a steady base of customers who were willing to pay for them.

Still, despite his booming business, the road to clearing his debts was long.

Feng Ming’s threat had not disappeared, and even if Chen Ren managed to sell a hundred twenty bowls every single day for the next two months and save every last copper coin, he still wouldn’t be able to pay off everything. But that wasn’t the point.

The fact that he’d gotten this far at all was something worth celebrating. It was a start— A damn good one at that!

His noodle stall was only going to get bigger and better, proving that his earthly knowledge could, in fact, give him an edge in this world. This world wasn't just about swords and qi, he thought to himself with a small smirk. Sometimes, noodles could prove to be effective, too.

There was something else, too. Despite being busy from dawn until dusk with the noodle stall, Chen Ren couldn’t help but notice that his cultivation had improved.

Just a week had passed since his breakthrough, but it felt like he had already made progress. It wasn’t much, but the flow of qi in his core was smoother, more natural. It was as if, somehow, the act of running his business was feeding into his cultivation.

“As I said before, progressing in one’s dao helps advance one’s cultivation,” the familiar voice of the cat echoed in his mind, a sly purr lacing her words. “Since you’re working on your stall, making money every day, you’re progressing your dao, and that’s why you’re seeing these changes in your cultivation.”

Chen Ren frowned, considering her words. He’d heard about martial daos before, but… no matter how much he thought about dao of money, it felt like something completely different than those. Far more powerful even. “So, you’re saying my cultivation’s improving because I’m selling noodles?”

“Yes, that's what I'm saying”, the cat confirmed, her tone nonchalant. “But I’ve never seen such a dao in my lifetime. It’s an esoteric dao, something I don’t quite understand.”

Chen Ren’s frown deepened at that. “Esoteric dao?”

“Yes,” the cat continued, her voice tinged with frustration as if she was explaining something common. “Esoteric daos are unconventional paths. They pop up every so often, but they’re rare. Few practitioners of these daos ever make a name for themselves because they don’t follow the usual paths— like swordsmanship or alchemy. The last one I heard about was a century ago. Some guy managed to merge to the dao of farming… I think he had a giant chicken that guarded his barn and annihilated a few sects.”

He blinked. “A giant chicken?”

“That’s right,” she purred, amusement bubbling in her voice. “He and the chicken wiped out entire sects that tried to mess with him. At least that's the rumour that travelled to my ears. So, while these esoteric daos aren’t common, they can be powerful in their own way.”

He briefly moved his eyes away from her and watched the stall. His eyes drifted over the crowd. Business was booming, and his plan to expand was coming together. But it wasn’t just the money that interested him anymore.

To his eyes, all these people seemed as if they were giant balls of qi, his to claim.

“So, it means the more money I make from my stall, the more I’ll progress in my cultivation?” He asked, his voice echoing in his mind, aimed at the cat who was in the process of stretching her body after half of a day just lying around.

The cat’s voice responded in his head, her tone unimpressed. “Not exactly. You’ll progress for a while, but it’ll get harder. You’ll hit a point where the stall alone won’t be enough.” She flicked her tail lazily. “Even in martial daos, you can’t just rely on the same moves forever. You have to learn new techniques, face new challenges, or do something meaningful to advance. It’s the same for you… whatever-you’re-calling-this-dao. Money dao? Business Dao? Noodle Dao?” She chuckled softly in his head. “Either way, just selling noodles won’t be enough in the long run.”

“So, you’re saying I’ll need more businesses than just this noodle stall to keep progressing?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Yalan purred, her voice amused. “It gets harder, not easier. Eventually, the stall won’t cut it, and you’ll have to find new ways to challenge yourself. Even the best cooks can't give the same dish to their master everyday. They will lose their heads if they do so.”

Chen Ren’s eyes flicked to Xiulan, who was handing out bowls of noodles to another satisfied customer. She was running things smoothly, which was good because it gave him time to think.

The cat's words made sense. He had already been considering expanding beyond the stall. While it was fun to grow his little operation from nothing into something more substantial, like a business empire— McDonald’s of the cultivation world— he knew it wouldn’t be enough.

He had no intention of making his entire life revolve around selling noodles, even if it was turning out to be a surprising success.

I was anyway thinking about making new things. Despite having magical kung fu, the common population severely lacks things that could make life easier, Chen Ren thought to himself. The idea of having multiple ventures appealed to him.

There were too many opportunities in this world to ignore. Plus, if his cultivation was tied to his business success, why not expand? He wasn’t going to limit himself.

As his thoughts shifted, another nagging memory came to the surface— the dragon. He hadn’t asked Yalan about it yet, not since the day the dragon first appeared.

It had vanished just as quickly as it had come, leaving him with questions that had been clawing at him for a week now. The dragon hadn’t reappeared, but he couldn’t get it out of his head.

I should probably ask about the dragon, he thought, but just as the question was about to form in his mind, movement at the front of the stall caught his attention.

The line was moving up, but instead of another customer, a man in a guard’s uniform stepped forward, disregarding the long line completely.

Chen Ren’s eyes looked over the man, taking in the details. He was broad-shouldered, standing a little taller than most, with a rough stubble covering his square jaw. His uniform was well-worn, the kind of attire that had seen its fair share of dirty work. His eyes were sharp, but there was something off in the way he looked down at Chen Ren— like he was sizing him up.

Chen Ren stepped forward, his voice light. “Do you need some noodles?”

The guard didn’t respond right away, his gaze lingering on Chen Ren for just a moment too long, as if they were locked in some kind of silent contest of will.

Chen Ren raised his eyebrows, wondering if this was about to turn into some strange show of strength, but before he could speak again, the guard’s voice rumbled low.

“I’ve gotten a tip that you don’t have the licence to open a stall here,” the guard said, looking around at the people whose attention slowly started to shift towards them.

Chen Ren opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the guard slammed his fist down on the edge of the stall. The wooden surface shook under the force of the blow, sending one of the bowls teetering dangerously. But before it could fall, Chen Ren’s reflexes kicked in, and he caught the bowl mid-fall, placing it safely back on the counter.

“I do have a permit,” Chen Ren said calmly, his eyes narrowing as he met the guard’s gaze.

The guard scoffed. “Where is it, then?”

Chen Ren reached into his robes, his fingers brushing against the familiar texture of parchment as he pulled out the permit.

The paper had a slight crinkle to it, a sign of its frequent use over the past few days. He had prepared for this exact scenario, knowing that in a city like this, a rising business was bound to attract some unwanted attention. With a calmness that he didn’t feel on the inside, he extended the permit to the guard.

The man snatched it with deliberate slowness, his eyes scanning the document as if trying to find something—anything—that could be used against the stall.

His lips twitched slightly as he read the details, and the crease in his brow deepened, betraying his frustration.

“It’s a new one,” the guard muttered, his voice carrying an edge that suggested he was searching for a reason to doubt.

Chen Ren didn’t flinch. His expression remained neutral, though a small smirk threatened to tug at the corner of his lips. “The stall is new too,” he replied coolly, his gaze unwavering.

The guard’s eyes flicked up from the permit, locking onto Chen Ren’s face. “I’ve heard you’re selling some kind of… eastern delicacy,” he said, his tone dripping with suspicion. “Is that true, or are you faking it?”

For the first time, Chen Ren’s brows lightly knitted together. Faking it? Yes, he was doing that, but the guard had no reason to care about that.

His voice was firm as he responded, “I got it from the east. You don’t see anyone else selling noodles like mine, do you?” He leaned in slightly, his gaze narrowing. “And even if it were fake, I didn’t hear any regulation about false advertising. Did I miss that section in the guidelines?”

The guard opened his mouth, clearly ready to argue the point, but he faltered once he saw Chen Ren’s sharp gaze. “There is…” he began, his words trailing off uncertainty.

Chen Ren seized the opportunity. “There isn't,” he said, his voice sharp but calm. “I read the guidelines thoroughly. I even asked the clerk who issued me the permit. There's nothing in there about false advertising. So if you want to accuse me of something, make sure you’re ready for the consequences. And remember—” his voice dropped slightly, “I’m not a mortal.”

The guard’s eyes widened ever so slightly, the shift in Chen Ren’s tone clearly unsettling him.

His gaze flicked downward, taking in Chen Ren’s robes. For the first time, he seemed to truly notice the fine quality of the fabric, the noticeable patterns woven into it. His expression changed, the initial aggression fading into something more cautious.

Without another word, the guard handed the permit back, his movements stiff. “I’ll be keeping an eye on the stalls from now on,” he muttered, the earlier bluster gone from his voice. “Don’t do anything shady.”

Chen Ren simply nodded, watching as the guard turned and walked away, his back a little too rigid, his steps a little too quick. The tension in the air seemed to lift slightly as the man disappeared into the crowd.

He let out a long, measured sigh, the weight of the interaction slipping off his shoulders.

“What was that about?” Xiulan’s voice broke through the moment, and Chen Ren turned to see her standing nearby, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“My first guess was a bribe,” Chen Ren said, shaking his head slightly. “But he didn’t ask for anything when we were talking. Never even hinted at it. I think it’s more than that.”

Xiulan’s frown deepened. “More than that? What do you mean?”

Chen Ren’s gaze flicked toward the spot where the guard had stood moments ago. “He didn’t take anything from any other stall. Not even a glance in their direction. He came straight to us. And then he left, just like that. He probably wanted to cause trouble for any little thing he could find, but got scared once he realised I'm a cultivator. He was aiming for us specifically.”

“That’s… bad news,” Xiulan said softly. She crossed her arms, a frown settling on her brow as she considered Chen Ren’s words. “Do you think someone is targeting us?”

“Potentially,” Chen Ren replied, his voice steady. He leaned against the stall, gazing out at the bustling crowd that had formed, the scent of his freshly made noodles wafting through the air. “After all, we did get big in such a short amount of time. People are bound to be jealous of a growing rival business. It’s human nature. Now we need to think about who might be out there trying to get us and prepare for whatever comes our way.”

Xiulan nodded, something akin to caution glinting in her eyes as she returned to her tasks, deftly arranging bowls and garnishing the noodles with fresh herbs.

But before Chen Ren could delve further into his thoughts, a familiar voice piped up from his mind. “This seems annoying, but I’ve seen it a lot before.”

He knotted his hands together and stared at the dissolving crowd, thinking of what Yalan had just said. “Where have you seen this?”

The cat’s voice was almost nonchalant— as always, yet there was an undercurrent of seriousness. “I was part of a sect once. You wouldn’t believe how much infighting there was whenever a talented individual rose to prominence. People who felt threatened by that talent would either try to pull them into their camp or eliminate them entirely. It was fairly straightforward.”

Chen Ren felt a chill run down his spine at her words. The life of a cultivator was often harsh, but hearing it from someone who had lived through it made it all the more real.

Yalan continued, “And if anyone tries to kill you, well… guards are mortals anyway.”

Chen Ren shook his head slightly, then stopped doing it, noticing how he might look to the outsiders. “I don’t want to kill anyone, especially not over a noodle shop conflict. There are better ways to resolve this.”

“Like what?” the cat pressed, her curiosity piqued.

He fell silent for a moment, considering his options. Then, after a pause filled with contemplation, he finally spoke. “I might have a few plans. But first, we need to find out who we’re standing against.”

12. Tainting reputation

Chen Ren’s thoughts flowed like the river before a storm, the calm before inevitable trouble. Like any plan of his, starting a noodle business would never be smooth. It wasn’t just the rice, the vegetables, or the mortar that demanded attention— oh no, where there was meat, the wild animals came.

Trouble, in any form, seemed drawn to him like moths to flame. After all, the path of a cultivator never allowed peace for long.

And now, even this humble noodle stall had become a stage for confrontation. His hand tightened around the spoon as he remembered how the guard had approached him, all swagger and false bravado.

The man’s eyes spoke of arrogance, the kind born from ignorance. His words were aimed at attacking him and finding any reason to crumble the name Chen Ren had been creating around the marketplace.

Whoever sent him had no idea of him. No idea of who they were trying to bully. No idea that Chen Ren was a cultivator. That was a minus point for whoever was behind, not doing enough research.

But that was what made things interesting, wasn’t it? Most wouldn't dare cross someone who could split stones with a finger, let alone simmer broth with a flicker of qi. The guard's ignorance had saved his skin— just barely.

However, Chen Ren doubted they’d just give up and not try something more to accomplish whatever goal they had in mind.

He sighed, stirring the broth with deliberate slowness as all these questions and confusions came to his mind one after another. "Where there’s meat, the beasts gather," he muttered under his breath.

Being a cultivator had saved his stall this time, but Cloud Mist City nestled so close to a guardian sect and was home to more cultivators than he could count. He knew better than to rely on his status alone to protect him. A cultivator here was like a drop of water in the ocean— easy to blend in, easy to get swallowed by something bigger.

Even so, a small grin tugged at his lips. Let them come. Rivals or not, he had been in tougher battles than mere noodle stalls could ever provoke. If his enemies thought he’d be easy prey, they would soon discover just how deep the water truly ran.

For the next two days, Chen Ren's mind moved like the shifting clouds, mapping out scenarios, and contemplating every possible angle.

He wasn't one for brute force, not when he could win with finesse. Violence, while always an option, wasn’t his first choice. His gaze flicked to the cat beside him, her amber eyes glowing as she looked at the streaming flow of consumers. She was his hidden trump card, a power he didn’t dare reveal to the world yet. Not while he was still weak and unable to protect himself against anyone of a higher realm.

His cultivation, though progressing, was still in the early stages of body forging. Any opponent above that realm would crush him like dry leaves underfoot. Thus, brawn had to take a back seat. His brain, however, was sharper than any blade.

So, he focused on his noodle stall for some time until he decided on what was best to be done next.

Fortunately, everything ran without a hitch.

He made more money each day, his hands growing more accustomed to the daily grind. The qi that once surged through his core was diminishing, just as the cat had warned him. But that didn’t stop him from keeping a vigilant eye on the horizon, half-expecting a debtor or some envious soul to appear, hungry for the wealth he was making. But no one came. Not yet.

On the third morning, an unease settled over him like a shroud. It wasn’t just paranoia; this was something real, something tangible. Old Man Tian’s hunched figure appeared near the stall, his weathered face grave with news.

“Young master Chen Ren," the old man grumbled, his voice a low rasp. His eyes narrowed towards the broth as he looked back up at Chen Ren who gave him his undivided attention, "I’ve heard it. For sure this time. They’re going to make their move today. They’re jealous your stall is minting money so fast."

Though the facts were loud, his voice was comparatively low, cautious enough not to let anyone else hear.

Chen Ren subtly nodded, stirring his broth with a forced calmness he didn’t feel on the inside. “I see,” he replied evenly, his mind already running through his contingency plans. “Well, I’ve prepared everything. It should be fine. You’re sure they won’t act before the afternoon?”

Old Man Tian nodded, squinting toward the marketplace. “Yes, not before. They're waiting for the crowds to build up first.”

Chen Ren smiled. "Good. That gives me enough time to finish the morning rush."

Old Man Tian nodded firmly. “I wish you all the best."

Chen Ren exhaled slowly, his mind sharpening as he watched the old man.

At first, he'd considered Old Man Tian as a possible culprit behind his troubles. They had a rivalry, after all. The old man had his stall nearby, and while their competition wasn’t exactly cutthroat, it was enough to raise suspicions. But Old Man Tian was no fool.

He'd been the one to help Chen Ren secure the elusive permit for his stall in the first place. If he had wanted him out of the way, he could have easily tipped off the guard about his status as a cultivator. Fortunately, Old Man Tian was wise enough not to take the fight against a cultivator.

Shaking off the thought, Chen Ren returned to the moment just as the old man spoke again.

"So, if all goes according to plan, you’ll lend me the kids, right?"

Chen Ren gave a slow nod. "Yes, for an hour. They’ll help advertise your stall, but you’ve got to feed them twice in return. Daily. No shortcuts."

He grinned, his yellowed teeth showing. "Yes, yes, I will. I'm fair."

With a satisfied nod, the old man turned to shuffle back toward his own stall, hurrying through the crowd knowing the morning rush was about to begin. As soon as he was out of earshot, Xiulan’s soft voice cut through the morning air. “You sure it’s okay to give away your marketing tricks like that?”

Chen Ren smirked, his gaze still fixed on the swirling broth before him. “It’ll spread no matter what. At least this way, the kids get more food. The only reason Old Man Tian’s even asking through me is because his breath scared them all away.”

Chen Ren snickered at his own words while Xiulan let out a small chuckle, her amusement clear as they moved toward the bustling stall, which started getting busier considering more people were coming.

The line of customers waiting for noodles stretched longer with each passing minute as he and Tang Xiulan got to work.

The clatter of bowls and the murmur of conversation filled the air, as Chen Ren worked in rhythm with the growing demand, dishing out one bowl after another in almost mechanical movements as his muscles grew accustomed to the motion.

Hours passed by and soon, the sun was halfway through setting. Afternoon was here and with it, the crowd doubled, adding in the workers who were here to grab lunch.

“Here you go,” Chen Ren handed a bowl of vegetable noodles to an older woman. She grabbed it with both her hands and then balanced it in one hand to pay seven copper wen.

Chen Ren retrieved the money with a small smile and focused on the next customer.

Everything was moving, just as planned, but he knew this peace wouldn’t last.

Yalan, who had been lounging lazily in the sun, suddenly opened one of her flared amber eyes. “I see some movement up ahead,” she told Chen Ren, her voice smooth as silk.

Chen Ren's gaze swept across the bustling crowd before locking onto two men moving purposefully through the throng. Unlike the leisurely pace of the other customers browsing stalls and sampling goods, these two stood out immediately. He squinted his eyes to take a good look at both of them— to clearly know what he was going to be dealing with.

The first man who stormed forward was a tall, skinny figure with broad shoulders. His dark hair fell in disarray around his forehead, and his brows were knitted together in a fierce scowl. His black eyes burned with indignation, radiating a palpable intensity that made those around him instinctively step back as he walked, pushing past them and clenching his fists.

In a pronounced difference, the second man trailed behind him, frail and gaunt, as if he had not gotten a proper meal in days. His skin was a sickly shade of pale, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead, betraying his distress.

Dark circles under his bloodshot eyes hinted at exhaustion, while his trembling hands grasped the edge of the tall man for support. Each unsteady step he took seemed to echo his nausea, and his thin lips were drawn tight, a silent plea for respite from the situation he found himself in.

"Here it comes," Chen Ren muttered under his breath, bracing himself.

The two men barged through the line, causing a stir among the waiting customers.

The angry one, face flushed with indignation, wasted no time before raising his voice. "Everyone, stop eating those noodles!" he shouted, pointing a trembling finger at Chen Ren’s stall. "They’ll make you sick! You might even get poisoned! This man is vile, feeding low-quality food to innocent people! Look at my brother— he ate here yesterday, and now he’s been puking his guts out all day. The herbalist says he won’t heal for a week!"

At his outburst, a murmur of uncertainty rippled through the crowd like someone blew a horn through the silence. Customers froze mid-bite, their chopsticks suspended in the air as they exchanged bewildered looks. Some stared down at their bowls, looking as if the once-tempting noodles now appeared less appetising under the scrutiny of accusation, while others cast wary glances toward Chen Ren, uncertainty flickering in their eyes.

A few patrons instinctively backed away from the stall, their movements hesitant and cautious, as if they were retreating from a looming threat.

Whispers flitted through the air, weaving a line of doubt among the onlookers. “Did you hear what he said?” one woman murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Sick from the noodles? Is it true?”

The atmosphere thickened with suspicion, as the aroma of the freshly cooked noodles, once enticing, was now tainted by the accusation.

Chen Ren could feel the daggers of doubt piercing through the air and trying to stab him.

He looked to his left, ignoring the whispers for a second. A child near the front of the line clutched his mother’s hand tightly, his wide eyes darting between the angry man and the noodles, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in mood.

Now, how can I let you ruin a nice meal? And my reputation?

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes and stepped forward.

"What nonsense are you spouting?" His words cut through the growing commotion, but the angry man wasn’t finished.

"Spouting lies, am I?" The man’s face twisted into an exaggerated mask of righteous fury. He jabbed a finger toward his pale, nauseous companion. "Look at my brother! He’s practically on his deathbed, and all because of your noodles!"

Chen Ren’s gaze flicked to the sickly-looking guy, then back to the accuser. "You decided to bring your brother who’s on his deathbed to sprout bullshit? Seems like you care about accusing me more than your brother. Tell me, what proof do you have that my noodles caused this?"

His voice was steady, but his qi simmered in his dantian, ready to rise at a moment’s notice.

The man seized the opportunity, launching into a dramatic tale. "My brother here is an apprentice scribe. We’re so poor we can only afford one meal a day, and yesterday, he spent it on your wretched noodles!" he spat the words one after another in extreme slowness to emphasise his point. "Now he’s so ill he can’t even stand properly. You can’t deflect responsibility this time. Return my money tenfold, and publicly apologise for poisoning him!"

A sharp anger flared in Chen Ren, but his expression remained straight. He let just a flicker of his qi surface, his eyes gleaming with a subtle, icy chill. It wasn’t much, but enough to send a ripple of unease through the man in front of him. The accuser faltered, taking a nervous step back as if an unseen force had brushed against him.

But before Chen Ren could press further, a voice rang out from the edge of the marketplace. "What’s going on here?"

A guard, tall with broad shoulders, made his way through the crowd. His face was rugged, framed by a jawline that could have been carved from stone, and his dark hair was cropped short, highlighting the sharp angles of his features. His eyes swept over the scene with an air of authority, hand resting casually on his hips. His armour bore the crest of the city watch, gleaming in the sunlight as he stepped closer, his presence instantly silencing the gathering commotion.

Chen Ren’s eyes flicked to the guard, and his thoughts shifted. This wasn’t the same one from before.

He guessed that the previous guard must’ve gotten spooked and backed out. This new one had a different air— he wasn’t just here to intimidate. He was part of the plan, a second pawn set in motion.

Chen Ren’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to remain calm. Whatever scheme was unfolding, he was ready for it.

The angry man immediately moved towards the guard, telling his fake story, face strained with rage.

After hearing the man’s story, the guard took a deep breath and turned toward Chen Ren, his expression serious. "Is it true? You fed this man’s brother noodles, and now he’s sick? You need to come with us to the guard station, so we can solve this problem once and for all."

Guard station? So they planned to drag him through the city’s bureaucracy to ruin him, and the guard was playing along. The air around Chen Ren seemed to still as his annoyance built.

"There’s no proof he even ate my noodles," Chen Ren said, his voice steady yet sharp.

The guard crossed his arms, unimpressed. "It doesn’t matter. Someone’s accusing you of making them sick, and the law is the law. We’ll solve this at the guardhouse. Now, come quietly."

"No." Chen Ren’s voice dropped an octave, and the edge of his patience showed. "You can’t take me based on nothing but hearsay."

The guard’s eyes hardened as he ran a hard hand through his jaw.

“I heard you are a cultivator, but you still have to follow the city’s laws. And don’t think you’re above them— there are cultivators among the city guards as well. So, comply."

Chen Ren frowned. The man didn’t look like the type to bulge if he only used his words, but he wasn’t going to let them ruin his reputation so easily. If he really went to the station, rumours would spread that his noodles actually made people sick, no matter if he came out innocent or not.

He glanced at the crowd— dozens of eyes fixed on him, waiting for what he would do next.

"Wait," Chen Ren said, voice rising just enough to capture everyone's attention. He turned to the sickly man and his accuser. "You’re not just claiming my noodles made him sick— you’re tarnishing the reputation of my stall. I can’t let that stand."

Before the guard could respond, Chen Ren strode to his stall, scooping up a bowl of freshly made noodles. He held it out toward the guard. "Here. Try it."

The guard eyed the bowl, suspicion thick in his gaze. "I won’t eat bad noodles."

Chen Ren shrugged, calm and composed. "Fine. I’ll eat it myself." Without hesitation, he took a generous bite, chewing slowly as if savouring the flavour. Then, he turned, facing the crowd now gathered around the scene.

"You see that?" Chen Ren’s voice rang out over the murmurs. "If my noodles were bad, why would I eat them myself?"

The tension in the air shifted as people began to exchange uncertain glances, and the unease that had crept into the crowd started to dissipate.

Chen Ren met their gazes one by one, making sure they saw his calm and certainty. "My reputation— and my stall’s reputation— are on the line. If my food was dangerous, I wouldn’t serve it, and I definitely wouldn’t eat it."

The guard faltered for a moment, and the crowd’s whispering grew louder as they started to reconsider the accusation. Chen Ren wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood tall.

The crowd had begun to sway in Chen Ren’s favour when a voice cut through the rising murmurs.

"Just accept that your noodles made someone sick," a deep, grating voice came from across the street.

All the eyes, including Chen Ren’s own, turned towards where the voice came from.

The speaker was an older man with a broad chest, a grizzled beard, and a sneer that never quite left his face. He looked like he could fight with two men at the same time and end up winning for how his physique was built— but again, looks could be deceiving.

His name was Jiang Wu, a stall owner who sold steamed buns. Behind him, stood his two burly sons, arms crossed, their expressions mirroring their father's contempt. "You’re just trying to save face. But everyone here knows that when there's smoke, there’s fire."

Jiang Wu’s words struck a chord with some of the onlookers, their uncertainty flickering back to life as they glanced between Chen Ren and the sickly man. The balance was delicate— too delicate. Chen Ren’s fingers twitched at his side, the glint in his eyes sharpening as he regarded Jiang Wu with a cool gaze.

Before Chen Ren could respond, the guard stepped forward again, voice firm. "Enough of this. You need to come with me, cultivator or not. We can settle this at the guardhouse."

Chen Ren’s stance remained unyielding, his voice calm but resolute. "I won’t go with you. If you want to move me, you can try."

The guard bristled, hand moving toward his baton as if testing Chen Ren’s words. But just as tension threatened to break, a voice, clear and commanding, echoed over the crowd.

"What’s going on here?"

All eyes turned toward the source of the voice. Walking toward the scene was Tang Yuqiu, the young miss of the Tang Clan, with her maid trailing a step behind her. Her presence suddenly became obvious in the marketplace chaos— a figure of poise and authority amidst the rabble.

Her eyes briefly scanned the situation, landing on Chen Ren with a raised brow.

Chen Ren felt a smile tug at his lips. Finally, it was time to turn this around.

This was the shift he needed, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. He gave her a respectful nod as she reached the front, his mind already racing through the next steps of his plan.

13. Turning it over

In a matter of seconds, the attention that had been focused on Chen Ren shifted entirely to the woman who had just arrived. Her attire stood out against the modest crowd— an elegant red robe embroidered with delicate white roses at the hem, accompanied by a necklace and rings that spoke of wealth and status. She moved with a grace that naturally commanded attention, her presence turning heads as she approached and stood in front of Chen Ren’s stall.

Anyone with a discerning eye could instantly recognise her as someone of importance.

However, the moment the heavy curious eyes fell on her, she spoke, her voice coming out clear and firm— similar to how tall she stood.

"What is going on?"

The guard took a deep breath, trying to compose himself as he faced the young miss. “It’s like this,” he began, his voice faltering as he gestured toward the stall. “One of these two brothers— locals— came by yesterday and ate at his stall. Not long after, this one started complaining about stomach pains, claiming he was poisoned by the noodles he served. He is saying the food was… spoiled, and that it made him sick. This is his elder brother, telling how this one’s at his deathbed and wants justice against the stall owner who fed his brother bad noodles.”

His words came quickly as if to rid himself of the burden of the accusation, but once he finished, Tang Yuqiu merely cast a sharp look at him and asked, her tone measured but piercing, "So, you believe he sold sickly noodles?"

The guard hesitated, his confidence wavering under her steady gaze. It wasn’t just Tang Yuqiu and Chen Ren, but even the consumers who surrounded the stall looked at the guard awaiting a reasonable response.

"That’s what I’ve heard," he said, his voice faltering. "We need to investigate, and for that, the man must come with us."

Her frown deepened as her eyes swept over the gathered crowd, scanning their faces quietly. Her gaze looked sharper than a razor as she dragged it along the people. Even the air felt uncomfortable as a few seconds passed by.

After a pause, she turned her attention back to the guard. "If you don’t know," she began, her voice cutting through the tension. "Let me clarify. The noodles he sells are made from rice, a fact anyone here can see from their texture and appearance. The Tang Clan has a direct arrangement with Chen Ren, and I, myself, oversee the transaction and can guarantee that the rice is of high quality without any blemishes on it."

“B-but—”

She stepped closer, her gaze hardening as she stared the guard down. "I am Tang Yuqiu, daughter of the Tang Clan head, Tang Jihao. If you truly mean to make this accusation, you are not merely questioning Chen Ren but challenging— no, questioning the reputation of the entire Tang household. Is that a risk you are willing to take? Tell me!”

The revelation of her identity caused more than a few people to look at her differently.

Tang Clan might not be a cultivator clan, but they had deep pockets to hire a lot of them. And everyone in the city knew the kind of reputation they uphold.

The guard paled visibly, beads of sweat forming at his temple and around his shaved moustache. He licked his lips and visibly contemplated what she had said. And as the man hesitated, murmurs rippled through the crowd.

The two brothers, who had stirred up the commotion, looked ashen— especially the sickly one, who seemed on the verge of collapse. He was holding onto his dear brother, who now looked to want nothing more than to run, hide himself and never look behind.

Desperation flickered in the guard’s eyes as he stammered, “N-No, Young Miss Tang, we were only trying to do our job.”

Tang Yuqiu, raised an eyebrow, her gaze cold. “Your job, is it? A job that involves creating a public spectacle and tarnishing the reputation of someone not only a cultivator but also a guest of the Tang Clan? Huh! You have guts.” Her voice carried a dangerous edge, and she leaned in slightly. "My father meets the City Lord every year at the Winter Solstice Festival. Perhaps I should mention this little incident to him, let him know about how the guards of this city treat honoured guests of our clan."

The guard paled further, his bravado crumbling. He took a step forward and raised one hand in the air. "N-No, young miss, it wasn't my intention to go against the Tang Clan! I—"

“But you’re saying that there is something wrong with the noodles. You also sounded pretty adamant about taking Chen Ren to the guardhouse.”

“I mean— that’s what—”

Before he could finish, the shopkeeper, Jiang Wu who had been accusing Chen Ren interrupted, desperation in his voice.

"Wait! It might not be the rice— but what about the vegetables? They could have been bad! I have seen him handing out those vegetable noodles!"

That statement turned all the attention from the cornered guard towards Jiang Wu.

Tang Yuqiu’s eyes narrowed, and she turned her attention to Chen Ren, her voice calm as she pointed at the baskets of fresh vegetables sitting on top of his stall. "The vegetables— aren't they from the Tang Clan manor as well? Isn’t that right, Chen Ren?"

Chen Ren quickly nodded, grateful for her support. "Yes, they are, Yuqiu." His eyes briefly met hers, and he flashed a look of silent gratitude. She narrowed her eyes slightly at him for calling her by her first name, but quickly understood his intention as he added. “The man is just unaware of my close relationship with the Tang Clan and how I have no reason to scour bad ingredients when I could get the best ones in the city easily.”

The guard, seeing the tide turning against him, immediately bowed at Tang Yuqiu. “I’m sorry for what just happened here, Young Miss. It seems like this is all a big misunderstanding! Please allow me to correct my mistakes!”

“Go on. I would like to see that.” Tang Yuqiu crossed her arms as every eye moved to the guard.

“You!” The guard turned towards the aggressive brother. “It seems the noodles didn’t make your brother sick after all. Now, get out of here unless you want me to arrest you for defamation of an honoured cultivator!” His voice trembled as he addressed the two brothers.

The sick brother clung desperately to the taller one, his breath ragged, skin pale and slick with sweat. His hands trembled as he gripped his sibling’s arm, eyes wide with fear. The taller one, his face drained of all colour, cast frantic glances around the marketplace, his composure unravelling.

For a moment, the crowd stood frozen, watching as panic took hold of the two. Their movements became jittery, and uncontrolled, as the sick brother let out a strained gasp. Without exchanging a word, they both turned, stumbling over their own feet and bolted. The sick one clenched tighter to the taller, and dragged along as they fled, leaving nothing but murmurs and curious eyes after him.

The guard, desperate to escape his own shame, bowed again, this time toward both Tang Yuqiu and Chen Ren, muttering a hasty apology before attempting to slip away.

But Chen Ren stepped forward, his hand rising to stop him. "Wait," he said, his voice calm but firm, freezing the guard in place.

Chen Ren's eyes gleamed with subtle amusement as he addressed the guard. "Since you're already here, why not check the ingredients at the other stalls as well? I'm sure you might find someone worthy of your attention. After all, it wouldn’t be right to leave empty-handed, would it?" His tone was light, but the underlying message was clear.

The guard, catching on to the meaning behind his words, quickly nodded. "Yes, yes, you’re right. I was only here to ensure the stall owners were following the rules anyway."

His tone was hurried, eager to deflect from the earlier confrontation. He looked around as if he didn’t know where to begin, his eyes shifting from one stall to another, even looking at the Old Man Tian’s stall, which was right across the road.

“Well!” Chen Ren casually gestured toward Jiang Wu and the steamed bun stall behind him. "Why not start with that stall over there?"

The guard's eyes widened slightly, realising what Chen Ren was hinting at.

"Of course," he replied, as Jiang Wu and his two sons shook from the response. Their eyes and mouth widened at what was about to come.

With a final, shallow bow, the guard moved toward the accused stall, leaving the crowd whispering and pointing fingers at the steamed buns.

***

The crowd thinned after the commotion ended, yet the stall remained lively. Steam curled upward from the large pot, carrying the scent of savoury broth and freshly cooked noodles.

Chen Ren stood beside the stall, watching as Tang Yuqiu elegantly lifted a bowl of vegetable noodles to her lips, her expression unreadable as she took a delicate bite. Her maid stood nearby, eating in silence, the soft clink of their chopsticks the only sound between them.

Xiulan effortlessly managed the stall, handing bowls to waiting customers with the same precision one might expect from a master swordsman, her movements swift yet graceful and well-practised. Meanwhile, the Yalan slept lazily on a shaded ledge nearby, undisturbed by the flurry of activity.

The scene felt peaceful in a way Chen Ren hadn’t expected after the earlier confrontation.

Just as he glanced over at Tang Yuqiu, she tilted her head, her gaze fixed on a distant scene. Following her line of sight, Chen Ren saw Jiang Wu being dragged away by the same guard who moments before tried to arrest him. The shopkeeper’s sons stumbled behind, crying loudly as the crowd murmured, staring at the spectacle of the family being hauled off for selling expired ingredients.

It was a sight to behold— justice served in the most public ways.

"You know," Tang Yuqiu spoke softly between bites, her eyes never leaving the scene. "They’ll likely be back on the street within a week. Stall owners often have good connections with the guards or others in the market. They’re the first to be disturbed if anything happens after all."

Chen Ren smirked slightly, nodding as he wiped his hands on a cloth. "I know. Jiang Wu has ties with the captain of the guard who patrols this area. It's how he managed to pull off this entire setup against me in the first place." He glanced over his shoulder at the crowd still gossiping about the incident. "He’ll definitely return— but his reputation? That's over."

Tang Yuqiu raised a brow, curious. "And you’re fine with that? He dared to go frame a cultivator. I thought you'd go straight to killing. Or at least beat them up"

Chen Ren nodded. "I could have tried to flip the entire incident back on him earlier, but it would’ve been his word against mine. Even with proof, he could’ve dismissed it as baseless accusations. But now?" He motioned toward him, who was still being dragged through the market. "Now, everyone will know he’s the one who sold faulty food. It’s not just a rumour anymore— it’s fact. Also, I don't want to break any laws of the city. Even if cultivators are hot-headed, any confrontation within the city would get you a trip down the pits, cultivator or not. And it's beneath me to challenge them to a public duel."

Tang Yuqiu paused, her lips curling into a faint smile as she took another bite.

Chen Ren leaned against the stall, his eyes scanning the bustling market. "Moreover," he said, a hint of calculation in his voice. "I used this whole situation to make my connection to you and the Tang Clan known. Now, none of these people will dare bother me. I don’t want to deal with nonsense like this again."

"You’ve got more brains than I expected."

"I haven’t put them to proper use in a long time. But when I do, they work just fine."

Her eyes narrowed in curiosity. "Planning to use them more often from now on?"

"Yeah, that’s the plan," he said, turning to her with an appreciative nod. "And... Thank you for helping me out this time. I couldn’t have pulled this off without you."

Yuqiu’s chopsticks froze mid-air as she blinked, taken aback by his sincerity. Her lips parted, but she quickly regained her composure, giving him a short nod. "So, should I consider it a favour?"

Chen Ren rubbed the back of his neck, his expression thoughtful. "Sure. Just don’t ask for anything outrageous. I’m already in debt as it is."

Yuqiu laughed softly, a sound more genuine than before. "I’m not planning to. But," her tone shifted, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "It might not be as easy as you think."

Chen Ren could only smile wryly, knowing full well that with someone like Tang Yuqiu, favours were rarely ever simple.

***

A/N - If you are liking it, please consider following it. It really helps on Rising stars.

14. Right kind of opportunity (Bonus chapter)

Chen Ren leaned against the wooden frame of his stall, arms crossed, eyes watching the flow of people on Market Street.

It had been a week since Jiang Wu’s little stunt had been decimated by him— trying to sabotage him with rumours about his noodles. And now, like clockwork, every vendor kept their distance from him and no one dared to go against him.

As expected, Jiang Wu's steamed bun stall had seen fewer and fewer customers each day. In a business where word of mouth ruled like a tyrant, faulty ingredients were a death sentence. The foolish man had cursed his own livelihood.

Meanwhile, Chen Ren’s fortunes were a rising tide. More customers came daily, their numbers swelling as though drawn by an invisible current. A bowl of noodles had become a staple of the market crowd, bringing him more business than he could have anticipated.

"120 to 130 bowls a day…" he murmured, running the numbers in his head.

At 5 to 7 copper wen per bowl, that meant he could earn between 600 and 910 copper wen daily. Over the course of a month, the numbers compounded further. After deducting costs for ingredients, wood for the fire, and other essentials, he was left with a profit margin that hovered around 150 silver wen every month. It was more money than he had ever held in his hands in this world, and even after paying Tang Xiulan for her help, there was still a respectable sum left for himself.

Yet when he considered the mountain of debt he owed—the price for his medallion— this new fortune was more like a drop in the ocean. He would be able to reclaim the medallion, yes, but it would be tight. Perhaps, just barely, by the end of the set time.

He also had to remember the fact that Feng Ming wasn't his only debtor.

But Chen Ren didn’t worry too much. Why should he? His first business venture was thriving, and along the way, he had unknowingly connected to the Dao of Money. It was esoteric in nature, something most cultivators overlooked in their pursuit of power, but Chen Ren had felt its pull, its hidden current.

Money flowed like qi— always moving, always circulating, with its own momentum. And momentum, Chen Ren knew, was everything. With the ideas swirling in his mind like a vortex, he felt certain he would conquer his debts sooner than expected. His thoughts were already moving beyond the simple act of selling noodles.

But for now, he pushed those ambitions aside. There were other things to focus on. His first goal— stabilising the stall— had been met. It was time to shift his focus inward.

He should begin to devote more time to learning about cultivation techniques, something he had neglected in his pursuit of profit. A balance needed to be struck. After all, the Dao was not just about silver and copper.

***

In the quiet, secluded garden of the Tang Clan, Chen Ren stood before a wooden training dummy. The air was still, disturbed only by the soft rustling of leaves, and the warmth of the afternoon sun kissed his skin. His hands flexed in front of him, muscles tensing as he focused on his next move.

"[Thundering Fist!]" he yelled, thrusting his fists forward with force.

A spark of lightning arced out from his knuckles, crackling faintly in the air before dissipating. His punch connected with the dummy, causing a few minor cracks to spread across its surface.

Chen Ren stepped back, his brows furrowing in frustration. He glanced over at Yalan lounging nearby, her amber eyes half-closed as she basked lazily in the sun.

"You sure this isn’t a faulty technique?" he asked, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.

Yalan didn't bother to open her eyes fully, stretching out lazily. "It's not faulty," she purred. The rest of the words came aloud. "It's one of the few fist techniques passed down in the Chen Clan. Works well with your element. Thunder resonates with your qi. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to pick up a sword."

Chen Ren followed Yalan's gaze, glancing over at the neatly arranged swords and cultivation manuals lying on the side. The Chen Clan had always been a clan of swordsmen, known for their mastery of blade techniques.

It was clear why the old Chen Ren had wanted to join the Soaring Sword Sect— everything in his upbringing had pointed to it. But for the former, the thought of wielding a sword left him cold.

He wasn’t interested in close-combat weapons. Swords, spears, hatchets, axes— they were cool to play with in games, but in real life, he would rather keep his distance from the enemy.

Hence, the idea of wielding a bow had intrigued him ever since he first entered this world. To defend from a distance, to strike from afar— that was more his style. But cultivators who specialised in bows were rare.

Bows required such fine precision and balance between strength and qi that it was hard to even find one that could withstand the power of a cultivator.

For now, he was stuck with the basics, working on his form and balance with these fist techniques. Even though it was a close-combat technique, it would be smart to learn a technique or two like this.

He had to start somewhere, and at least the [Thundering Fist] seemed to align with his element, even if he couldn’t fully control it yet.

He had also read in the manual that it could be used to throw around arcs of lightning, even from a distance at a greater mastery, so there was more than enough reason to learn it.

Taking a deep breath, Chen Ren squared up with the dummy once more, his fists raised. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to sense the flow of qi in the air. This time, as he struck forward again, he could feel it— the energy around him becoming more tangible.

The qi was beginning to respond to his movements, his strikes gaining a subtle weight behind them.

"[Thundering Fist!]" he called out again, his fist cutting through the air. This time, the sparks of lightning were stronger, lingering a bit longer before vanishing. As he pulled his hand back, he glanced down at his arms.

Lightning crackled faintly along his skin, running up his forearms. His control over his qi was growing, and with it, the technique’s potential. A slow grin crept across his face.

"Better," he muttered, feeling the thrum of power starting to build within him.

Chen Ren flexed his fingers, watching the faint arcs of lightning still dancing along his forearms. The power was starting to feel more natural, almost as if it belonged there. But a thought gnawed at the back of his mind.

He glanced at Yalan, now lazily stretching, completely unbothered by his struggles.

"Hey," he called out. "You sure this is just a mortal-grade technique?"

Yalan's tail twitched, and she opened one eye to peer at him. "Yes, it’s a mortal-grade technique," she replied with a yawn. "If it were earth-grade, you'd barely be able to perform it. Most earth-grade techniques require a lot more qi. Even though you're starting to sense it, using qi in techniques is an entirely different art."

Chen Ren frowned, running a hand over his arm, where the lightning had cracked moments before. "And why doesn’t the lightning harm me?"

Yalan sat up, blinking as if the answer should’ve been obvious. "You’ve got lightning affinity spirit roots," she said. "Your affinity gives you a natural resistance. The technique won’t harm you unless you push yourself too far."

Chen Ren nodded, absorbing the information. It still felt strange to him, being able to wield lightning without burning himself, but he supposed there was logic to it. At least Xianxia logic.

If his spirit roots were tied to the element, it made sense that his body would be more in tune with it.

He stepped back to the wooden dummy, his focus sharpening. His strikes came faster now, each punch laced with more qi from the last.

"[Thundering Fist!]" he roared, his fist crashing into the dummy. Cracks began to spiderweb across its surface as arcs of lightning danced around the impact site. His control was improving; he could feel the qi more distinctly, his strikes more powerful, the lightning sharper.

As he worked through another series of punches, Yalan’s voice broke through his concentration. "What are you going to do about your Dao?"

Chen Ren paused mid-strike, turning to face Yalan with a puzzled expression. "What do you mean?"

Yalan tilted its head, giving him a scrutinising look that ended up being cute due to her being a cat. "Your growth has slowed. You’ve been earning a decent amount from the stall, sure, but if you want to grow more, you’ll need to improve it. Or expand into other businesses. You can’t just stay at one level forever."

Chen Ren wiped his brow, his thoughts briefly drifting back to the noodle stall.

Tang Xiulan was handling things at the market today, managing the customers and keeping everything running smoothly. She was reliable, which allowed him the freedom to focus on cultivation. But Yalan wasn’t wrong. If he wanted to expand, the stall needed more. More customers, better products, and maybe even more locations.

"I’ve thought about it," he said, his voice contemplative. "But I’m waiting for the right opportunity."

Yalan narrowed its eyes. "What kind of opportunity?"

Before Chen Ren could respond, the loud sound of footsteps echoed through the garden. A guard appeared, striding toward him with an air of urgency.

"The clan head is looking for you," the guard announced, his eyes briefly flicking toward the lounging cat with mild curiosity.

Chen Ren glanced at Yalan, who met his gaze with a knowing look. This was the opportunity.

"That kind," Chen Ren thought to himself but knew the cat heard him as he dusted off his robes and prepared to follow the guard. His fists still tingled with the remnants of lightning, and though his mind was focused on what lay ahead, part of him couldn’t help but feel that both his business and his cultivation had just taken their first steps toward something greater.

***

Chen Ren moved swiftly through the hallways of the Tang Clan, the scent of noodle broth filled the air around him.

In one hand, he carried a bowl, steam rising from the broth and curling through the air, laced with a delicate fragrance of spices and herbs. The other hand hovered near the hem of his robe, ready to steady the bowl if needed. His steps were light as he continued along the same path.

The guards at the door barely glanced at him, already informed of his presence here, and they stepped aside without a word.

Chen Ren approached the entrance to the clan head’s chambers, but something stopped him just before he knocked on the door. Voices, quiet but clear, drifted through the door.

“Father, please! It was important to me!”

He froze, realising the familiar female voice he had heard often these days. It was Tang Yuqiu’s.

"You know it was just a trial," A deep, serious yet calm voice followed. He used his memories to pin it as Tang Clan head, Tang Jihao.

Tang Yuqiu’s voice was sharp, almost trembling with frustration. "It matters, Father. I failed. But don’t worry, I’ll fix it. I’ll find something to make sure the business gets money."

"You don’t have to push yourself," Tang Jihao replied softly. "You can learn under me. There’s no shame in that."

"No!" Yuqiu's voice cracked with emotion as she almost shouted. "I will do it. And I will show you. Just give me more time!"

There was a pause. Chen Ren could almost hear the silence echoing in the space between them.

Before he could step back or announce his presence, the sound of hurried footsteps drew closer. The door swung open, revealing the young lady.

Her hair was slightly dishevelled, her robes a bit wrinkled unlike every other time he’d seen her in a perfect light and her eyes carried a look of fierce determination— until they landed on him. She froze.

Chen Ren, caught off guard, managed an awkward "hello."

For a moment, they stood there, an uncomfortable silence filling the space between them. Then, without a word, Tang Yuqiu brushed past him, her steps quick as she strode off down the hallway, her figure stiff with tension.

Chen Ren exhaled softly and stared at the empty space where she’d been standing. He wasn’t sure what he had walked into, but the weight of their conversation lingered in the air.

"Come in," urged the voice of the clan head, cutting through his thoughts.

Chen Ren straightened himself, stepping into the room. As he entered, Tang Jihao’s eyes settled on him, offering a brief but warm smile. "Sorry you had to witness that," he said, gesturing for Chen Ren to approach.

He looked down at Tang Jihao— sunken eyes, wrinkled face, frail figure, bony hands. Despite being known to be a foodie and a rich merchant, he looked worse than most poor commoners. Despite that, his voice was clear and serious, befitting of his status.

Chen Ren guessed that the rumours about the man going through some sort of a curse were true and as he took more than a comfortable amount of time to stare at him, Tang Jihao raked a hand through his goatee.

That was enough of an action for him to shake his head and offer a polite bow.

"No problem at all." His gaze shifted to Tang Jihao’s expression— calm yet burdened— and he stepped forward, holding up the bowl of noodles. "I thought an eastern delicacy might lighten the stress of running so many successful businesses."

Tang Jihao's pupils dilated slightly with interest as the steam from the bowl wafted toward him. "Ah, your famed noodles. A thoughtful gesture."

Chen Ren presented the dish, hoping the food would offer more comfort than his words. He could still feel the tension from the previous exchange hanging in the room, but for now, he must focus on the present.

Tang Jihao took the bowl with a small smile, steam rising as he inspected the dish. "Very interesting," he said in a warm tone.

The noodles were a simple gesture, but for someone like Tang Jihao, they were the best way to approach. It also seemed to work as the man raised his hand and gestured to Chen Ren to take the opposite seat.

Chen Ren complied, watching as the clan head took his first bite. His gaze was unreadable, but after a brief pause, the head let out a quiet sound of approval. The tension in the room seemed to ease with every slurp of broth, and Chen Ren felt his shoulders relax slightly.

“Thank you for letting me stay here for so long,” Chen Ren began, his voice steady but sincere. “Even if I’ve been nothing but trouble.”

Tang Jihao's head chuckled softly, setting the bowl down for a moment. “Well, these noodles are good enough to make me let you stay for a whole year."

Chen Ren, his tone lightening, replied, "Then I’ll make sure to have it delivered every day."

Tang Jihao laughed— a deep, genuine sound. "Chen Ren, you’ve really changed. You’re very different from the first time we met."

Chen Ren didn’t flinch at the statement, keeping his expression composed. "I know."

The head’s eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity. "Why is that? I’ve been meaning to ask ever since you started your business."

Chen Ren paused for a moment, thinking of how to pick his words carefully. After a breath, he replied, "I realised the path I was fighting for wasn’t mine. I was inadequate and arrogant. The heavens are open to all, but only those with the ability can afford to be arrogant. I didn’t have any, so I changed my path."

The old man’s gaze lingered on him, thoughtful. "And what is your path now?"

Chen Ren considered the question, feeling the weight of it. He could hardly tell the truth— that his true path was still blurry, somewhere between survival, finding his footing in a world that wasn’t his own and creating a business empire. But instead, he smiled faintly and decided to mix them with lies. "My path is one of business. I want to help people, make their lives comfortable by selling things, and earn karma in return."

"A path of a merchant?"

"A path of prosperity," Chen Ren corrected.

Tang Jihao nodded, seemingly impressed. "A noble goal. And how did you come to this conclusion?"

Chen Ren, maintaining his calm, crafted his next story with care. "My ancestor who founded the Chen Clan. Before he became a cultivator, he was a merchant. He walked the path of prosperity until a chance encounter with the heavens led him to cultivation. But even after that, he never forgot his roots in trade. Through his business, he prospered many lives."

"I thought he was always a cultivator."

"No, he was a merchant first. His success in business laid the foundation for the cultivation path he later took. It was his understanding of balance— both in trade and cultivation—that led him to prosper."

Tang Jihao let out another small chuckle, nodding thoughtfully. "Interesting. You’ve given me a lot to think about. A path of prosperity, you say?"

Chen Ren nodded, his expression unwavering, though inside, he knew the truth was far more complicated.

It was, in fact, true that one of Chen Ren's ancestors had been a merchant who stumbled upon a chance encounter that changed the course of his life. However, despite that origin, the Chen Clan wasn’t built on trade but rather on blood and blades. Even now, they were known as a sword clan, ruthless and battle-hardened, with little room for the softer arts of commerce. Still, the story served its purpose.

The clan head took another bite of the noodles, his approval clear.

“I’m proud of you for walking down the path of your ancestor,” he added.

Chen Ren offered a humble nod, his posture relaxed, but his mind was still calculating.

The head leaned back and pulled out a small bundle of letters, setting them on the table between them with a heavy thud. “You know what these are,” the head said, his tone losing some of its warmth.

Chen Ren’s eyes flicked to the letters. He knew exactly what they were. "Yes, they’re letters from my debtors."

Tang Jihao’s expression darkened slightly as he added, "They asked me about your debts, thinking I would pay them off for you."

Chen Ren had anticipated this. He had been aware of the clan head’s role in keeping the debt collectors at bay for a while now. He had written letters, asking for more time, but that wouldn’t have done much if his debtors hadn't assumed that he was under the Tang Clan. "I appreciate that, truly," Chen Ren said, his tone careful. "I know they’ve been pressing you."

Tang Jihao gave a slow nod. "Yes. I’ve been keeping them from taking any action against you because I find you interesting. But it won’t stay this way forever, Chen Ren."

Chen Ren had expected as much. He knew Tang Jihao wasn’t doing this out of charity or goodwill. "I understand. It must be difficult to hold them off on my behalf, and I’m grateful for it. But I think I can give you a reason to hold them back a bit longer."

The clan head’s eyebrow arched slightly. "And what reason would that be?"

Chen Ren’s lips curled into a slow, calculated smile as he uttered a single name. "Tang Yuqiu, your daughter."

At the sound of the name, Tang Jihao's expression shifted ever so slightly. His eyes flickered with something— surprise? Curiosity? Chen Ren couldn’t tell. He waited, wondering what his response would be.

After a moment, Tang Jihao leaned forward, his voice low. "So, you’re finally ready to marry her, then?"

Chen Ren froze, and his entire body went cold. His smile faded, replaced by a look of sheer panic.

***

A/N - It's a bonus chapter. I will do one more bonus chapter at 3000 followers, if we manage to reach it by 14 November.

15. A new wind

Although Chen Ren had long known the Tang Clan head’s intentions when he allowed his body’s former occupant to stay in the family’s courtyard, he had hoped the man had abandoned those thoughts. But as he sat in front of Tang Jihao, hearing his sudden excitement and hopeful tone, Chen Ren knew his recent success had reignited those expectations.

The clan head leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of paternal pride and ambition. "It seems your growth has given me something to think about, Young Ren. Perhaps there’s a future between you and Yuqiu after all."

Chen Ren felt a chill run down his spine. He had to clarify quickly before things spiralled further. “I believe there’s been a misunderstanding. My words were not about marriage."

Tang Jihao’s eyes narrowed, his expression shifting from hopeful to curious, almost predatory. "Oh? And why not?" His tone was sharper now as if testing Chen Ren’s response. "Do you already have someone else in your heart? Although Yuqiu can be hot-headed, she's a beauty. You won’t find another woman like her—certainly not in Cloud Mist City. I think you can be apprehensive since she won't allow more wives, but isn't she enough? You have seen her. She can certainly handle you."

Chen Ren swallowed hard. His mind raced, trying to find the right words to avoid offence. "It’s not that," he said, his voice steady. "But I’ve no intention of considering romance, not until I’ve cleared my debts." He glanced at the clan head, measuring his response before continuing. "My focus right now is elsewhere, more on business than personal matters."

Tang Jihao leaned back, stroking the goatee thoughtfully. His sharp gaze softened slightly, his interest piqued. "Business, you say?" His voice lost some of its edge, settling into something more curious. "What exactly do you mean?"

Chen Ren took a deep breath, the tension in the room still palpable but shifting. "Earlier," he began. "I overheard your conversation. I know your daughter has been trying to start a business of her own."

Tang Jihao’s brows furrowed, his lips tightening. He nodded slowly. "That’s right. I gave her an investment and told her to test her capabilities. It didn’t work out as she’d hoped. Business is not as simple as many believe. It’s not all about capital but understanding people, markets, and timing." He sighed. "I admit, I’m surprised you managed to run that noodle stall so effectively. It’s no small feat."

Chen Ren nodded in agreement. "Exactly, it’s difficult. That’s why I’m offering to help her. But in exchange, I need two things."

The clan head’s eyes sharpened once more, the air between them growing still.

"Oh?" He sat up straighter, his presence suddenly felt towering, demanding. "And what exactly are these two things you’re asking for?"

Chen Ren steeled himself, knowing this was the crucial part. "First," he began, "I need you to hold off the creditors for a bit longer. Just for a short time. I’m confident I’ll be able to pay them back soon." His voice was steady, but Chen Ren felt the weight of his gamble inside.

Tang Jihao frowned slightly but didn’t interrupt, so Chen Ren pressed on. "Second, I’ve heard that your clan has a carpenter workshop. A good one."

The clan head’s frown deepened. "Yes, we do. Why?"

Chen Ren smiled. "I need them to build several stalls for me. Nothing extravagant, just enough to put up a proper front for my noodle business. I would like to open up branches all around the city."

At that, Tang Jihao fell silent, lost in thought. His gaze drifted towards his lap, but Chen Ren could feel the man’s mind working, calculating the risks and benefits, pros and cons. Finally, the old man sighed, nodding slowly. "It doesn’t sound like an unreasonable request. But are you confident, boy? Starting a new business isn't as simple as setting up a shop. My daughter isn’t interested in selling noodles, as you know. Only in eating them."

Chen Ren smiled wider, feeling more at ease. "It won’t be noodles this time. I’ve seen many things as a cultivator before I ended up here. I have ideas, things I’ve picked up during my travels that will suit her more. You can trust me on that."

Tang Jihao’s eyes flickered, still cautious but intrigued. "And what if you fail? What happens then?"

Chen Ren didn’t hesitate. "If I can’t make this business a success for her, you can kick me out. No hard feelings. I won’t come back for second chances or beg for forgiveness. My pride as a cultivator won't allow me to do so."

That seemed to amuse Tang Jihao. A low chuckle escaped his lips, growing louder until it became a full, hearty laugh that echoed through the room. "Bold! You’ve got a spine, I’ll give you that." He slapped his knee, still grinning. "Fine, fine. I’ll do it. But remember, if you do succeed, this business needs to be something she controls. I’m not giving you free rein here, understand? She needs to be at the front."

Chen Ren nodded quickly. "Of course. I’ll make sure of it. Her face will be at the front, and I'll stand beside her. She’ll be the one in charge. Profits will be shared, but her name will be heard around the city."

Tang Jihao’s laughter subsided, but a spark of approval lingered in his eyes. "We’ll see how long that confidence of yours lasts. But for now, you’ve got my backing. Don’t disappoint me."

Chen Ren bowed his head slightly. "I won’t."

Inside of him, a storm of thoughts churned, already planning the next step. He glanced at the letters from the creditors and realised he might have less time than he had hoped for.

As Chen Ren turned to leave, Tang Jihao’s voice stopped him at the door. "Oh, and one more thing," the clan head said, his tone lighter. "Send me those noodles every day. They’re quite good."

Chen Ren smiled and nodded, but just as he was about to step out, Tang Jihao added with a knowing smirk, "And think about my daughter, would you? She may be mortal, but she’s not a bad match. Especially if you’re serious about becoming a merchant."

For that, Chen gave a polite smile, though his mind was already elsewhere.

"Understood," he replied, nodding once before stepping out into the corridor.

***

The corridor was quiet as he walked, his thoughts still circling the conversation with Tang Jihao. The weight of the proposal— Tang Yuqiu’s business, the creditors, the thinly veiled suggestion about marriage— hung heavy on his mind. But deeper still was the gnawing sense that his own plans were slowly slipping beyond his control.

As if sensing his turmoil, a soft purr echoed from the shadows. Chen Ren turned to see a sleek, pure-white-furred cat emerge from the corner, her amber eyes gleaming with amusement.

"That girl isn’t suitable for the Chen Clan," Yalan remarked casually, her voice laced with nonchalance as she padded beside him. "I have nothing against mortals, of course, but as a cultivator? One should always seek an immortal as a spouse. Concubines, well, that’s a different matter."

Chen Ren sighed, shaking his head. "I don’t have any plans for that right now." He glanced down at Yalan and glared at her. "Were you listening to the conversation?"

Yalan lifted her chin, her tone imperious. "I was outside the door. It’s easier to sneak around in this majestic body. No one suspects a thing."

Chen Ren couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. "Majestic?"

"Compared to humans," Yalan replied smoothly, her tail flicking with pride, "I’m far quicker, with better reflexes. And no one ever suspects a lovely creature like myself. It’s far more majestic than your body ever could be. If you try to do something like sneaking around a rich, merchant clan, you would be killed. But not me."

Chen Ren bit his lip, trying to suppress his amusement, but Yalan’s confidence was contagious. He let the moment pass, though, and focused on the more pressing matters at hand.

"So, are you going to start this business with the Tang girl?" Yalan asked. "Why? I thought you had enough money to get your own stall up and running. Why can't you just spend it on expanding to other stuff?"

"It’s not enough," Chen Ren admitted, his mental voice lowering as they walked. "I need a face for distribution, someone with influence. I can’t do it on my own. Xiulan is too tied up with the other stalls, and the creditors... they’re getting impatient. I have no other way to stop them."

Yalan’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully before she spoke again."You could let me handle the creditors."

Chen Ren stopped in his tracks, turning to look at her and not even bothering to speak in his mind. "You’d do that for me?"

Yalan stretched lazily, her eyes half-closed as she replied, "You’re technically someone I’m supposed to protect, aren’t you? I’ll step in if your life gets close to danger. And besides," her eyes gleamed with a faint curiosity, "I’m also interested in your Dao. Whenever an esoteric Dao appears, big things tend to follow."

Chen Ren stared at her for a long moment, a mix of amusement and curiosity flickering across his face. "You’re that interested in my Dao?"

Yalan didn’t respond right away, simply turning her head to the side as if she hadn’t heard the question. Then, with a slow, deliberate flick of her tail, she said, "Let’s just say... I don’t think you’re as ordinary as you think you are."

Chen Ren smiled to himself, his thoughts once again returning to the many complications that awaited him. But with Yalan beside him, whispering secrets of Dao and destiny, he felt a little more at ease. Even if he hadn’t fully trusted her yet, it was better to have her on his side than against him.

He let out a laugh through his nose and looked down. "I don’t know about all that. Either way, I’d rather keep you as my trump card. If things get too bad, I’ll call on you. But for now, I was planning to ask Yuqiu for help. I still owe her a favour, so I can knock out two problems at once. And having the support of the Tang Clan Head won’t hurt either."

Yalan gave a satisfied nod as they continued walking, her ember eyes reflecting the lanterns’ dim glow in the corridors. It was quiet, the stillness only broken by the soft sound of their footsteps and the distant rustling of night wind through the courtyard trees.

After a while, Chen Ren broke the silence. "By the way," he began slowly, "I’ve been wondering... Do you know what’s going on with the Tang Jihao? He looks... sickly. He's the same in the previous Chen Ren's memories. And it doesn't seem like normal sickness."

Yalan’s ears flicked, her gaze shifting slightly."I’ve noticed it too. It’s not just physical. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a soul disease."

"Soul disease?"

Yalan’s tail swished, her tone matter-of-fact. "A disease of the soul, yes. It’s not natural either. Someone did this to him— most likely a cultivator. His soul is being eaten away bit by bit every day. That’s why he looks so frail. I’d bet he’s relying on pills and elixirs just to keep himself upright. Without them, he’d probably be coughing blood every other second."

Chen Ren absorbed the information in silence, his mind racing. Soul diseases were far outside his realm of expertise. He had heard stories about them, tales of how the soul could be corrupted, rotted from the inside out. But never had he imagined that someone like Tang Jihao would be suffering from such a thing.

For a moment, he considered offering help, but then quickly dismissed the thought. What could he do? He had no knowledge of treating soul diseases, nor the resources to even begin trying. And getting involved with something like that— it would be far too dangerous.

"I guess that explains a lot," Chen Ren finally said, his voice more subdued. "Still, it’s not my place to intervene. I wouldn’t even know where to start. Helping Tang Yuqiu is enough. I’ll leave that mess to those more qualified."

Yalan gave him a sidelong glance, her whiskers twitching. "Wise decision. Meddling with soul diseases is like trying to wrestle a demon— either you win or you get consumed. Best to focus on your own path for now."

Chen Ren nodded, but his mind couldn’t help but linger on the thought. Tang Jihao, suffering in silence, put on a strong face while his very soul decayed— it was a grim reminder of the world he had stepped into. Strength wasn’t just about physical power or martial prowess; sometimes, the greatest battles were invisible to the naked eye.

Still, he had other priorities, and getting too involved in the clan’s affairs could only complicate things. He had his own plans, his own survival to worry about. With a final glance at Yalan, who now padded silently beside him, Chen Ren exhaled and pushed the thought from his mind.

***

Under the vast expense of the sky, Cloud Mist City sprawled out like a hazy dream, nestled among the rolling clouds that drifted lazily through the air. A man stood on top of the biggest mountain in the area and from his position, he could instantly see how the city's walls rose into the distance. The atmosphere was cool and thick, almost tangible as if the city itself were cradled by fog.

His blue robe fluttered gently in the wind, worn and frayed at the edges. Dirt and bloodstains marked its once-flawless surface. His hair, as blue as the robes he wore, hung loosely down his back, swaying slightly with each gust of wind. The subtle gleam of the bracelet around his wrist caught the moonlight. He gazed down at the city, his sharp eyes taking in every detail as his heart tugged in anticipation.

Finally, after a long moment of silence, he exhaled slowly. "So, this is Cloud Mist City." His voice was low, roughened by fatigue and resolve. "I'm finally here."

He lifted his hand, brushing some dirt off his sleeve. "Are you sure we’ll find what we’re looking for here?"

The wind swirled suddenly, carrying with it a presence— faint at first, like a whisper on the edge of perception, but soon taking form. The air next to him rippled, and from the thin veil between the realms, a figure emerged. A ghostly silhouette, its shape resembling that of a demon, with twisted horns and sharp, red eyes. Its entire body flickered like a dying flame, both translucent and yet imposing.

The ghost’s voice was a rasping echo, barely louder than the wind. "Yes," it said with certainty, its glowing eyes narrowing. "But it won't be easy to acquire. The object’s aura is faint— buried deep. It needs to be very close for me to sense its full nature."

The man glanced sideways at the spectre, his lips curving into a grim smile. "That's no problem," he said, his voice cold and unwavering. "I’ll deal with whatever stands in my way. And if anyone tries to stop me..." His eyes narrowed even at the thought of someone trying to stop him. "I’ll give them a show. A little blood tends to make an impression."

The ghost chuckled, a dark, hollow sound that echoed in the wind. "You speak like a true disciple of mine. Blood may not solve everything, but it certainly smooths the path." The spectre's form shifted slightly, growing more defined as it loomed closer. "I chose you for a reason. You’re ruthless enough to survive this world and ambitious enough to carve your own path through it."

The man clenched his fist, the bracelet around his wrist glowing faintly in response to his will. "Then let’s not waste any more time. We know what we need to do."

As the ghost faded back into the shadows, the man stood there a moment longer, his gaze locked on Cloud Mist City below. The mists churned, obscuring the streets and rooftops as if the city itself were hiding secrets deep within its embrace. His heartbeat quickened, not from fear but anticipation. Whatever awaited him in that city—treasures, enemies, or bloodshed—he would face it head-on.

The wind picked up, carrying his words into the distance. "Whatever happens... this city won't forget my name."

16. Haggling (Bonus chapter)

Although his plan had been perfectly laid out and set in his mind, even after speaking with Tang Jihao, one glaring problem clung to his side: Tang Yuqiu had vanished.

Chen Ren had scoured the Tang Manor, and questioned every servant he could find, but all anyone knew was that she had left the manor. "Being outside" was about as useful as saying she was somewhere under the sky. The city was vast, and people disappeared easily into its winding streets, crowded districts, and hidden alcoves.

He knew how people like Tang Yuqiu would act when they were troubled. Often, they’d seek quiet corners where the noise of life would fade away, and the chaos in their mind could find some peace. The issue was that those places were rarely obvious, especially for someone like Tang Yuqiu who would be smart enough not to hide in plain sight.

Maybe she had somewhere private where she found comfort, maybe it was a person— but again, he doubted she had such close friends considering her nature. He also hadn't seen her with anyone else other than her maid. But how would he know where to find her? How would anyone know?

With a sigh, Chen Ren set off, his steps light but his mind heavy.

The city stretched before him like a puzzle, its roads teeming with life. He made his way through familiar streets, heading towards the upper district— a more refined area beyond the bustling market. He had been here before, more than once, a wide landscape that offered a semblance of peace. Yet, even after combing the alleys and looking into the refined tea houses that someone like Tang Yuqiu would frequent, she was still nowhere to be found.

His search felt endless, each corner revealing nothing but the familiar sights of merchants, shoppers, and city dwellers going about their day. The upper district may have offered more serenity, but it did not yield the answers he sought. Frustration clawed at him, his thoughts a jumble of worry and mild irritation.

He had hoped to find her deep in thought somewhere, brooding in a corner, contemplating whatever troubles had sent her off in the first place.

But it wasn’t until he moved closer to the noodle stall, his last resort, that he spotted her— Tang Yuqiu, seated casually, bowls of noodles scattered around her like trophies from some odd competition. She wasn’t brooding, wasn’t lost in thought. Instead, she was slurping noodles with the kind of focus that suggested she was thinking about absolutely nothing at all.

A soft, bemused voice broke the silence of his thoughts. "You should’ve looked for her here right away," Yalan, his feline companion, muttered from his side, her amber eyes glinting with amusement.

Chen Ren sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I thought she'd be sitting somewhere, lost in thought, not... slurping noodles.”

"Some people eat when they're stressed," the cat remarked with an air of superiority, tail flicking lazily. "You humans have the strangest habits."

Chen Ren shook his head, though a small smile tugged at his lips. "Of all places..."

Still, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. She was here, not lost or troubled in some hidden corner. Just here, surrounded by noodles and clearly coping in her own way. Now, it was just a matter of talking to her about what was in his mind.

Chen Ren gave a subtle nod to Yalan, acknowledging the cat’s dry wisdom, before setting his sights on Tang Yuqiu.

In the middle of a small mess of empty bowls, her eyes were narrowed but drew a blank. She was slurping the last of her noodles as if they held the answers to all her problems. It was still early, just before lunch, so the line for the stall was small but growing, the quiet before the midday rush.

He stepped closer, weaving through the sparse crowd with ease, and gave a polite nod to Yuqiu, who glanced up at him with the barest flicker of acknowledgement. Her brows knit together in annoyance, but she didn’t make any move to stop him. “I hope the noodles are satisfying your appetite,” he said, a soft humour lacing his words.

Her eyes flicked up, cool and sharp. “I don’t want to talk to eavesdroppers,” she replied, her voice low and edged with irritation.

Chen Ren sighed but met her gaze evenly. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. Your father called me there. I just happen to have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

She studied him for a moment, her expression softening just a fraction. The scowl that was on her lips turned to a thin, straight line. “I can see that,” she muttered, though the edge hadn’t entirely left her voice. “So, why are you bothering me now?” She swirled the noodles with her chopsticks and was playing with them as she waited for his response.

Chen Ren moved closer, his tone shifting as he spoke with more purpose. “I have a way to alleviate your worries.” He paused, letting his words settle. “As I’m living in your house, it’s only right that I lend a hand.”

She looked at him, scepticism written plainly on her face. She placed the chopsticks on the bowl, balancing them carefully before setting the bowl aside. “How exactly can you help me?” She glared at him with a deadpan look on her face. Before he could respond, she laughed humorlessly— a dry laugh through her nose. “Don’t joke, Chen Ren.”

As soon as she said it, she picked up the bowl again and started slurping noodles.

“I’m not joking.” His voice held a quiet confidence. He gestured to the stall behind him, to the small but growing crowd of customers waiting for their turn. “The place where you’re eating noodles right now— I created it in mere weeks. No funding, just meagre savings. And now look at it.”

Her eyes narrowed once again. “Are you trying to brag?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m offering a proposal.”

Tang Yuqiu’s eyes searched his face, trying to determine if he was serious or just playing some elaborate joke. There was no deceit in his gaze, only a calm certainty. “A proposal?” she repeated, her voice less hostile now, but still guarded. “What kind of business?”

She placed the bowl back on the table, giving him her full attention at the sound of his seriousness.

“High-end products,” he said, his tone firm. “Something refined, something that stands out.”

She exhaled sharply, her doubt clear. “That sounds expensive. If it fails, the losses would be huge. I can’t afford that again— I can’t bear that kind of failure anymore.”

Chen Ren leaned in slightly, his voice dropping as if sharing a secret only for her ears. “You don’t have to think negatively all the time. Failure isn’t a certainty.”

Her gaze wavered for a moment, but he pressed on. “You tried to save a blacksmithing workshop for your father. You bought it and poured everything into it, hoping to turn it into something grand. Even though you’re well-versed in the basics of business, you lack one thing: innovation. That’s where I come in.”

Tang Yuqiu’s fingers curled around the edge of the table, her expression unreadable, but Chen Ren could see the faint flicker of doubt turning into interest. “Innovation?” she echoed softly.

He nodded, his gaze steady. “I’ll bring innovation. You bring the structure. Together, we can build something that doesn’t just survive—it thrives.”

For the first time since they began talking, Tang Yuqiu looked at him not with suspicion or irritation but with something close to hope. But she wasn’t ready to admit it yet. “It sounds risky,” she said, her voice quieter now.

“All good things are,” Chen Ren replied with a faint smile. “But this time, you won’t be doing it alone.”

It seemed as if she allowed herself to consider the possibilities for a brief moment, but soon her expression shifted to one that clearly conveyed the question: “Have you lost your mind?” Her frown deepened as seconds passed, assessing him for any hint of deceit again, but after a long pause, she simply sighed, her shoulders drooping slightly. "If you’re lying, I’ll kick you out myself."

Chen Ren chuckled.

“You don’t have that authority. Your father does. And let’s be honest, do you really think the regular guards would be able to get me out?” He folded his arms, voice lowering to a serious tone. “But I’m not lying. This business will help you regain your lost honour. We’ll build something that’ll take the city by storm. Only if you want to. If you don’t, then… Well.”

He shrugged.

She stared at him, her expression unreadable as she considered his words. “Forty-sixty,” she said, at last, her voice steady. “In my favour for the profits.”

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Fifty-fifty,” he countered, unwavering. “I’m already doing you a favour by letting you in on the profits.”

She snickered, the tension in her posture easing just a bit. “I doubt you’re going to put any money into this venture, and as for labour? I’ll be the one doing most of it. Not to mention, I’m putting my last bit of savings into this. The split should be in my favour.”

He shook his head, his smile not faltering. “None of it matters without my ideas and innovation. Without me, this is just another failed business in the making.”

Chen Ren felt a pang of guilt settle in his chest. He was aware that the knowledge he held— the ideas, the innovation— weren’t really his own. They came from Earth, from a world she knew nothing about. In a sense, he was taking advantage of her ignorance, using what he hadn’t developed himself. But a little shamelessness could go a long way, and in this world, survival wasn’t always about playing fair. Besides, if it meant helping her out of this mess and earning good money, he could live with it.

The two of them leaned closer over the wooden table, their voices rising and falling like the tide as they haggled fiercely.

Tang Yuqiu’s eyes sparkled with determination as she pushed for a larger share, her tone sharp and confident. “You can’t expect me to invest my last savings without a fair cut. I’m thinking at least fifty-forty in my favour.”

Chen Ren crossed his arms, unyielding. “That just sounds comical to me now. I’ll agree to fifty-fifty, but only if you want this to work.”

“Fifty-fifty? That’s not happening. You’re not even putting in any capital,” she shot back, her frustration evident. “I’m the one risking everything here.”

“And without my ideas, there’s nothing worth investing or risking in at all,” he countered, his voice steady. “You need to recognize the value I bring to the table.”

She rolled her eyes, a scoff escaping her lips. “Please. Are you really valuing your ‘grand ideas’ that highly? They’re just words without a proper plan. How about seventy-thirty? I need a cushion for my risks.”

“Seventy-thirty? Don’t make me laugh! You just increased your profits after asking sixty.” Chen Ren shook his head, a smirk on his face. “You’ll scare away any potential investors with those demands. You really think anyone will join you at that rate?”

“If you want a partner, you’ll have to meet me halfway. How about sixty-forty, then? That’s still generous considering I’m the one bringing in the capital.”

“Fifty-fifty. It’s either that or no deal.”

“Fine,” she relented, with an exasperated huff. “Fifty-fifty.” Her eyes gleamed with a mix of scepticism and expectation as she added, “But the next discussion will be when you bring me this so-called high-end product. And make sure it actually impresses me.”

With that, she stood, the bowls of noodles forgotten as she straightened her dress. “Don’t disappoint me, Chen Ren,” she said coolly before turning on her heel and walking off into the city streets.

Chen Ren watched her go, rubbing the back of his head in thought. The deal was set, but now came the hard part: delivering on his promise. Getting the product was, without a doubt, the toughest challenge ahead.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Now comes the real work,” he muttered, casting a glance at the noodle stall. Then, realisation struck him. “Wait! She forgot to pay!”

***

Once the discussion with the young miss was over, Chen Ren spent the rest of the afternoon working at the noodle stall. The hustle and bustle of serving bowls of noodles to the waiting line kept him busy, but his mind was far from settled. The deal he struck with Tang Yuqiu was the easy part— making promises and talking up grand ideas.

Sure, in his mind, he had a thousand concepts for high-end products, things that could revolutionise this city. He could picture them clearly—luxurious cosmetics, high-quality fabrics, herbal tonics. But as the hours ticked by and the day dragged into late afternoon, he realised something that chilled him more than he expected: this world wasn’t like his own.

The herbs he needed, the specific plants, the animals—none of them were familiar to him here. The flora and fauna he relied on for his ideas were different and foreign. What use was knowledge from another world if the fundamental building blocks were all wrong?

Chen Ren rubbed his temple, staring out at the thinning crowd of customers. He didn’t even have a good grasp of what was available locally. Without the right resources, his ideas were nothing more than fantasies.

He needed a solid foundation in the herbal and animal life around the city. But therein lay the problem: Chen Ren had no books related to that. He had never been interested in herbology or biology. His knowledge from his past life was limited to what modern industry could produce— he didn’t have the faintest clue how to identify rare herbs or unique ingredients in this world.

And worse still, this city didn’t seem to have a public library. He had asked around before— hoping for a place where he could dig up some information— but according to the servants, there was no such luxury here. Even Yalan, the cat, had been little help, though she had muttered some vague complaints about ‘human knowledge being too scattered.’

When he’d brought up the idea to Xiulan, she confirmed his suspicions. The local herbalists and doctors were fiercely protective of their knowledge, sharing only with their trusted apprentices. Trying to pry information out of them would take too much time— something he barely had.

Chen Ren sighed, leaning against the stall’s counter. His options were growing slimmer by the minute. There had to be another way. And then, a flicker of memory hit him— something from Chen Ren’s life here, something he had almost forgotten about. He straightened up, eyes narrowing as a thought crystallised.

There was one place that might have what he needed. It wasn’t a library, not in the traditional sense, but it was a place where books were plentiful. More importantly, it was a place where someone like him might just stumble upon the right book by sheer luck.

His gaze turned resolute as he packed up the last of the stall’s supplies, handing over the evening shift to Tang Xiulan. He didn’t say much to her, just a brief nod before he turned and headed into the city, a singular thought guiding his steps.

By the time Chen Ren arrived at his destination, the sun had dipped low in the sky, casting the streets in a soft orange glow.

He found himself standing outside an unassuming tea shop, nestled between a pair of larger merchant buildings. To most, it looked like a simple, cosy place— a retreat for the weary, where people sipped tea and escaped the noise of the marketplace. But Chen Ren knew better.

He glanced at the faded sign swaying in the evening breeze. It was a tea shop, yes, but it was also something more: a place with a surprisingly large collection of novels.

“Stories for the idle,” Chen Ren muttered to himself. “But maybe, just maybe, I might be able to find what I'm looking for here.”

He walked forward, pushing the door open, the faint scent of tea leaves and old parchment greeting him. The air inside was warm and cosy, and the soft murmur of voices made it feel almost too peaceful for the task at hand. He spotted a few patrons lounging about, their noses buried in novels as they sipped their drinks.

His eyes scanned the shelves lining the walls. There, amidst the countless works of fiction, he hoped to find what he was looking for. The herbal knowledge he needed, the key to unlocking the next step of his plan— surely, among all these books, there had to be something useful. A book, a scrap of knowledge… anything.

Chen Ren strode inside, a small smile creeping across his face. "Time to see what this tea shop really has to offer."

***

A/N - Next bonus chapter if we reach 3500 followers by 18 November.

17. Lusty snake and rising wood

The tea shop was nothing out of the ordinary.

The lanterns, already lit, cast a warm glow that mingled with the lingering scent of brewing tea, creating an inviting atmosphere. Despite the late hour, the place was still full of life, with customers ranging from wandering cultivators to weary travellers, each nursing a steaming cup and engaging in low, murmured conversations.

Chen Ren stepped through the entrance, his eyes scanning the familiar space.

It had been a haunt of his— well, the previous Chen Ren's. He would come here occasionally, trailing behind friends with the same lofty aspirations, searching for volumes on the lives of famous cultivators. Those old legends were filled with tales of extraordinary feats, profound enlightenment, and battles that shook mountains. That Chen Ren had been enchanted by such stories, trying to emulate the speech and mannerisms of those ancient heroes. Perhaps it was this obsession that had made him so haughty, looking down on mortals as if they were dust beneath his feet.

Chen’s lips twisted into a half-smile at the memory, but his expression soon shifted into one of mild curiosity as he glanced around. The tea stall hadn't changed much; the scent of worn scrolls and ink mingled with the earthy aroma of the tea.

Rows of shelves lined one side of the establishment, stacked with books and scrolls, each promising knowledge for those who sought it.

Once a customer selected a book, they could choose to take a seat in one of the small cubicles— cramped spaces enclosed within wooden walls, offering a modicum of privacy— or sit at the open tables, reading amidst the buzz of conversation while sipping their tea.

Chen Ren walked towards the shelves, his fingers brushing against the rough spines of the scrolls as he searched for something that might be of use.

Most of the volumes were the same as he remembered: biographies of storied cultivators, legends of ancient sects, and tedious records of lineages.

He even caught sight of a few of the more absurdly long titles— works like “The Celestial Sword that Cut Through the Humans and Heavens” or “Heavenly Phoenix Rising from Ashes to Burn Everything into Ashes”. Yet, buried among these, there were some books whose names made his eyebrows twitch. Volumes like “Lusty Snake and the Rising Wood” sat side by side with the more serious tomes, its title boldly displayed as if challenging anyone who dared to judge the content.

Curiosity piqued, he reached for it. "Only for research purposes," he muttered to himself, cracking open the pages. As he skimmed through the lines, he found that it wasn't the scandalous tale he expected.

Instead, it detailed a bizarre story about a snake spirit that formed a bond with a tree beast, their journey through the wilderness, and their trials against various predators. The language, poetic and flowery described their struggle to survive and thrive amidst hostile terrain, and there wasn’t a single racy detail to be found.

He shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips as he placed the book back on the shelf.

He continued to search, his eyes narrowing as he sought something more practical— treatises on rare herbs, bestiaries that catalogued the creatures of the surrounding forests, anything that might give him an edge. But to his growing disappointment, nothing of the sort seemed to exist among the shelves.

The tea house, with great reputation for its book collection, had nothing but fanciful, questionable stories and endless odes to long-dead cultivators.

Frowning, his gaze drifted toward the small desk nestled in the corner of the tea stall, where an old woman sat.

Her hair having lost its colour now streaked with silver, bound up in a loose bun atop her head. Her face was wrinkled and sun-kissed, but her eyes resembled one of a hawk. She cradled a clay cup in her hands, sipping tea slowly and occasionally moving her eyes around the shop.

His memories told him that she was the owner of the place. Deciding that she might have more insight into his search, he approached the desk, offering a polite bow. His eyes went to the label on the table — Qing He, her name must be.

“Good evening, Senior Qing He. I’m looking for a particular book if you’d be so kind as to assist me.”

Qing He looked up, one brow arching slightly, her eyes darting toward the shelves lining the walls. “There are plenty of books around there, young one. Take your pick,” she said, her voice creaky.

“I’ve seen the ones out there, but I can’t find what I’m looking for. Specifically, I’m interested in herbs and beasts. A book that could give me detailed information on them.”

Qing He leaned back in her chair, the wooden legs creaking under the shift of her weight. She set down her cup with a soft clink, peering at him over its rim. “Herbs and beasts, you say? This place isn’t a sect library, boy. You want those kinds of books, then join a sect.”

He hesitated, then shook his head, meeting her gaze directly. “I already tried. Failed the entrance exams.”

A brief, almost pitying chuckle escaped the woman’s lips. “Not all sects are the grand, sky-reaching one's. There are smaller ones, always looking for stray talents.”

Chen Ren shook his head. “Not interested. I just need access to knowledge. That’s all. I'm even willing to pay more.”

Qing He’s expression didn’t change. She picked up her cup again, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. “Then you’re out of luck. There are no secret collections here, no hidden tomes. If what you want isn’t on those shelves, you might as well leave. As for money, you can pay for my tea and books on those shelves. Nothing more than that.”

Chen Ren let out a long sigh, nodding to himself as he considered her words. His mind briefly entertained the idea of using his status as a cultivator or perhaps invoking his recent association with the Tang Clan. But as he glanced back at Qing He, looking at the wrinkles around her eyes, he discarded that notion.

Using his status here would be akin to acting like the previous Chen Ren, especially when he was just against an old woman. He needed a different method to get through her.

“Thank you anyway,” he said, bowing again before turning back to the shelves.

After some searching, he pulled out a book titled “The Immortal Travels of Lu Jie”. It was yet another biography of a cultivator and his turtle whose life had become the stuff of legend. Not the practical text he sought, but at least it might offer some inspiration.

He settled down in one of the public seats, choosing a corner where the noise of the tea stall was muted and cracked open the book. As he began to read, a shadow loomed over him, and he glanced up to find Qing He standing beside him, a steaming cup of tea in her hands.

“Here,” she said gruffly, setting the cup down on the table beside him. “Glad you found something to read.”

Chen Ren blinked, surprised, before offering her a small, genuine smile. “Thank you.”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a few coins and placing them on the table. She grabbed them without turning to leave. She didn’t look back, but Chen Ren thought he saw the corners of her lips curl upward ever so slightly at the coins.

He took a sip of the tea, savouring the warmth that spread through his chest, and let himself sink into the tales of Lu Jie, even as his mind continued to puzzle over the best way to find what he truly needed.

His other hand turned the brittle pages of the biography. The dim glow of the lanterns cast shifting patterns on the floor, and the hum of conversation from the other patrons filled the air with a comforting background murmur. The tea was warm, smooth, and soothing, but his thoughts remained restless, circling back to Qing He behind the counter.

As he took another sip, a soft rustling reached his ears. A moment later, a familiar weight settled on the seat beside him, fur brushing against his arm. He glanced sideways and saw Yalan. The creature stretched leisurely, curling her tail around her paws, before it spoke through his mind.

“It’s good you didn’t try to pester her,” Yalan said, her gaze shifting toward Qing He who was now busy wiping down a dusty ledger. “That woman is strong.”

He raised an eyebrow, setting the book aside for a moment. “A cultivator?”

Yalan nodded, the tip of her tail flicking lazily. “One that should be an elder of a sect at the very least. Dunno what she’s doing here, hiding in plain sight.”

Chen Ren’s gaze drifted back to Qing He. Her mannerisms were unhurried, almost mundane— just a regular shopkeeper tending to her tea stall. Yet, there was a precision to the way she moved, a calmness that seemed just a bit too steady for an elder who had supposedly lived among average folks all her life.

He tried to see through the veil of ordinariness she wore like a cloak, but there was nothing to give her away. Everything about her, from the faint lines around her eyes to the way she drank, seemed unremarkable.

But he couldn’t dismiss what Yalan had said. If she truly was a hidden master, then it explained the knowledge in her advice earlier— her casual mention of joining a smaller sect.

He had given her no direct clue that he was a cultivator when she suddenly mentioned the sect competition. Though, even mortals tried their luck in those sect competitions, hoping to secure a menial position within the sect’s ranks. But she had spoken as if she knew he was a cultivator.

He cast another glance her way, but she continued her work, her focus entirely on her task.

Perhaps she had grown used to keeping her true nature hidden, blending into the background of this quiet corner of the world.

From what he remembered, the tea stall had been around for over a decade, always present yet never standing out. And in all that time, she had never done anything to betray her strength— never once let slip the aura that clung to true cultivators like a faint shadow.

Chen Ren sipped his tea thoughtfully, a plan beginning to form in his mind. If she was indeed a hidden master, there was a chance—however slim— that she possessed the knowledge he sought, the books he needed. Ancient masters often kept hidden troves of information, things that would never find their way onto the dusty shelves of a public stall.

He just needed to find the right opportunity to make himself useful, to earn her favour, to perhaps gain access to whatever secrets she might be guarding.

Yalan’s voice broke into his thoughts, her tone curious. “So, what’s the plan, then? Sit here drinking tea until your cup runs dry?”

Chen glanced down at Yalan, his lips curling into a faint smile. “I’ll look out for the right opportunity to intervene. There’s always something, some small act that might win a favour. If she’s hiding her strength, then she’s got her reasons, and people like that often need help— help they don’t want to ask for.”

He took another slow sip, feeling the warmth seep into his chest. “If nothing comes up, then I’ll have to play the long game. But I don’t have much time for that.”

Yalan’s tail twitched, her gaze shifting from Chen Ren to Qing He once more. “Hmph. Impatient as always, aren’t you?” But there was no reproach in her tone, only a hint of amusement.

Whether it took a moment or a month, he would find a way to crack open whatever mystery the old grandma held.

After all, in a world of secrets and shadows, the right connections could be more valuable than any rare herb or elusive beast. And if she was truly a master, then beneath that ordinary exterior, she held more than a few keys to the knowledge he sought.

Time drifted by slowly in the tea stall, the minutes bleeding into one another as Chen Ren sat in his corner, pretending to be absorbed in the dusty old biography.

His gaze, however, frequently drifted over the rim of his cup to Qing He at the counter.

She continued with her routine— refilling teapots, arranging cups, and occasionally greeting new customers with a weary nod. The steady pace of her movements betrayed nothing of the hidden strength Yalan had hinted at. But, even as he kept his eyes peeled, no opportunity presented itself.

He watched as people came and went— workers, merchants, and the occasional scholar, all entering with the prospect of a warm drink or a brief respite from the day's troubles.

Nothing of interest, nothing out of the ordinary. His second cup of tea turned cold. He ordered a third, and as the minutes stretched on, he began to wonder if he would spend the entire evening here without any progress.

But just as the tea warmed his hands once more, the bells above the door chimed, announcing the arrival of a group of young women.

Their attire marked them as scions of wealth— draped in robes of fine silk, embroidered with different patterns of flowers and mythical creatures. Gold-threaded tassels hung from their sleeves, swaying with every playful step. Jade bangles clinked softly on their wrists, and their hairpins shimmered in the lantern light, each one showing off their families' prosperity.

Chen Ren's interest piqued as they made their way to the reception. They gathered around Qing He, who set her teacup down with a soft clink, meeting their smiles with a polite but detached nod.

“Ah, Grandma Qing He, do you have any other books here?” one of the girls asked, her voice carrying the cultured tone of someone used to making requests.

Qing He regarded her with a raised eyebrow.

“What kind are you looking for?”

The girl gave a small sigh, adjusting the hem of her silken sleeve. “Most of the books here seem to cater to children or men. We’ve read through nearly all of the cultivation stories you have in stock. Isn’t there anything... different? Something more to our taste?”

Qing He’s face remained impassive as she shook her head.

“This is all I have, miss. If you’re looking for something different, I suggest you try the merchants next time they come through town.”

The disappointment in the girls' expressions was clear, but they could do little but exchange glances and mutter among themselves before turning away, their footsteps carrying them out of the tea stall in a trail of silk and perfume.

Chen Ren watched their retreating figures thoughtfully, a plan forming in his mind. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for. With a quick breath, he downed the last of his tea and rose to his feet, striding toward Qing He with purpose.

She looked up at his approach, her expression turning from mild curiosity to a familiar wariness. “What do you want now?” she asked, voice flat.

Chen Ren offered a polite smile, gesturing in the direction of the door where the girls had exited. “Those young misses. Don’t you think you’re losing customers by not catering to them? If you had books they wanted, they’d keep coming back, and they’d spend plenty of silver doing it.”

Qing He shrugged, picking up her teacup again as if the matter was already settled. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t have any more books. And even if I wanted to get more, it’s not easy. Merchants don’t bring many these days, and the ones they do bring are mostly the same— cultivation stories, tales for children, nothing more.”

Chen Ren leaned in slightly, his tone gaining a touch of enthusiasm. “What if I offered you a solution to that problem?”

She eyed him sceptically, one brow arching as she set her cup down again. “And what solution would that be?”

He straightened, letting a bit of confidence slip into his voice. “I could write a book— one that would appeal to those girls. You have a lot of young misses visiting your shop, don’t you? If you had a story that they actually wanted to read, it could bring in more business. They’d come for the tea, stay for the book, and keep returning. Girls like them talk about everything to each other so I'm pretty sure your business will boom.”

Qing He’s scepticism only deepened, her lips curving into a dry smile. “You don’t look much like a writer to me.”

Chen Ren chuckled softly, spreading his hands in a disarming gesture. “Appearances can be deceiving, Senior. Just give me a chance. If I can do it, will you let me have a look at the herbal books?”

She let out a short, humourless laugh. “I already told you, I don’t have any of those. What part of that did you not understand?”

“Maybe there are some in the back. It wouldn’t hurt to take a look, would it? Just a small favour, if I manage to write something that brings more customers to your shop.”

Qing He stared at him, her gaze as steady and unyielding as a mountain. For a moment, Chen Ren wondered if he had pushed too far, but he held his ground, his expression remaining calm and composed.

Qing He let out a long sigh, her breath carrying the weariness of someone who had seen too many schemes and empty promises. She took her time, letting her gaze sweep over Chen Ren, measuring him up from head to toe. Her eyes, sharp and judgemental, flicked briefly to Yalan lingering a few paces behind him. After a moment’s pause, she folded her arms and gave a small, almost reluctant nod.

“Sure.”

“If you can write up a good book that brings in more business, I’ll search through what I have. But understand, there’s no guarantee I’ll find what you’re looking for.”

Chen Ren’s face lit up with a hint of satisfaction. “That’s good enough for me,” he replied, his voice carrying a note of enthusiasm that hadn’t been there before.

Without waiting for her to change her mind, he turned on his heel, striding toward the door. If he hadn’t controlled himself, he’d be bouncing on his feet. But good thing, he was still sane. Yalan padded after him, her tail swishing lazily behind.

As he left the tea shop, the air seemed cooler, and crisper— or maybe it was just his mind.

18. Qing He

Qing He’s hand trembled slightly as she brought the teacup to her lips, savouring the warmth that seeped through the delicate porcelain. Her shop, filled with neatly stacked books and the faint scent of aged paper, was brightened by the sunlight pouring through the window.

The gentle steam rising from the tea seemed to swirl in harmony with the rhythm of her thoughts, as if time itself had slowed to match her leisurely pace.

Her gaze drifted to the window, where the city’s chaos was visible. The laughter of children, the cries of merchants hawking their wares, the clattering of horse-drawn carts— all the familiar sounds of a mortal city busy with its daily routine. She observed it as one might view the ripples on a distant lake, present yet removed, the mundane happenings of a world she had once left behind and had returned to.

Time, she mused, moved so swiftly for mortals— ten years, gone in a blink.

In the world of the mundane, seasons changed, children grew, and elders passed on. But for her, a decade was no more than a brief interlude, a period where no great disturbances rocked the heavens or stirred the silent flow of her qi. There had been no furious rival sects to contend with, and no ancient blood feuds revived. Just quiet days, evenings filled with novels, and the simple pleasure of anonymity.

She sipped her tea again, feeling the warmth trickle down her throat.

Her lips curled slightly, a rare smile that creased her otherwise serene features. She thought of the grey-haired men who sometimes lingered near her stall, attempting to catch her eye with their clumsy charm. Oh, how they tried— offering small gifts, their flattery almost amusing even in this age. She did not desire their company; they were as uninteresting as stones by the roadside. Yet, she relished the attention, that small acknowledgement of her existence and charm that hadn't faded away even with wrinkles.

After all, who among those who once sought to ascend to the heavens could resist a little admiration? Even the most aloof cultivators, draped in their robes of mystery, couldn’t resist the allure of fame.

That was why they competed in endless tournaments, displayed their prowess for the masses, and even paid bards to spin stories of their exploits. Half of the novels cluttering her shelves were ghostwritten by such cultivators, fainty disguised exaggerated accounts of their own lives.

They claimed to be above mortal affairs, yet how many of them yearned for the reverence of those they dismissed as insignificant? The truth was, even the lofty required validation from the masses they deemed beneath them.

She sighed contentedly, closing her eyes to bask in the warmth of her tea and her thoughts. “A good life, a peaceful life,” she murmured to herself, savouring the words like a fine cup of tea. It was a mantra she had repeated so many times over these quiet years, almost convincing herself that it could last forever.

But then, the door creaked open, slicing through the tranquillity of the moment. Her eyes snapped open, her gaze sharpening as she peered at the shadowed figure standing at the threshold. Qing He’s brow furrowed, her grip tightening around the fragile cup, a small crack spreading through the porcelain.

There he stood— the uninvited guest, the one who could shatter this peace she had worked so hard to weave.

He appeared unassuming enough, dressed in simple robes, his expression as neutral as a calm lake. Yet she could sense the faint, irregular hum of his dantian beneath his surface, like a flame flickering in a breeze. He wasn’t much— no prodigious talent, no aura of destiny swirling around him. A cultivator of middling rank, barely a foot into the path that defied heaven's will.

She narrowed her eyes, scrutinising the barely perceptible ripples of energy emanating from him. A third star body forging cultivator, perhaps, or fourth if she was generous. Nothing that should pose a danger to her.

Her lips twisted into a thin line. The youth was no danger on his own— just another hopeful soul chasing the promise of immortality, like so many others who had come before him.

But then she saw it, lurking behind him— a shadow moving with liquid grace. A sleek, pristine white cat, its fur slipped past the door frame, padding soundlessly into the room. The cat's eyes gleamed with an unsettling intelligence, too bright and knowing for any ordinary beast. Qing He’s heart tightened at the sight.

That cat. A creature that did not belong in this mortal city.

Qing He’s gaze lingered on the spot where the white cat had last been seen, her pristine form slipping away with unnerving ease.

A spirit beast— she was sure of it. And not just any lowly creature that prowled the edges of town, but one with a strength that could hide itself even from her senses. At the very least, it was a peak foundation realm beast, possibly even at the elusive meridian expansion realm. She didn’t like either option; beasts of such calibre didn’t casually wander into mortal settlements like this, let alone follow around a cultivator of such modest talent.

Yet, the most curious thing of all was the beast’s behaviour. Instead of ruling over the weaker being, it followed him, acting like a pet, docile and obedient.

She had seen the cat nestling against his legs, her eyes glinting with a peculiar amusement, almost as if she was playing a game Qing He couldn’t quite decipher. And now, for the last two days, she hadn’t seen the hide or hair of either the cat or the young cultivator. She had almost convinced herself that they’d moved on, leaving her to her simple life once more.

"So, it comes to this," she muttered under her breath, the tea cooling in her hand, her gaze never leaving the visitor who had just stepped into her quiet corner of her shop.

He strode toward her, a bright smile on his face that was almost annoyingly cheerful.

She straightened, letting out a slow breath to steady herself. “Why are you here today?” she asked, her voice clipped as she peered over her cup of tea. “Back for more books?”

The young man shook his head, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “No, Senior Qing He. I’m here to fulfil my end of the bargain.”

She frowned, setting her teacup down with a faint clink. “Oh?” Her tone held a trace of curiosity, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. “So, you wrote a novel?”

His grin widened, pride shining in his eyes. “Yes. Enough to become a big hit with the young girls.”

She chuckled dryly, the noise escaping through her nose. “A big hit, is it?” She studied him for a moment, then reached out as he handed her a thin, bound volume. Qing He’s hands brushed the rough pages, feeling the weight of the book and, perhaps, the weight of his ambitions. She squinted at the title and flipped open to the first page.

“Very well then,” she said with a touch of amusement in her voice. “Let me read.”

The young cultivator watched eagerly as she scanned the opening lines, leaning in slightly as if hoping to catch her first reaction. Qing sighed softly, her fingers tapping the edge of the book. What could this child possibly write, being so young and naïve? she wondered.

Her mind drifted back to the tales she’d read over the decades— stories of grand battles, tragic love, and ascension to heights no mortal could fathom. Surely, he would not grasp the depth that such stories required.

Yet as her eyes traced over the words, a flicker of surprise crossed her face. Her reading slowed, and she glanced up at him, a wry smile tugging at her lips.

“‘Liang Shan’ and ‘Hua Yun’—” she emphasised the names in a tone thick with the cadence of her region, rendering his words awkwardly, “Who is this Sha Ke Per anyway that's credited as the writer of the original?”

The young cultivator’s grin faltered slightly, but he regained his composure quickly, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Shakspeare. It’s an old tale from my place of birth,” he explained. “I just adapted it to be about cultivators. The original story was about two mortal families who ruled a city, and their children... well, they fell in love despite their families’ feud.”

She scoffed lightly, a note of disbelief creeping into her voice. “Mortal families ruling a city? What nonsense. How could such a story capture anyone’s interest? Mortals can barely keep a village in order, let alone a city.”

“It’s just a story, Senior Qing He. It’s not meant to be taken so seriously. And I made it different, you know— added some of those ‘forbidden techniques’ and ‘ancient bloodlines’ that I saw around the books in your shop.” He smiled and his words held a hint of pride.

Qing He’s lips twitched, and she found herself not knowing whether to take him seriously or not. “Hmm, we’ll see if your little story has any depth to it. A tale of love and conflict, adapted to the realm of cultivators… It's not an easy thing to write.”

She returned to the pages, immersing herself in the story of clashing clans, forbidden cultivation techniques, and tragic love. Yet even as she read, she kept one eye on the young man, observing the eagerness in his expression. He watched her reactions carefully, as if seeking validation— not so different from those old men on the street, pining for a bit of her attention. And perhaps, in that small way, he was a true cultivator after all.

Yet in the back of her mind, the shadow of that spirit beast lingered, reminding her that things were never as simple as they seemed.

Qing He adjusted her glasses, the faint flickering of candlelight casting shadows over her face as she began to read the first page of the young cultivator's manuscript. The story started with two rival guardian sects— one, the Skyshroud Sect, known for their mastery of sword qi, and the other, the Verdant Stream Sect, masters of spirit arts. The protagonists, a young man from Skyshroud and a woman from Verdant Stream met under a red maple tree that grew on the boundary between their sects.

Despite the tension between their factions, the two found themselves drawn to one another, their chance meetings turning into whispered conversations about the nature of cultivation, their dreams, and the harsh duties they bore for their respective sects. Qing He smirked as she read this part, recognizing the telltale signs of a budding romance, laced with the tension of forbidden encounters. It was the kind of tale that drew in young hearts, the thrill of love crossing boundaries.

As she read further, the sect elders grew suspicious of their young disciples' secret meetings. The lovers, caught between loyalty to their sects and their feelings for each other, decided to meet one last time under a legendary maple tree. The young cultivator wrote of a moonlit night, where spiritual energy shimmered around them, and the air was thick with unspoken words and regrets. He captured the scene well, she had to admit— his prose managed to evoke the coldness of the night and the warmth of their last embrace.

But, as such stories go, tragedy soon followed. The elders of the Skyshroud Sect struck first, unleashing a storm of sword qi that tore through the forest where the two met. Not to be outdone, the Verdant Stream elders retaliated with devastating spirit arts, turning the moonlit scene into a battlefield of clashing auras.

The couple tried to escape the carnage, but their enemies would not relent. With a final, desperate use of forbidden techniques, they turned their power inward, choosing to end their own lives rather than let the sects tear them apart.

As she reached the last lines, describing their hands clasped together, their qi fading like the last breath of the maple leaves around them, Qing He realised her tea had long grown cold. She set the manuscript down, feeling the heaviness, and bittersweetness of the story settle in her chest. Slowly, she raised her gaze to the young cultivator, who watched her with a hopeful, yet nervous, smile.

“This is actually pretty good,” she said, her voice tinged with reluctant admiration. She leaned back, fingers tapping on the armrest of her chair. “How were you able to write something like this?”

The young man’s smile grew wider, though he maintained a humble air. “It’s an adaptation, like I said. I heard it as a tale rather than read it whole. Took some time to adapt it properly— to make the dialogue flow and fit the immortal world, you know? But it turned out well.”

She studied him for a moment, tapping her finger thoughtfully against the book. “It might actually work. You should consider a career as a writer rather than a cultivator. I’m sure many sects would be willing to sponsor someone who can weave stories like this. It’s rare to find a talent like yours.”

He chuckled softly, scratching the back of his head. “I’ll think about it. If my current path doesn’t work out, maybe I’ll take up your advice.” He paused, and then his expression turned serious as he shifted the topic. “About the book... are you satisfied with the one that I wrote? Will you give me what I seek?”

Qing He glanced at him, then back at the manuscript he’d written. “It’s nicely done, even if I haven’t had a chance to test whether the young girls would find it captivating. But the writing is solid, so I’ll give you a chance.” She stood up, smoothing out her robes. “Besides, I found a book that might interest you. Come with me.”

She led him to a narrow stairway at the back of the tea shop, the wooden steps creaking softly beneath their feet. The white cat appeared again, slipping through the shadows to follow them, its eyes glinting with that same amused intelligence. The young man followed her, his curiosity piqued as they made their way to a small room, where a worn bookshelf stood against one wall, filled with ancient tomes.

She motioned to a simple chair by a small table. “Sit. And don’t touch anything,” she warned, casting him a stern look before turning to search through the bookshelf.

He sat obediently, watching as she thumbed through dusty scrolls and leather-bound volumes until she found what she was looking for. Carefully, she pulled out a thin, worn book and placed it in his hands.

“I think this one might be to your liking,” she said, her tone softer than before as if a hint of nostalgia touched her words. “But remember, I don’t give out my treasures lightly.”

With that, she left him in the room, heading back down the creaking stairs. As she reached her desk again, she couldn’t help but glance once more at the manuscript he had left behind. She traced a finger over the cover, considering the young man’s story. It had been a while since a tale had stirred something in her— something that made her want to read it again, to see if she had missed any layers beneath its simple telling.

She settled back into her chair, opened the first page, and began reading once more, this time savouring each word and searching for the subtext that might lie hidden beneath the prose. Because she was sure, there was more to it than what was presented.

And she always liked a good, calm challenge.

***

In the comparatively dark back room, Chen Ren took a moment to survey the shelves, his eyes glinting with curiosity. It was clear that Qing He had more information tucked away than she let on. Ancient scrolls and old tomes, their spines cracked with age, filled every inch of the wooden shelves. He felt a twinge of excitement, knowing that this place held more than just dusty records— it held secrets.

He sat down at the small table and glanced at the book Qing He had handed him. Its cover was simple and unadorned, but the faded ink on the spine read The Tinge Flora and Hidden Beasts by Wu Yanshi. He flipped open the first page, the scent of old parchment wafting up, mingling with the faint aroma of incense from the shop below.

The book started with an introduction about the author, a wandering cultivator who had spent decades exploring remote regions, recording details about plants and creatures seldom seen in the more civilised parts of the realm. It was a rare find— one that could easily be overlooked by someone less knowledgeable.

As he read through the pages, Chen Ren skimmed past the sections on rare herbs that grew deep in spirit-infused mountains and hidden valleys, focusing instead on what could be found closer to the city.

His goal was clear: herbs with pleasing fragrances. If he could find a plant that had properties to soothe the mind or to subtly ward off lesser spirit beasts, even better. And then there were the beasts themselves— any parts that could be used for their alchemical properties would be a bonus.

He paused at a passage about hoofprint fern, a rare plant known for its golden-veined leaves that glowed in the moonlight. It had calming properties, often used by cultivators to enhance meditation. But it thrived only near ancient, undisturbed lakes— far from the bustling life of the city.

Next, he found a description of violet dawnroot, a bright red herb with a subtle, citrusy scent. It was said to help focus the mind when burned as incense. It grew on the sunlit slopes of hills, needing space and elevation. He frowned— while not impossible to acquire, it was not the convenient solution he sought.

Flipping a few more pages, he found a section on spirit beasts, each profile painstakingly recorded with details of their habits and habitats. A sketch of a nightstalker lynx caught his eye— a creature known for its shadow affinity and prized for its dark-furred pelt, which could be used in making concealment talismans. But it was far beyond his current strength, even if he did manage to track one down.

He moved on, noting its properties but knowing it was out of reach.

After a while, he stumbled upon a simple entry: silvermist blossom. The name didn’t seem particularly grand, but the more he read, the more it piqued his interest. It was a humble herb, found near riverbanks, with delicate petals that shimmered faintly in the morning mist.

The blossom emitted a gentle fragrance that was said to calm nerves and aid in sleep. But more than that, it had a subtle effect of repelling lesser spirit beasts and pests, making it valuable to protect those who worked with other, more temperamental herbs.

This was the kind of plant he had been looking for— something easy to find locally, with practical uses that could enhance the atmosphere of his quarters and keep unwanted pests at bay. He traced a finger over the illustration, imagining them blossom along the rivers that wound near the outskirts of the city.

***

A/N - Thank you for the support. If you haven't followed, please follow it. We are aiming for 4k RS.

19. Foresting

Chen Ren hunched over a small desk in his room, the only light came from a half-melted candle. His brush moved swiftly, filling the scroll with characters that came to his mind. He paused, the tip hovering over the paper as he thought of the recent encounter with the old lady at the teahouse. A smile tugged at his lips, just barely there.

The deal with her had been sort of a gamble of its own, but one that turned out better than he had expected.

He had proposed writing a story, one of those romantic tales popular on Earth, but not just any tale— one that could tug at heartstrings and spark a fluttering in the hearts of young women.

There was a problem, though. He had never really read those kinds of books back in his world, just watched them in movies. So, he took the fragments he remembered, twisted them with his imagination and stuff he had read about cultivation, and poured them into the scrolls over the last two days.

Writing here had come with its surprises. His thoughts, once sluggish when it came to putting words down on paper, now flowed like a river. Once he had finished the story, Once he finished the story, Qing He's approval arrived quickly, allowing him to obtain the book on herbs and beasts he had been searching for.

Yet, the true treasure wasn't just in the book she'd given him. It was in the dusty, cluttered shelves he’d glimpsed behind her, shelves filled with scrolls and tomes that looked far more valuable than mere stories. Cultivation manuals, techniques, and perhaps even secret arts lay within that room. If he played his cards right, he might get access to those secrets too.

But those aspirations would have to wait. Chen Ren put the scroll aside, pushing thoughts of ancient techniques and hidden power from his mind for now and focusing on his task at hand, from where he was in his room.

Alright, so, focus! He forced himself to look at the notes he’d made in his notebook.

His first goal was much simpler: herbs.

Since his noodle stall was working well, he had thought a lot on his second business idea and landed on a product that he would be able to earn a lot out of, especially with Tang Yuqiu— fragrances, makeup and hygiene products.

It was an idea born from a class he’d taken back in his previous life when perfumes and their crafting had been little more than an idle curiosity. Yet now, that knowledge held the potential for a lot of profit.

He picked up another sheet, dipping his brush once more as he began to scribble notes. Memories of perfume-making techniques surfaced, thoughts threading through the delicate process of creating a fragrance.

He jotted down the key ideas that had lingered in his mind: the use of essential oils for heart notes, the balancing of top notes like citrus to create an immediate scent, and the heavier, lasting base notes— musk, sandalwood, or even something rarer. It was a process that required patience, an art of blending nature’s essence into a single, captivating aroma.

Chen Ren’s brush moved swiftly, laying out the steps for his perfume-making process as he included his earthly knowledge with the herbs he had read about.

He wrote about selecting top, middle, and base notes that he thought would fit— whispering lily for the initial burst, martha wood for depth, and silvermist bloom to anchor the blend.

He detailed how to combine them, starting with a few drops of each in a small bottle, adding alcohol to carry the fragrance, and letting it rest for days to meld the scents. He noted the importance of testing the mixture on the skin, adjusting with more alcohol if too strong, and recording each variation to refine what he’d have made—

A faint, high-pitched sound cut through his focus, like the creak of old wood or the whisper of an unseen presence.

Chen Ren’s hand stilled, his breath catching in his throat as his senses sharpened. His gaze darted around the murkily lit room, the tension coiling through his muscles like a spring.

Did one of the creditors send an assassin after me? No, it shouldn't be. But I still need to check.

He slowly pushed back from the desk, his eyes scanning the corners, each shadow stretching longer than it should under the wavering candlelight.

The silence hung heavy, every beat of his heart echoing in his ears. Then, he spotted the source of the sound— a small, scraggly rat, scuttling along the edge of the room, its tiny claws scraping against the wooden floor.

Chen Ren exhaled, a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He leaned back, feeling the tightness in his shoulders ease.

The rat was a scrawny creature, its fur matted and rough, the pale light casting shadows over its twitching whiskers. It paused for a heartbeat, its tiny eyes glinting like dark beads in the candlelight as it met Chen Ren’s gaze. A cornered look passed between them— one of primal fear on the rat’s part and a flash of something else, a sudden whim, in Chen Ren's.

He stood up slowly, the wooden chair creaking beneath him. His lips twisted into a grin.

"I didn't know I had rats in my room," he muttered, brushing a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Then, an idea took root, his grin widening. "Maybe I can try catching it... as a treat for that high-and-mighty cat." He chuckled under his breath at the thought and, without further hesitation, lunged toward the rat.

But the rat, sensing the danger, moved at a godly speed. It darted between his legs, slipping past the edge of the desk, and scrambled over a stack of scrolls piled in the corner. Chen Ren, not to be outdone, dove after it, his fingers just brushing against the coarse fur before it wriggled free, leaping toward his bed.

He nearly stumbled, catching himself on the bedpost as he shifted through the tight space of his room, his mind racing to keep up with the rat’s frantic scurrying. He winced as his elbow knocked into a porcelain cup, sending it spinning across the desk before it wobbled back to a stop.

He had to be careful— one wrong move and he’d leave a mess for Tang Xiulan to clean up, not to mention the damage to his already limited belongings.

The rat seemed to sense the challenge, scampering with renewed speed, its tiny claws skittering over his notes, then darting under a small chest that held his writing supplies. Chen Ren huffed in frustration, quickly closing the distance, leaping to block its path. For a moment, they both froze— Chen Ren, with his arm outstretched, and the rat, quivering in the corner.

With a final quick motion, he managed to trap the creature beneath his hands, feeling it squirm against his palms. He grinned, ready to praise himself for the little victory, but then a voice from the doorway cut through his moment of triumph like a blade.

"What are you doing, human?" It was a low, annoyed tone, carrying the unmistakable haughtiness of a creature who had seen far too many years to be amused by such antics.

Chen Ren froze, turning slowly to see Yalan standing in the doorway, her amber eyes narrowed to slits, the tip of her tail twitching impatiently— she regarded him with a disdainful look that could have made any mortal feel foolish.

He raised his hands, displaying the wriggling rat with a sheepish grin. "I thought you might appreciate a fresh catch," he offered, trying to inject a bit of charm into his voice. "You know, a snack?"

Yalan’s glare sharpened, her whiskers twitching with irritation. "Do you think I would stoop so low to eat such a filthy creature?" she replied, her voice dripping with scorn. She cast a disdainful glance at the rat. "Even a hungry stray would turn its nose up at such a pitiful offering. I have some standards, human. If you want to feed me, try something more... refined. I'd rather eat mud than a rat."

Chen Ren flinched, his shoulders sagging as he sighed and released the rat, which immediately darted away, disappearing into a crack in the wall. He watched it vanish with exasperation and amusement, muttering under his breath, "Well, I tried my best for you, you know."

Yalan, however, only smirked, a flash of amusement in her eyes that quickly turned serious. She flicked her tail toward the door. "If you truly wish to be useful, stop playing with vermin and start moving. We need to make our way to the forest and return before midnight. The window of opportunity is closing and we need to get on with your training."

Chen Ren straightened, dusting off his hands as he eyed her warily. "What’s this about, anyway? And what kind of training are we talking about?"

Yalan turned her head. "You’ll find out when we get there," she said. "Now, hurry up. The herbs we seek will not wait, and neither will your training."

***

Chen Ren moved through the mist that curled around the city, his steps careful yet swift, Yalan walking silently at his side.

The lanterns that hung from the edges of rooftops did little to pierce the thick veil that blanketed everything in sight. The mist clung to him, cold and damp, and each breath drew in tendrils of vapour that seeped into his lungs.

The city’s boundary had always been like this at night. No matter how clear the day was, once the sun dipped below the horizon and everything turned dark, the fog rolled in, settling over the city like an ancient habit.

Chen Ren had overheard countless theories about it since arriving— rumours spun by merchants, old scholars, and idle cityfolks who enjoyed the mystery of it all.

Some said it was the work of the sect master from the Soaring Sword Sect, his power so great that he could summon an array to ward off beasts from the nearby forest, keeping them from straying too close to the city’s walls. Others believed it was the result of a natural formation, a confluence of spiritual energies that gathered each night, creating a fog that acted as a barrier.

Then there were the more mundane explanations— tales of strange plants that grew along the city's borders, exhaling mist as they absorbed the moon’s light, or ancient streams hidden beneath the earth, releasing the vapour into the cool night air. Whatever the cause, the fog had been a fixture of the city for centuries, an unchanging fact of life that everyone learned to accept.

Chen Ren, however, had little interest in deciphering its origins. It served its purpose tonight, helping to mask his movements as he and Yalan slipped through the twisting paths that led to the city’s edge.

The mist muffled the sounds of their footsteps, and he moved like a fox, covering a large distance in a matter of minutes, again thankful for the fact that he had been transmigrated as a cultivator.

As they approached the outer gates, the outline of two guards materialised through the fog, their figures indistinct but solid against the shifting veil of mist.

Their armour clinked softly as they turned, their expressions obscured beneath helmets that reflected the faint glow of nearby lanterns. But when Chen Ren revealed the faint glimmer of his cultivation aura, they barely gave him a second glance.

One of them, an older man with a streak of silver in his beard, grunted a curt acknowledgement and bowed slightly before waving him through without so much as a question.

Since the city had cultivators, guards seemed to let them be and not interfere. He was sure that he wasn't the only one who had thought of training in the nearby forest.

Chen Ren slipped past the gate with a nod, feeling the slight tension in his shoulders ease. He had grown used to this reaction from most guards— he had discovered that most common folk treated cultivators with a blend of awe and wariness. It was a small advantage, but one he’d learned to use well.

The mist beyond the gate was thicker still. He could barely see through the thick fog.

But he knew that the forest should be in the distance. Chen Ren’s breath formed soft clouds before him, mingling with the drifting vapour as he trudged forward, Yalan moving with unerring grace beside him.

"Keep up," Yalan said, her voice a low murmur that barely disturbed the quiet. “We don’t have time to waste. If we delay too long, we’ll miss our chance."

Chen Ren gritted his teeth, adjusting his stride to match her pace. The mist wrapped around them, swallowing the city behind and leaving only the path ahead.

He moved deeper into the forest, the shadows shifting around him as the mist thinned, replaced by the looming silhouettes of ancient trees. He had initially planned to gather the herbs in the morning when the sun would illuminate the undergrowth, making the search easier. But Yalan had insisted on venturing out at night, her reasoning delivered with her usual disdainful tone.

According to her, training under the moon’s glow would force him to adapt to the challenges of nighttime. Nocturnal beasts often come out during this hour and if he was going to learn how to deal with cultivation shenanigans, it was important to fight them.

“Nocturnal beasts have their dangers,” she had said, her tail swishing with a faint hiss through the air. “Many of them become stronger under the moon's lunar qi, their instincts sharper. It’s the perfect time for training. Besides, no one will be around to interrupt us.”

Chen Ren had reluctantly agreed, knowing that she had a point. Moreover, nighttime brought out not only predators that moved with deadly grace, but also certain plants to bloom— herbs that hid their true qualities during the day, their petals and leaves only unfurling in the moonlight to release their potent essence.

He had a few of such herbs in his list and if he wanted to make a perfume that could truly captivate people, he needed to gather them.

The forest was alive with soft rustlings and distant calls, sounds that threaded through the quiet like a constant, murmuring breath.

He moved carefully over the uneven ground, the notes he had scrawled earlier clutched behind him in a bag. The mist lingered here, draped low over the ground, obscuring the roots and rocks that threatened to trip him with every step.

His eyes moved between the shadows, scanning the undergrowth for any sign of the herbs he sought

After what felt like hours of searching, he spotted the faint glimmer of moonlight reflecting off a cluster of leaves, their edges lined with a pale, silver sheen. He crouched down, brushing aside the underbrush to reveal a low-growing plant, its buds glowing faintly in the dark.

"Martha wood," he muttered to himself, recognizing the herb from his notes. It was known for its fragrant oil and smelled like lavender, a key ingredient that could add a lingering, mysterious scent to his perfume.

Carefully, he plucked the leaves, mindful not to damage the delicate roots that held the plant to the soil. He tucked them into a small pouch, his fingers working with the precision of someone who had done this before, albeit in a different world.

He straightened up, his gaze sweeping the shadows again, his ears straining for any signs of movement.

With Yalan by his side, Chen Ren didn’t feel the same sense of dread he might have if he were alone.

She rarely showed it, but he could sense her power, a quiet, coiled strength beneath her haughty demeanour. If something truly dangerous emerged, he knew she could handle it. It allowed him to focus on his task without constantly looking over his shoulder, without that creeping fear that something might be stalking him through the darkness.

He found another herb tucked near the base of a twisted tree, its flowers closed like tiny fists, waiting for the moonlight to coax them open. This one, a whispering lily, was known for its faint, almost ethereal scent that could lend a subtle layer to his creation. He gently harvested the blossoms, placing them next to the other leaves in his pouch.

Satisfied with his progress, he started toward a small riverbank nestled deeper in the woods. He simply followed the waters, trying to find what he needed: silvermist bloom.

But before he could move further he felt Yalan suddenly halt in her tracks. Her ears twitched and she fixed her gaze toward a dark cluster of trees beyond the lake's edge.

“It seems like you might finally encounter a beast worthy of my taste,” she remarked, her voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.

Chen Ren stopped, turning to face her. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his brows furrowing as he tried to peer through the shadows.

“A beast is nearby,” Yalan replied, a hint of amusement in her tone. “A Tier 1 creature, nothing you should fear. But it’s enough for some practice. You need to fight it.”

He stiffened, glancing toward the darkness where Yalan's eyes were fixed. His pulse quickened a mixture of nervousness and reluctant excitement stirring in his chest.

“Are you sure I can fight it? I don't think I told you before, but the only beast I fought in my world was a small swarm of mosquitoes,” he admitted, feeling the weight of his unease settle over him. “Also, I only know one fist technique, and even that isn’t very polished.”

“It’s just a Tier 1 beast. If things go poorly, I’ll pull you out before you get hurt,” she replied, the confidence in her tone leaving little room for argument.

Chen Ren swallowed, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

He knew that if he wanted to survive in this world, he had to confront this fear sooner or later. The structure of this world, built on the strength of cultivators and the endless struggle against beasts and rivals, demanded courage. Better to start with a small step under the watchful eye of his unusual mentor than to be caught unprepared when real danger came knocking.

“Alright,” he said slowly, nodding as if to reassure himself. “Let’s do this.” He clenched his fists, feeling a tingling in his core as he tried to steady his breathing, and began to move forward.

They moved deeper into the forest until the trees began to thin, following the shimmering surface of the river. The mist had settled low here, hugging the ground and drifting like ghostly veils over the water’s edge. But what drew Chen Ren’s attention wasn’t the serene view— it was the grisly scene unfolding just a few steps from the shore.

Near a cluster of gnarled roots that twisted into the water, a creature crouched, tearing into the carcass of a normal deer with savage hunger.

It resembled a rat and was nearly as large as a wild boar, its matted, bristling fur slick with dark stains of fresh blood. Its long, crooked teeth gleamed in the moonlight as it dug into the flesh, muscles rippling beneath its coarse hide with every vicious bite. Tufts of fur were missing in places, revealing patches of rough, scarred skin, as if it had survived countless brawls in its time.

Its eyes, small and beady, glowed with a faint red light, casting an eerie reflection on the bloodied ground around it. Even crouched over its meal, the creature exuded a wild, untamed ferocity, the scent of blood mingling with the damp air, sharp enough to make Chen Ren wrinkle his nose.

The deer lay limp beneath the monstrous rat's claws, its legs bent at unnatural angles, neck twisted and broken.

Chen Ren swallowed hard, his breath catching as he tried to keep his voice steady. “This... This thing is really Tier 1?” he asked, his gaze flicking nervously from the rat beast to Yalan. “It looks tough.”

Yalan, perched on a nearby rock with a bored expression, simply flicked her tail and gave him a sidelong glance. “It’s nothing you can’t handle,” she replied, a hint of a challenge in her tone. “Don’t worry.”

But Chen Ren couldn’t quite quell the nerves that tightened in his chest as he took in the rat beast’s powerful limbs and the sharp, glinting claws that dug into the deer's flesh. Compared to the small rat he had fought, this one looked more like a predator than prey.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself before stepping forward, feeling the cool air hitting his face.

The rat beast’s ears twitched, and it jerked its head up, crimson eyes locking onto Chen Ren.

Its mouth hung open, revealing rows of sharp, crooked teeth stained with the remnants of its meal. They stared at each other, the air thick with the tension of the encounter. The creature’s nostrils flared as it took in his scent, and for a heartbeat, everything was still— just the faint rustle of leaves and the quiet lap of water against the shore.

Then, with a guttural snarl that seemed to rattle the very trees, the rat beast lunged. It moved with a speed that belied its bulky frame, a blur of matted fur and flashing claws.

Chen Ren’s breath hitched, and his feet seemed to root themselves to the spot as he watched the mass of muscle and fangs hurtling toward him, his mind going blank with the sudden rush of terror.

The ground seemed to shake beneath the creature’s charge, and all Chen Ren could do was brace himself as every cell of his body came alive with the sound of snapping branches and the beast’s roar that almost deafened him.

20. Spicy herbs

The air seemed to thicken as the rat beast charged, its claws scrabbling across the rocky ground. Chen Ren's muscles tensed, his mind blanked for a split second, time stretching unnaturally. Fear prickled at the edge of his thoughts, locking him in place. He could almost hear the rhythmic pounding of his own heartbeat as he froze, watching the beast bear down on him. But then, a stray thought broke through the haze— move.

Electricity crackled around his fists as he snapped out of his stupor, and with a forceful exhale, he drew upon the power of the [Thundering Fist], a technique he'd drilled countless times.

His right arm whipped forward, muscles straining, and his fist collided with the rat's bony shoulder. A shockwave of energy burst from the impact, throwing the rat several feet backward, its body skidding across the dirt.

Chen Ren’s breath came in sharp gasps, and he glanced down at his fist, still tingling with residual energy. Surprise lit up his face. So this... is [Thundering First?] But before he could dwell on the thought, a sharp voice cut through his reverie.

"Focus! The bloodsnout isn't finished yet." It was Yalan’s voice, stern as always, her amber eyes locked on the struggling beast.

Bloodsnout… So, that’s what this ugly thing is called!

His gaze snapped back to the rat, just in time to see it push itself up from the ground, its bloodshot eyes fixed on him. It let out a high-pitched screech that echoed through the trees, its rage palpable. Without a moment's hesitation, it charged at him again, the ground trembling beneath its heavy footfalls.

Chen Ren felt the rush of panic claw at him but forced it down, inhaling deeply. He clenched his fists, letting the lightning pool around his legs. The air around his calves crackled, and in the blink of an eye, he moved— his body disappearing just as the rat's claws slashed through the empty space where he had stood.

Chen Ren reappeared several paces away, lightning still crackling around his legs. This was [Lightning Step], a movement technique that he had practised in the back alleys of the city, a technique that channelled lightning through the body, making him as quick as a lightning flash.

The previous Chen Ren used it often. Hence, despite his lack of practice, his body seemed to remember the rhythm of it, every muscle attuned to the technique's flow.

He dashed to the side, blurring into motion, leaving arcs of electricity trailing behind him.

The bloodsnout’s claws slashed at him again and again, but each time, they met only the empty air. With every dodge, Chen Ren countered with a strike, his fists slamming into the rat's body, the impact ringing through the forest like distant thunder.

Yet, even as his attacks connected, a sinking realisation grew in his mind. Each punch drove the rat back, but its tough, bristly hide absorbed the brunt of his blows. Bruises formed beneath its fur, but the beast barely slowed, its rage driving it forward through the pain.

Chen Ren risked a glance towards Yalan, his unspoken plea for guidance clear in his eyes. But she simply watched from the shadows, her expression unreadable. She shook her head, a silent message: This is your battle.

His thoughts swirled as he ducked under another wild swipe from the rat. What am I doing wrong?

The [Thundering Fist] technique was supposed to be a powerful, decisive blow— one that could shatter bones and rend flesh. Yet, his attacks barely seemed to scratch the surface of the bloodsnout’s defences.

He could move swiftly with [Lightning Step], weaving through its attacks like a dancer amidst a storm, but speed alone wasn’t enough.

Another exchange, and this time, he could feel the strain in his muscles, the growing fatigue of maintaining the lightning coursing through his legs.

He gritted his teeth, pushing through the exhaustion.

A [Thundering Fist] should be devastating, not just pushing a beast back. The realisation stung. He was failing to channel the true essence of the technique, unable to draw out the full power that should have existed behind each strike.

His movements slowed, and the rat sensed it, lunging with renewed ferocity. And as its claws grazed his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood, Chen Ren’s mind sharpened.

He could feel the raw energy flickering within him, untapped and wild. I need to channel it, direct it, or this fight will end in blood— my blood.

Chen Ren’s mind raced, recalling the manuals he had painstakingly studied.

[Thundering Fist] wasn’t just about brute force. It was about control, about channelling the energy with precision, not letting it scatter wildly around his fists. Until now, he had merely been releasing bursts of electricity with each punch, the power dispersing before it could pierce through the target.

The realisation hit him like a jolt of his own technique. I need to focus on it. Condense the energy into a single point, then let it explode.

As the thought crystallised, he looked up to find the bloodsnout charging at him again, its bloodied eyes gleaming with fury that could’ve killed Chen Ren if it had power. But this time, he was ready.

He sidestepped the creature’s lunge with the speed of his [Lightning Step], the world blurring for a split second as he vanished from its path. With a surge of energy, he propelled himself upward, leaping over the rat’s gnashing teeth and clawed limbs. Twisting mid-air, he turned to face its exposed back, gathering the lightning into his palm.

With a deep breath, he let the energy concentrate, feeling the charge intensify until his entire arm buzzed with barely-contained power. The air around his hand crackled, the sound like a rumbling thunderstorm.

“[Thundering Fist]!” He thrust his hand forward, releasing the technique in a blinding flash of blue and golden light.

Electricity arced out, a condensed, crackling bolt that struck the bloodsnout directly in the back.

A sharp, sizzling noise filled the air as the lightning surged through the beast’s body, its muscles seizing violently. Then, with a sickening sound, a portion of its chest exploded outward in a spray of flesh and blood. The rat’s shriek was cut short as its body crumpled to the ground, twitching before finally lying still.

Chen Ren landed lightly, his feet crunching on the wet ground.

He stared at his hands, electricity still sparking faintly from his fingers. Awe flickered in his eyes, but when he looked down and saw the blood and gore splattered on his palms and staining the edges of his robes, a wave of nausea hit him like a punch to the gut. He stumbled back, swallowing hard, and turned toward the nearby lake.

Kneeling at the water’s edge, he plunged his hands into the cold, clear water, scrubbing away the sticky remains with frantic motions. His stomach twisted, the taste of bile rising in his throat. He focused on the sensation of the water, trying to drown out the memory of the flesh peeling off under his attack.

Yalan approached him, her steps soundless on the forest floor. She sat down gracefully by the lake, watching him, her eyes were squinted in amusement as she licked her paw. “I’d rate that a four out of ten.”

Chen Ren paused, water dripping from his fingers. “Four out of ten? Seriously? Why so low?” He shot her an incredulous look, half expecting some sort of praise.

Yalan flicked her tail, her expression unchanging. “You took too long to figure out the proper way to use the technique. A lowly beast like that shouldn’t have been able to push you so far. And then you nearly vomited at the sight of a bit of gore— how will you handle tougher beasts? Not to mention, you ruined the carcass. A blast like that makes it nearly inedible.”

Chen Ren blinked, turning to look at the mutilated rat’s corpse lying by the water’s edge. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of eating something so grotesque. He glanced back at her, his expression incredulous. “You would actually eat that... thing?”

Yalan gave him a small, enigmatic smile. “Of course. If you cook it, that is. Beast meat is often more nourishing than that of regular animals. And despite their unsavoury appearance, these bloodsnouts live in the caves near lakes. They keep themselves clean in the waters.”

Chen Ren took another look at the bloody mess that was once the rat, its twisted body and vacant eyes staring into nothingness. He shuddered, the idea of roasting it turning his stomach once more. “I... think I’ll pass,” he muttered, stepping away from the remains as if they might spring back to life.

Yalan only chuckled, her tail flicking in amusement. “Suit yourself. But remember, next time, aim for the head— it makes for a cleaner kill.”

Chen Ren wiped the last of the blood from his hands and stood up, casting one more wary glance at the rat’s mutilated corpse.

With a deep breath, he turned his focus to the task that had originally brought him into the forest— gathering herbs. The moonlight filtered through the trees, illuminating the silver-green leaves of a plant he recognized. Its flowers had a faint blue hue, and as he reached down to pluck a few, he brought one to his nose, inhaling its soft, earthy scent.

The fragrance was subtle yet refreshing, carrying a hint of sweetness. He found himself smiling, thinking, This would make a decent perfume. It was a strange thought amidst the chaos of battle, but he’d always been intrigued by the simple things.

He tucked the herb carefully into his satchel, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders. The tension of the fight melted away, replaced by a sense of relief.

“Well, that’s that. Job’s done for today,” he muttered, stretching his limbs.

As he turned to head back, Yalan’s voice cut through the night air. “And what about those spicy herbs you were talking about back at the tea stall?” She glanced at him with a raised brow, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

Chen Ren paused, then snapped his fingers as if just remembering. “Oh, those aren’t for perfume. I wanted to get those herbs to experiment with... try turning them into a sauce.”

Yalan tilted her head, a curious expression crossing her feline face. “A sauce?” she echoed, as if tasting the unfamiliar word on her tongue.

Chen Ren nodded eagerly, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. “Yeah, it’s something you pour over food— like noodles— to give it more flavour. I think if I get the right balance of spice and seasoning, it could really take off. It might even be a hit in the city.”

Yalan’s eyes narrowed as she considered his words. “Spicy herbs? Those are usually burned around campsites to ward off beasts. I’m not sure how much of their heat humans can actually tolerate.” She spoke matter-of-factly, her tail twitching as she gauged his reaction.

Chen Ren laughed, shrugging lightly. “That’s why I need to experiment! Find the right blend, you know? But I haven’t seen any of those herbs near the lake.” He glanced toward the deeper, shadowy parts of the forest. “According to what I’ve read, they grow deeper in, near a cliffside. I’ve also heard that stronger beasts roam around there, which... well, might be a problem. But I don’t want to travel further tonight. I’m tired, and it’s been a long day.”

Yalan arched her back, stretching gracefully as she looked up at him with a knowing smile. “So, you want to keep up with your training then?” Her tone held a playful challenge.

Chen Ren glanced down at his fists, still tingling faintly with the lingering sensation of power coursing through them. He met Yalan’s gaze and nodded slowly, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I do. As gross as that fight was... it was fun too. There’s a thrill in using my techniques, testing my limits. It’s one thing to have power, but using it is a whole different matter. In the city, I can barely let loose.”

Yalan’s smirk widened, and she padded closer, her tail swaying behind her like a pendulum. “Good. Then I’ll make sure to train you well. I wouldn’t want my student to embarrass me by struggling with a mere rat beast again.”

Chen Ren rolled his eyes, but a hint of warmth seeped into his expression. “Sure, sure. Just don’t push me too hard, or I might end up needing those herbs to treat my wounds instead of using it for cooking.”

Yalan’s laughter echoed softly through the forest, a surprisingly melodious sound. “Rest for now, then. But don’t think you’ll be slacking off next time we’re out here.” With that, she turned and slinked away, disappearing into the shadows between the trees.

He knew she wasn't going too far away, too used to having an eye on him always.

Chen Ren exhaled, his smile fading into a thoughtful expression as he glanced deeper into the forest where the spicy herbs— and greater challenges— awaited. He’d have to face those soon enough, but tonight, he let the tension melt from his shoulders, savouring the cool night air.

***

Tang Yuqiu sat at the large mahogany table in her room, her fingers tapping impatiently against the wood. Before her lay an open book of accounts, its pages filled with neat columns of numbers and records. She stared at them, but the content seemed to blur together, refusing to hold her attention.

With a frustrated sigh, she pushed the book away slightly. Lately, it seemed she couldn’t concentrate on anything— her mind was too restless, too caught up in something else.

It wasn’t just business, either. Meals felt tasteless, and even the simplest pleasures like the morning walk through the garden held little appeal. Just a few days ago, her closest friend had invited her to a cosy tea stall where a popular novel was being recited. It was the kind of thing she would usually enjoy, but she had turned her down without a second thought. Why?

Because Chen Ren had promised her something.

A new product he’d spoken of with such conviction, insisting it would work wonders and become a sensation. But what was it, exactly? How was it supposed to work? He had never elaborated, and she hadn’t thought to ask at the time, thinking he’d reveal it soon enough.

Now, that curiosity had become a constant itch, gnawing at the edges of her thoughts. Why hasn’t he shown up yet? What could he possibly be doing that’s taking so long?

Her fingers stilled their tapping, and she muttered under her breath, “Is he not going to show up at all?” Frustration tightened in her chest, and she pressed a hand against her forehead, her brow furrowing deeply. If he’s tricked me again, I swear I’ll have Father kick him out for deceiving me. The idea brought a bitter satisfaction, but beneath it, an unfamiliar twinge of disappointment. She hated feeling like she was waiting on someone— especially Chen Ren of all people.

As she was caught up in her thoughts, a sudden knock at the door startled her. She straightened, smoothing her robes as her maid poked her head in.

“Miss Yuqiu, Young master Chen Ren is here to see you.”

Tang Yuqiu’s eyes widened in surprise. “Send him in, quickly!”

The maid nodded and withdrew, leaving the door ajar. A moment later, Chen Ren stepped into the room, his expression relaxed. At his hip, a small pouch was tied securely, its contents hidden but somehow intriguing. Tang Yuqiu’s gaze immediately locked onto the pouch before flicking back to Chen Ren’s face.

“So, are you here with the product you promised?” she demanded, a hint of sharpness in her tone that masked the curiosity bubbling beneath.

Chen Ren smirked slightly and gave her a nod. “Obviously. I wouldn’t break a promise, would I?”

His tone was casual, but there was a glint in his eyes that made her heart skip a beat.

Tang Yuqiu leaned forward slightly, her impatience returning tenfold. At last, she thought, trying to keep the eagerness from showing on her face. Now, let’s see what you’ve got up your sleeve, Chen Ren.

21. Refining and extracting

“Have a seat.” Tang Yuqiu motioned him to sit.

Chen Ren settled into the seat across from her, his expression calm, though his mind raced beneath the surface. He studied her quietly, noting the wariness in her eyes as she glanced his way— suspicion and impatience mixed into her gaze.

She was a woman with a strong but steel will, and her presence carried a sense of authority that even experienced merchants would tread carefully around. But Chen Ren knew she needed him, and a sharp look wouldn’t deter him.

After a moment, he spoke with a deliberate casualness, leaning back slightly in his chair. "I'm sitting here, yet you didn’t even have your maid bring tea for me. Aren’t you concerned for your guest's comfort, young miss?"

Yuqiu's lips curled into a wry smile but didn’t reach her eyes. "You’ve already had more than your fill of free tea, Chen Ren. Why should I offer more?"

Chen Ren’s expression soured at the comment, a faint frown crossing his brow. He straightened, meeting her gaze head-on. "Honestly, what is your problem with me?"

The teasing light vanished from her face as she fixed him with a glare that could cut sharper than any blade. "You really don’t remember, do you?"

The question hung in the air, and Chen Ren felt extremely uneasy. He drew in a deep breath, letting the moment stretch as he gathered his thoughts, reflecting on the burden left by the actions of the man whose body he now inhabited.

The previous Chen Ren’s karma truly follows me like a shadow, he thought, a rueful pang twisting through him. He had inherited not just this life, but all the regrets and mistakes that came with it.

He lowered his head slightly, a gesture of contrition. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice steady but subdued. "I’m sorry for trying to take advantage of you while I was drunk. I know that’s not an excuse, and I shouldn’t have acted that way, even if I wasn’t in my right mind. But I am not the same man anymore. I would never do something like that again. All I hope for is that we can put it behind us and move forward with this business deal, with mutual respect."

He paused, glancing back up to meet her gaze directly. "I won’t ask again. I’ve apologised, and there’s nothing more I can do to make it right. It’s up to you whether you forgive me or not. But I’d appreciate it if you could keep your sharp words to yourself, regardless."

Tang Yuqiu’s expression shifted, the hard edge in her eyes softening as she blinked, taken aback by the sincerity in his tone. For a moment, she simply gaped at him, as if struggling to reconcile this Chen Ren with the one she remembered. Her mouth opened and closed, but no biting retort came forth.

After what felt like an eternity, she lowered her head, letting out a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding. "I... understand," she said quietly, her voice lacking the usual bite. "Perhaps... we should move on to discussing the business idea."

She hesitated for a moment, then turned toward the door. "But first, I’ll have them bring tea. It seems only proper."

***

Chen Ren adjusted himself in his seat as the maid poured tea between them, the steam curling upward with a faint floral scent. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking. "Apologies for taking a bit longer than expected. I wanted to come sooner, but... well, the work was delicate and required time. But now, I’ve got something that might not only make me wealthy— but make you even wealthier."

Yuqiu raised both her eyebrows. "What is it, then?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral, though he could see a flicker of curiosity behind her eyes.

Chen Ren reached into his sleeve, pulling out a small pouch. He placed it on the table between them with a soft thud. "See for yourself," he said, leaning back slightly, gesturing for her to open it.

With a sceptical glance, Tang Yuqiu untied the pouch and carefully drew out a small glass vial, its contents a vivid, crystalline blue that caught the light and shimmered with a subtle radiance. She turned it over in her hands, examining it from every angle, then shot him a puzzled look. "And what exactly am I supposed to do with this? Drink it?"

Chen Ren chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No, nothing like that. Just place a drop or two in your palms."

Yuqiu hesitated for a moment but uncorked the vial, releasing a faint, enchanting aroma that immediately filled the space between them. Her eyes widened as she caught the scent, recognizing what the item was. She placed a few drops in her palms and rubbed them together, the fragrance blooming in the air around her— subtle notes of rare flowers, mingling with the warm undertone of exotic spices.

Her expression shifted, surprise giving way to realisation as she stared at him with eyes wide open. "Your idea was... fragrances?" she asked, a hint of disbelief creeping into her voice.

Chen Ren nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Yes. I believe it's the perfect product for us to make a breakthrough. I’ve done my research— talked to Tang Xiulan, and assessed the market. The perfume industry here is lucrative, with even a modest share promising substantial returns. And beyond the gold, think of the connections we'll forge with the wealthy madams of the large clans. This could open doors for us."

Yuqiu’s expression remained guarded, though a faint glimmer of interest flickered in her eyes as she considered his words. But she didn’t let her scepticism drop entirely. "I understand that, but this is not an easy market to break into. Do you have any idea how much a single bottle of this can cost? Even if you’ve made a good batch, that doesn’t mean the wealthy families will accept it. Reputation, refinement, exclusivity— these all matter here. What makes you think you can compete with established names?"

Her voice sharpened at the end, challenging, as if testing the strength of his resolve. Chen Ren met her gaze squarely, knowing that this was the crux of their negotiation. If he could convince her, they would have a chance to carve out a place in this competitive world.

Chen Ren leaned forward, his tone calm yet carrying an edge of urgency. "It's fifteen silver for the lowest-grade perfume out there. The merchants and the established shops cast exorbitant prices on such things, knowing they can get away with it," he said.

Yuqiu sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Yes, that's precisely why this isn't a simple venture. The production cost alone is immense, and I don’t have a massive stockpile of silver to burn through on a risky investment like this." Her voice grew sharper as she continued, her doubts spilling forth. "Moreover, the real challenge is matching the quality. We’d need at least a small string of qi trapped within the fragrances. Even for normal ones, we would need sect connections, or we won't be able to procure a batch of these. Without that, our product would be no better than a roadside vendor's attempts at perfume. It wouldn’t stand a chance against the ones currently in the market—"

Before she could finish, Chen Ren interrupted, raising a hand. "I don’t think you quite understand."

She stopped mid-sentence, frowning at him. "Understand what, exactly?" she asked, crossing her arms, her impatience barely masked.

Chen Ren gestured to the vial still sitting between them on the table. "How much do you think that vial is worth? Smell it again, take your time."

Yuqiu glanced down at the small container, uncorking it again and bringing it close to her nose. She let the scent flow over her, taking in the subtle complexities of the aroma. Her brows furrowed slightly as she assessed it, her thoughts turning. "If I had to guess... twenty, maybe twenty-five silver wen, at least. Even without a strong qi presence, its fragrance is refined."

Chen Ren's lips curled into a small smile, shaking his head. "No. I got it for zero money. It didn’t cost me a single copper."

Yuqiu’s head snapped up, her eys widening as she looked at him with disbelief. "What?" she blurted out.

"It just took some trouble gathering the right herbs and figuring out how to process them into a perfume," Chen Ren replied smoothly, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying the surprise playing across her face.

In this world, perfumes and fragrances were a luxury, but not in the way one might expect. They were most commonly sourced from the sect mountains— remote, mystical ranges where scented plants with spiritual properties grew in the shadow of ancient cultivation grounds.

It wasn’t rare for these mountains to produce a special kind of flora, their essence subtly infused with traces of qi due to the constant exposure to the spiritual energies of cultivators. Each month, as the plants' juices overflowed, they would trickle down the mountain streams, gathered by sect members and sold to the right buyers at an extravagant price.

These perfumes, carrying even a faint whisper of qi, commanded a high value in the market. Some of the highest-quality vials contained a quarter of a single circle of qi, enhancing their appeal and providing a subtle, refreshing aura to those who wore them. Naturally, only the wealthy could afford such a luxury, and most of the business clans that dealt with the sects guarded their supply lines closely, ensuring that the rare scented extracts reached only the hands of upper-class ladies and noble families.

It was this rarity that made perfumes a coveted item, their status reinforced by the aura of prestige they carried. To most merchants, entering this market would be an uphill battle, requiring both deep pockets and strong connections to the sects. And yet, here Chen Ren was, claiming he had managed to produce something similar without the backing of a powerful sect or the blessings of a business clan.

Yuqiu stared at him, struggling to process his words, her suspicion momentarily overshadowed by curiosity.

Chen Ren leaned forward.

"I have a way to extract perfumes from ordinary herbs. It’s a method I’ve been working on— mixing and refining, and I’m still figuring out the details. But the potential is there, and I’m proposing a way for us to produce good-quality perfumes using nothing more than common herbs." He paused for a moment, gauging her reaction before continuing. "With this method, we could sell our products at a price far below the current market rate. Five to seven silver per bottle— something that would appeal to the middle class, while still maintaining a high standard of quality. And for the wealthier clientele, we could create premium blends, tapping into their desire for exclusivity."

He spoke slowly, laying out the structure of his idea, briefly mentioning the production process, the markets they could target, and the profits they might stand to gain. As he spoke, Yuqiu’s initial scepticism gave way to a growing interest, her eyes widening slightly with each new detail. She couldn’t hide the calculations running through her mind, the potential profits and market shares practically dancing before her eyes. By the time Chen Ren finished speaking, she was leaning forward, her focus entirely on him.

When he paused, she finally managed to find her voice, though it was tinged with a blend of wonder and wariness. "This all sounds promising, but... what is the method you’re talking about? How do you plan to turn ordinary herbs into something that can rival the fragrances from the sect mountains?"

Chen Ren met her gaze evenly, his expression turning serious. "Before I tell you, we need to perform a qi oath. I know you're a mortal, but I can ensure that you’ll feel the weight of the oath as well. This isn’t something I’m willing to share lightly."

Yuqiu looked at him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. The idea of an oath must have sounded strange to her, especially since she had no experience with cultivation. But after a moment’s thought, she nodded, a hint of trust creeping into her expression.

"All right. I’ll trust that you aren’t lying to me, Chen Ren."

Chen Ren inclined his head and took a deep breath, feeling a slight twinge of discomfort in his chest as he prepared for the next step. He drew on his qi, letting it flow through his core, channelling the energy into a thin thread that he weaved into a pattern in the air. His hands moved, fingers tracing symbols that seemed to shimmer faintly before vanishing into the space between them.

The qi oath was a form of soul-binding that cultivators used when sealing a pact or safeguarding a precious secret.

It wasn’t a complex technique, but it required precision and intent, and once completed, it carried an unbreakable weight.

For Chen Ren, the knowledge of the oath came easily— something that the previous Chen Ren had been familiar with, passed down through techniques he had learned before his life took a turn. Yet, as he performed the ritual, he felt a sense of necessity, an understanding that compared to the influence and resources of the Tang Clan, he was merely a single cultivator, vulnerable without the protection of this oath.

A faint ripple of energy settled into the air between them, the atmosphere shifting subtly as the oath took hold.

“I promise not to share the method of fragrance making you would share with me without taking your permission for it. If I break the oath, my life will be forfeit,” she said, making the oath.

Though Tang Yuqiu couldn’t see the qi threads, she shivered slightly as the heaviness of the promise settled over her, a subtle pressure that spoke of the seriousness of the bond they had just created. Chen Ren lowered his hands, letting the last traces of energy fade away, and met her gaze with a steady expression.

"Now," he said softly, "I can share the method with you, and you can be sure that it will remain between us."

***

Chen Ren sat before a variety of herbs spread across the table before him in his room. The air was thick with the scents of dried petals, roots, and leaves he had painstakingly collected. He had spent his precious time testing different combinations, boiling and refining them, until he’d discovered the right mixture that could hold a fragrance rather than just a fleeting scent.

Tonight, he was ready to try distilling the first batch of what he hoped would become a new path to wealth.

Tang Yuqiu stood in front of a wall, her eyes fixed on him as he worked on the process.

He leaned over a small clay pot, carefully heating a mixture of herbs he had ground into a fine paste. A second vessel, half-filled with clear water, sat next to it.

Chen Ren adjusted the flame beneath the pot, focusing his qi to maintain the precise temperature needed. It was a delicate process, one he had repeated over and over to perfect. He watched as the steam rose, carrying with it the rich, floral scent of the herbs. The steam condensed against a cool surface, trickling down into a small glass vial set underneath.

The scent that filled the room was unlike anything found in the lower markets— sharp yet sweet, with an undertone of earthy richness.

As the last drops settled into the vial, Chen Ren lifted it and swirled the liquid inside. The result was a vibrant blue colour, glowing softly under the candlelight. It was far from the purest or most refined fragrance, but it was crafted entirely from herbs that could be found outside of the expensive sect-run sources.

He placed a cork in the vial and stood up, his expression satisfied but cautious. Chen Ren knew that this product needed testing before it could be sold.

He looked back at Yuqiu’s widened eyes.

When he handed her the vial, he spoke his thoughts aloud "We need to test this for any side effects. I used herbs that are known to be consumed safely by people, but it’s best to make sure that it doesn’t cause any harm when used on the skin. Safety comes first, even if the ingredients seem harmless."

Yuqiu took the vial with a look of awe. She swirled it around the vial as how a man with experience would swirl a glass of fine wine. Her eyes widened as she inhaled the scent, marvelling at its complexity and the clear, natural notes it carried. "This method... it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "How do you even know how to do this, Chen Ren?"

He couldn’t help curling his lips upwards. "Why would I tell you all my secrets? Just know that it’s going to make us rich if we play our cards right."

She stared at him for a moment, processing his words, then nodded slowly. "Yes, it will," she agreed, her mind already racing through the possibilities.

Chen Ren’s expression grew serious as he leaned closer, meeting her gaze directly. "And for that to happen, you need to put in the work. My part was to create the product and develop the method. Now, it’s your turn to show what the Tang Clan’s resources are truly worth. You’ll need gatherers to collect herbs, workers who had performed a similar qi oath to distil and bottle the perfumes, and a distribution plan. From creating the product to packaging it, everything has to be handled with precision. And we can’t afford delays— these perfumes are cheap to produce and quick to make. We need to seize the market before anyone else catches wind of what we’re doing."

Yuqiu nodded, her eyes focusing on the vial at hand. Her earlier hesitation had vanished, replaced by a sharp focus. She even managed a small, confident smile. "Don’t worry, Chen Ren. I’ll make sure our perfume business becomes the best in the city."

Chen Ren’s smirk widened, and he shook his head slowly. "I wouldn’t have come to the Tang Clan if I just wanted to dominate the city’s market. No. I want this business to reach beyond our borders, spread through other cities and become a household name across the entire empire. This is just the start."

Yuqiu’s eyes flashed with something akin to ambition— something he found himself familiar with whenever he thought about his plans.

"Then we’ll make it happen. For both of our sakes."

Chen Ren inclined his head.

22. Business sect

The perfume business moved faster than expected once Chen Ren and Tang Yuqiu finalised their discussions.

Soon, everything else settled in— Tang Yuqiu was given the task to manage the herb gathering and production while Chen Ren handled the marketing.

To make sure they were on the right side of the local laws, they took a day to read up everything on herb gathering and found a surprising thing— there were no restrictions on how much common herbs could be gathered.

Only the rarer ones had restrictions, but they didn't have to care about them since the herbs they needed were extremely common.

The only real concern came from the local gathering community, but that would be handled in a way that Chen Ren found both clever and practical.

Tang Yuqiu’s solution was simple: hire the community members themselves to gather the herbs, turning any potential complaints into cooperation. It was the kind of pragmatic approach he’d come to expect from someone with a business clan background, leaving him free to focus on other matters while Yuqiu ironed out the smaller details. Profits would follow, eventually.

As she worked to start the production, Chen Ren shifted his attention back to the noodle stall.

The scent of fresh dough and spices mingled with the crisp morning air as he rolled out another batch, watching customers queue up with hunger in their eyes. It wasn’t glamorous work, but with each satisfied slurp and each coin dropped into his hands, he felt the stall inching closer to stability. The perfume venture might be a longer game, but the noodle stall— now that was where he could see results day by day.

Till now, Chen Ren had ensured that every step with his noodle stall was executed flawlessly. He had become a familiar face among the other stall owners in the market, and many had begun to show him respect, nodding in approval when he passed by.

He knew a lot of it was due to his connections with the Tang Clan and him being a cultivator, but it was still admiration and respect. Unfortunately, those weren’t enough— not for what he envisioned.

Cloud Mist City was teeming with opportunity. With his current success, he shouldn’t waste any more time to see his noodles reach every corner of the city. Two stalls could easily thrive here, maybe even three if he played his cards right. And that was only the beginning. Beyond this place, the entire Kalian Empire stretched out like a golden field waiting to be harvested. But to expand, he knew he needed more than just a good recipe and a prime location.

He needed a brand.

So far, he had only dipped his toes into a single business, one that barely hinted at the ambitions simmering in his mind. But things were changing.

With the perfume venture now also set in motion, he realised that scattered ventures wouldn’t cut it. He needed a common identity that would unify his efforts, something that would resonate with customers and leave an impression. Branding was his answer. Even if the concept wasn’t widely known or formalised here, it was already in use.

The big business clans, like the Tang Clan, branded every business they owned, subtly or overtly, with their name. When people saw that name, they knew who they were dealing with. The sects did it, too. Members wore robes in distinct colours, displaying their allegiance for all to see, turning even a simple garment into a symbol of their strength and reputation.

But Chen Ren wanted to take it further.

Rather than just crafting a brand for a company that would house all his businesses, he aimed for something with a deeper resonance.

He had been thinking about it these days and after all his internal discussions, his thoughts had landed on one thing— A sect.

If you want to make waves in this world, he thought, you can’t just swim— you have to ride the current and steer it.

Hence after tending to his noodle stall, he went to the tea shop, having already gotten permission from Qing He to read one more book from her hidden collection. He didn't move to another room this time and just sat at the counter, a thick tome opened before him.

The shop's counter was cluttered with loose leaves and porcelain cups, but the old woman next to him, Qing He, paid him no mind.

She shuffled around, muttering to herself about the weather and something about hasty young kids, but to Chen Ren, she was just another part of the background. Her indifference suited him perfectly; he didn't need prying eyes.

He flipped a page of the book, its parchment worn but rich with history. The text detailed the rise and fall of the great sects.

“In the days before the rise of the Kalian Empire, sects stood apart from the kingdoms and empires— sovereign forces with their own laws, ambitions, and domains. They wielded power like that of nations, each sect a world unto itself. They ruled over their disciples and guarded their territories, bowing to no monarch or noble. Their strength and prestige often rivalled, and at times, surpassed that of entire realms, their influence spreading like roots through the land.

But all of that changed with the rise of the Kalian Empire. At its heart was the first emperor— a heavenly genius whose prowess shattered the barriers of the domain manifestation realm and reached the higher realms that only few dared to even dream of. With power unmatched, he united the scattered kingdoms and clans under a single banner, his conquests sweeping across the continent like a storm. Sects that dared to stand against him found themselves broken, swallowed whole by the empire’s relentless march. Those who resisted learned quickly that defiance was met with annihilation.”

“In some remote regions”, the book explained. “Sects still held full autonomy, unchained by the authority of any kingdom or empire. They acted as sovereign entities, managing their territories and training disciples as they wished, following the ancient traditions of cultivation.”

This was more like what he remembered from the cultivation novels he used to read back home— powerful sects that ruled entire mountain ranges or valleys, taking in disciples and shaping the fate of the land.

But these were rare exceptions, the book emphasised. The Kalian Empire had tightened its grip on most regions, folding nearly all but a few rebellious and demonic sects under its rule. Still, the sound of such independence caught Chen Ren’s interest, and he kept reading, curiosity bubbling in his chest.

He flipped through more pages until he found the section on how to establish a sect. The old ways were simple— back then, all it took was a cultivator's word, and a new sect could rise overnight, built on the strength of their reputation and the sharpness of their sword. But the times had changed, and with it, the process had become more bureaucratic.

"To establish a sect," the book read in neat script, "one must adhere to the modern standards set by the Empire. A hierarchy has been established, beginning with the Four Guardian Sects, which oversee the territories and uphold the balance of power. Below them are the Established Sects, which have proven their strength and stability. They number in the dozens, each with its own unique practices. At the lowest tier are the Emerging Sects, numerous and ever-shifting in their fortunes. These new sects often lack the prestige of their older counterparts but may find their own paths to greatness."

Chen Ren’s eyes glinted as he read on.”To form a sect officially, a cultivator must be at least in the second realm and pay a fee of ten spirit stones. After registration, one may request recognition from the local city lord’s office. Prior to this, however, a cultivator may file for an unofficial sect status, which grants limited rights and allows for the gathering of disciples, provided no direct challenge is issued to the existing sects."

The more Chen Ren read, the more the possibilities spun through his mind. A smile formed on his lips as he considered the idea of starting as an unofficial sect, slowly building up until he could pay the fee and gain recognition. It wasn’t exactly what he’d dreamed of, but it was a start— one that could eventually lead to something greater.

Just then, a voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. "Boy, you’re reading that dusty old thing like it's your woman's breast. Planning to join a sect, are you?" Qing He asked, finally taking notice of him.

Chen Ren glanced up, pausing before taking a sip of the lukewarm tea beside him. "No," he said, carefully closing the book with a soft thud. "It’s for something else."

Qing He raised a grey eyebrow, her expression equal parts amused and sceptical. "Oh? What would a young lad like you be so interested in, if not joining a sect?"

Chen Ren leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he met her gaze directly. "I want to establish a sect," he said, his tone casual, as if he were discussing the weather.

Her expression shifted, her crooked smile fading into something that resembled disbelief. Then, with a wheezy chuckle, she shook her head and looked at him as though he’d sprouted a second head. "Are you trying to get yourself killed, boy? You do realise you’re only in the mid-stages of the first realm, right?"

Chen Ren shrugged. "I know."

She snorted, her thin fingers tapping rhythmically on the wooden counter. "And you’re aware that the Guardian Sects wouldn’t even take you as an outer disciple, yes? You’d be laughed out before you even reached the gates."

Again, Chen Ren nodded. "I know that too."

The old woman narrowed her eyes, studying him as if she might see through whatever madness he was hiding. "Then why in the heavens would you want to establish a sect when you don’t even qualify to be a proper outer disciple? Did you hit your head during a practice session? Boy, if anyone in the sects hears of this, they’ll laugh themselves sick and take bets on how quickly you’ll get yourself killed."

"Maybe. But some things are worth trying, even if others think they’re impossible."

Qing He stared at him for a long moment, her expression softening slightly. She leaned back against the counter, letting out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of ages. "You remind me of some fools I knew when I was young... but we’ll see if you last long enough to prove them wrong, boy."

He shrugged at her words. "It just felt like the right thing to do to start my company," he replied. He knew establishing a sect wasn't as simple as opening up a noodle stall, but a sect being his company was what he was looking for.

She scoffed. "And why not just establish a business clan, then? It would be much more fitting than some fool’s dream of starting a sect."

Chen Ren shook his head. "To create a business clan, I’d need more members, more backing. But a sect? That I can start on my own. Plus, if I managed to become an established sect, there would be tax benefits, lenient rules on expansion, and access to resources that a regular business just couldn’t get."

Her eyebrows shot up, and she let out a bark of laughter that drew a few curious looks from the other patrons. "If that ever happens in my lifetime, I’d gladly hand over this old shop to you and go live on the streets."

Chen Ren smirked. "I hope it doesn't come to that.” He looked at her seriously. “Street life isn’t meant for the elderly."

She scoffed again, this time softer, and then her expression turned serious. "Look, seriously think this through. Starting a sect isn't like setting up a market stall. You won’t be able to teach just about anyone martial techniques, you know."

"Who said I’m opening up a martial sect?"

She blinked, clearly thrown off. "Then what kind of sect are you talking about?"

"I'm going to open a sect for business. One that mortals can join too— not just as helpers, but as proper members. Martial arts won’t be the focus. Instead, I’ll take anyone interested in making money while cultivating on the side. That’s my vision. A place where even someone without a hint of talent can find a path forward, where hard work and strategy matter more than bloodline and talent."

She stared at him like he’d grown three heads this time, then let out a long sigh. "You don’t know the logistics involved in running a sect. Uniforms, managing resources, keeping your disciples in line, and then there’s protecting yourself from other sects that might see you as an easy prey. You won't even be able to manage even a tenth of that."

Chen Ren’s gaze didn’t waver. "Then I’ll hire people. I believe that whatever I can’t handle myself, I should have enough coin to hire someone who can. It’s not about doing everything on my own— it’s about knowing my limits and finding the right people to fill the gaps."

Qing He’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing. "You know, immortality isn’t found in making money. The path to cultivation is paved with discipline, not profit."

Chen Ren just chuckled at that. "There’s nothing wrong with making a bit of money along the way. The more I make, the more pills, herbs, and cultivation resources I can acquire. That’ll benefit my sect, won’t it?"

She let out a deep sigh, but a hint of a smile tugged at her lips. "You might be crazier than I thought, but there’s some truth in that, I suppose."

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by a loud commotion from across the tea shop.

Two young women had begun shouting at each other, their voices rising until they drew the attention of everyone in the room. Then, without warning, they lunged at each other, hands glowing faintly with the aura of low-level cultivators. Tables were knocked aside as they clashed, cups and plates scattering onto the floor.

The old woman shook her head, a look of exasperation crossing her face. "See that? Fights break out everywhere, especially among sect members. Those two are barely in the initial stages and you’re not much stronger than them. If you start up a sect, how are you going to deal with situations like this? You wouldn’t be able to handle it."

Chen Ren leaned back, a confident glint in his eyes. "Do you want to make a bet?"

She looked at him and cleared her throat. "A bet, you say? And what exactly are you betting on?"

"I’ll settle that fight right in front of you. It will prove I can at least handle cultivators," Chen Ren said, pointing casually at the two quarrelling cultivators. "If I can do that without using my fists, you’ll owe me a favour. Let me read more books from your collection, without any questions."

***

The moonlight was bright against the darkness, its pale light filtering through the slats in the window, illuminating a scene of bloodshed.

A man lay on the floor, clutching his side as blood seeped through his fingers, pooling beneath him. Around him were the lifeless bodies of guards, their faces twisted in shock, and a woman, dressed in concubine's silks, sprawled motionless on the ground. Her glassy eyes stared into the darkness, as if pleading for help that never came.

Above the dying man stood another, draped in dark robes that seemed to blend with the shadows, a bloodied sword gleaming in his grip. His eyes glowed with a malevolent light as he stepped closer, the edge of his blade catching the moonlight. A twisted smile curled on his lips.

“Rong Zhen, it will be easier for both of us if you just tell me where the artefact is,” he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery.

Rong Zhen clutched his wound. His breathing ragged as he shook his head frantically. “I... I don’t know! Take everything in this room, just please... spare my life.”

The demonic cultivator chuckled, a low and sinister sound that seemed to chill the air around him. “Oh, I plan to take everything,” he replied, leaning closer until his shadow swallowed Rong Zhen whole. “But I don’t need you.”

With a sudden, jerking movement, dark tendrils erupted from his hands, twisting like serpents as they plunged into Rong Zhen’s abdomen. The man’s eyes bulged, and a choked gurgle escaped his lips as the tendrils drained his life force, turning his skin ashen.

Rong Zhen’s body twitched violently before going limp, his lifeless form crumpling to the floor like a discarded doll.

The demonic cultivator grimaced as he finished, pulling his hand back and watching the tendrils retract. He made a face as if tasting something bitter. “I expected better from a wealthy man’s soul,” he muttered, wiping his hand on the edge of his cloak.

From the shadows, a ghostly figure materialised— pale and translucent, his form barely holding together. He hovered over the scene, his robes drifting as if caught in an invisible wind. The ghost’s hollow eyes glowed with a faint, eerie light. “He wasn’t a cultivator,” the ghost remarked, his voice echoing unnaturally. “All mortal souls are... bland, Gu Tian. You should know that by now.”

Gu Tian sighed, casting an annoyed glance at the wraith. “Another waste of a night. I thought this one might be hiding something worthwhile.”

The ghost drifted closer, his gaze shifting around the room. “Perhaps not as much of a waste as you think. Check under that floorboard over there.” He gestured with a translucent hand toward a loose plank near the corner of the room.

Gu Tian arched an eyebrow but obeyed. With a swift kick, he broke through the floorboards, revealing a small, concealed compartment. Inside was a wooden box, dusty and worn. He pried it open, revealing a dark, sinister-looking sword. The metal seemed to hum faintly with a toxic energy, a faint, greenish mist curling around its edge.

The ghost’s eyes glinted. “An artefact... I can feel a poisonous aura emanating from it. This isn’t some cheap trinket— an Earth-grade artefact at the very least.”

Gu Tian’s lips twisted into a smirk as he lifted the sword, feeling its weight and the power thrumming within it. “I keep finding these lucky encounters ever since you bound yourself to me, Master.”

The ghost’s laughter echoed through the room, a haunting sound that sent shivers through the air. “Don’t let it get to your head, Gu Tian. The luckier you are, the more you’ll be tested. That’s the way of a Heaven’s favoured.”

Gu Tian’s smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming. “With my methods, Master, I think I’m more of a Hell’s favoured.”

He sheathed the sword at his side, taking one last look at the killings he had been responsible for. A part of him ached, knowing they didn't deserve it, but Gu Tian had forsaken chasing the path of a righteous cultivator long back.

Now, he only coveted power.

With that thought in his mind, he left the room, leaving the task of retrieving the bodies to any servants or family members who might find Rong Zhen tomorrow morning. He was sure that the sight of his dead body would be a good surprise for them.

23. Lots of dumplings

The tension in the tea shop was thick, like a brewing storm. Every customer had turned their heads toward the corner where two young women stood, faces flushed and voices raised. Even the server paused mid-pour, eyes darting between the arguing girls, afraid that one wrong move might escalate things further. Chen Ren felt the movement— the shift of all those eyes as he wove through the maze of chairs and tables, making his way toward the commotion.

Now, their eyes were on him. They were watching as if he was crazy to run into the middle of that fight— he swiped his eyes all over just once and focused on where he was headed.

Why were they even fighting?

As he got closer, the nature of their argument became clearer, though their words were tangled in shouts and indignation. But the sudden realisation struck him, stopping him in his tracks. The source of their fury? It was a romance book— his romance book.

One of the girls, her face scrunched up in a righteous scowl, jabbed a finger toward the other. She was tall–tall enough to intimidate the shorter girl with purple hair. But it wasn’t her height that gave her the upper hand, it was her eyes, they were sharp as a knife as they bore onto the shorter woman.

The shorter woman flinched at her words when she spoke.

“The main protagonist deserved to die! He turned his back on his sect— his sect! And don't forget, he had a childhood fiancée! Think of how she would have felt, abandoned just because he got some foolish ideas in his head about love. It was betrayal, plain and simple.”

Her opponent, eyes wide with passion, crossed her arms and shook her head vigorously. “You just don’t get it, Yun Qiao! You are not even trying to understand— that’s what real love is about! He went against everything, even the rules of his own world, for her! That’s why the book is beautiful! That’s why it’s right! You can’t say it’s wrong just because it’s unconventional!”

Yun Qiao scoffed, hands on her hips, chin raised. “If it was truly the right path, Mei Lian, then the heavens wouldn’t have punished them. You think his suffering was a coincidence? That’s fate correcting a mistake!”

Chen Ren paused a few paces away, his lips twitching into a wry smile.

He had written that book mostly as a way to gain access to the herbal books and bestiary, never imagining it would spark this kind of fervour. Sure, he had heard about the book catching some steam lately, and Qing He had also reluctantly let him borrow a second book from her collection due to his rising popularity. But he certainly hadn’t expected it to be the cause of a full-blown argument between two budding cultivators.

Not just any argument, one that looked like it could turn into a duel anytime sooner.

Clearing his throat, he let out a small, deliberate cough to catch their attention. When their heated debate halted for a moment, he stepped in with a polite smile. “Ah, excuse me, but perhaps I could offer my perspective on this matter?”

Both girls whipped their heads toward him, looking him up and down with disdain. “And just who do you think you are?” Yun Qiao girl snapped, crossing her arms tighter. “We’re having a serious discussion here, so scram!”

The other girl nodded, frowning at him as if he’d just suggested something utterly ridiculous. “Yeah, get lost! This is between us!”

Chen Ren’s smile faltered for a moment, and he scratched the back of his head, unsure f he should laugh or be exasperated. He had dealt with many things since starting his little noodle stall, but being dismissed from a debate about his own work was a new one.

Soon, they went back to their back and forth argument, almost as if he was invisible.

Chen Ren’s smile tightened as he noticed the two girls’ irritation rising again, their voices straining with each heated word.

With another glance around the tea shop, he saw how uncomfortable most people seemed, watching the argument unfold like a slow-motion disaster.

Some people even attempted to close their ears so they could focus on the book splayed open in front of them. Only a few watched with curiosity and excitement while sipping their tea as if using their argument as entertainment.

A sigh threatened to escape Chen Ren’s lips but instead, he raised his hand slightly, trying to keep his tone calm but firm. “Your serious discussion is making the other customers uncomfortable, and you’re one misstep away fro breaking something in the shop.”

“And who are you to represent everyone here?” Yin Qiao asked loudly.

A small silence followed her question.

“No one to everyone here, but my name is Chen Ren.”

The girl in question opened her mouth, clearly ready to snap at him again, but then she froze, her eyes widening in sudden recognition. “Wait... did you just say Chen Ren? As in... Chen Ren, the one who wrote ‘Liang Shan and Hua Yun?’”

Chen Ren gave a small, humble nod. “Yes, that’s me. And I must admit, I couldn’t help myself from coming over when I realised you were discussing my book with such passion.”

Both girls stared at him, mouths slightly agape. The shorter one among the duo— Mei Lian, visibly fidgeting her fingers as she continued to stare at him. A few awkward seconds ticked by before she cleared her throat loudly. Her face flushed with excitement and she gestured to an empty chair at their table. “Would you like to join us? We, um, have a lot of questions.”

Chen Ren accepted the offer with a nod, pulling out the chair and settling into it. The tense atmosphere softened as he took his seat, and the other patrons in the shop resumed their conversations, though many kept a curious eye on the corner.

As soon as he sat down, the questions came tumbling out.

Yun Qiao leaned forward eagerly, the earlier sharpness in her voice replaced by genuine curiosity. “I just have to know— when the protagonist left his sect for the girl, that wasn’t a heart demon forming in him, was it?”

Chen Ren shook his head, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “No, it wasn’t. It was love of the purest kind. Yes, he had conflicts about going against his sect, but he was following the core tenet of his clan— to always follow his heart as long as he believed he was in the right. And don’t forget, the female lead was going to be sacrificed by her own elders. For him, saving her was justified.”

Yun Qiao bit her lip, mulling over his words, while Mei Lian chimed in with a hopeful tone. “So, the true essence of the book is about true love, right?

Chen Ren smiled, but internally, he was frowning. If he was honest, he hadn't thought a ton about the story and added whatever tropes he could fit into it while taking the core plot from Earth's classic story. If he had actually thought about the essence or themes of the book, he wouldn't be able to complete it in three days.

But now, as those two pairs of eyes waited for him carefully, he pulled himself out of the trance and decided to do one thing he was good at— Bullshitting!

“There are many themes in the story, and they intertwine, depending on which characters you focus on. But if I were to sum it up, it’s also about how ancient rivalries—those that have gone on for centuries, often without anyone remembering how they even began— can end up destroying the younger generation. The protagonist’s love story is just one way that theme plays out.”

As he spoke, he noticed more girls drawing closer, their faces glowing with curiosity. They pulled up chairs or simply sat on the edges of nearby tables, inching closer, eyes bright with enthusiasm. Before he knew it, several of them were leaning in, some even placing their hands on his arm as they bombarded him with questions about plot twists, character motivations, and hidden meanings in his story.

Chen Ren kept up with their excitement, answering each question with a smile, though he couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by the sudden attention. He had always imagined his writing might reach people, but he never thought it would turn a quiet afternoon into a bustling discussion circle in the middle of a tea shop.

As time drifted on, Chen Ren found himself in a situation he could only describe as… serendipitous.

The small gathering of curious readers had turned into a full-on fan club, with young, pretty girls hanging on his every word. They crowded around him, leaning in with eager faces, their questions coming faster than he could answer. Before long, more snacks appeared on the table— someone had even brought over a plate of freshly steamed dumplings, insisting he try them.

One particularly bold girl held a dumpling up to his lips with a shy smile, urging him to take a bite while she asked about a certain plot twist. “So, when the protagonist’s qi shattered after the betrayal, was that a symbol for—”

Chen Ren managed a muffled answer as he accepted the dumpling, unable to stop a bemused grin from spreading across his face.

He had expected a few interested readers, maybe some debates or even criticism, but this sudden celebrity treatment was a pleasant surprise. For a moment, he wondered if today the goddess of luck had decided to bless him, showering him with this unexpected charm. Not that he was about to complain— no, he was thoroughly enjoying every bit of attention, basking in the admiration.

He simply wanted to drink tea, answer questions and eat the girl's dumplings.

But amid the laughter and chatter, his gaze strayed over to the tea shop counter, where Qing He stood watching. Her expression was... complicated— a blend of exasperation, disbelief, and something he could only describe as begrudging amusement. It was as if she couldn’t decide whether to scold him or be proud that her tea shop was now buzzing with so much energy.

Perched beside her on the counter, the amber-eyed cat lounged, her tail flicking lazily. But as soon as their eyes met, her whiskers twitched, and he heard a familiar, dry voice slip directly into his thoughts. “It seems like there’s a reason why you took over Chen Ren’s body. Both of you are more than capable of handling a few girls at a time.”

Chen Ren barely stopped himself from choking on the dumpling, managing to maintain his outward composure even as he grimaced internally. He shot Yalan a look of annoyance, but deep down, he couldn’t deny that a part of him was revelling in the unexpected turn of events.

Focus, he told himself, even as he felt a little rush of pride. He returned his attention to the girls, offering a polished response to yet another question about his protagonist’s moral dilemmas. Yet, in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, there were some perks to his new life after all.

***

Days flew by as Tang Yuqiu established a small production workshop for their perfume venture, working closely with Chen Ren to get everything just right. She carefully selected a few of her most trusted aides, and together, they set up the process to craft their scents.

They spent long evenings deciding on the different kinds of perfumes they would sell, pricing strategies, and the best way to package the final product. Given the high cost of glass, they chose to go with elegant wooden bottles adorned with intricate engravings. Each bottle bore both the Tang Clan name and Chen Ren’s sect mark— a golden coin with the face of a dragon, the same beast Chen Ren had seen during his deep connection with his dao. Even though he hadn’t officially registered his sect or chosen a name, the symbol felt like a natural choice.

After several days of tiring, but systematic process, Chen Ren and Tang Yuqiu met in the workshop to inspect the first batch of perfumes ready for the market.

As he picked up a bottle, he admired the craftsmanship. The wooden casing was smooth to the touch, engraved with detailed patterns of flowing clouds and waves, with the dragon coin symbol subtly etched on one side and the Tang Clan emblem on the other. The scent he opened was named Feng Hua— Opulent Breeze, a fresh blend of herbs and light floral notes, capturing the essence of a crisp morning in the mountains, but also a hint of luxurious mysteriousness from the fragrance of the Martha Wood he used.

He took a deep breath, savouring the fragrance, and then glanced at Yuqiu with a satisfied nod. “It looks good. I believe it’ll be a big hit.”

Yuqiu crossed her arms, a small smile playing on her lips. “I believe so too. We’ve already gotten the permit, but I don’t think it will be as easy as you’re imagining, even with us selling it at such low prices.”

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

She sighed, leaning against the workbench. “The winds in the business world are shifting, and the existing players have already caught a whiff of our plans. Since I’m part of the Tang Clan, they’re keeping a close eye on us. And if we start taking a big chunk out of the market with such affordable prices, they’re not going to take it lightly.”

Chen Ren considered her words for a moment before replying, “But there won’t be any trouble from the sects. They don’t have partnerships in the perfume trade. They simply provide the resources.”

Yuqiu nodded in agreement. “Yes, but the businesses themselves— families like the Cang Clan and the Bai Hu Trade Association— are not easy to go against. They’ve dominated the market for years.”

He offered a reassuring smile. “We’re already doing everything we can to protect ourselves. Are you sticking to the precautions I suggested?”

She met his gaze firmly. “I am.”

“Then we’ll be fine,” he said, confidence in his tone. “For now, our focus should be on marketing. That’s what will make the difference.”

Yuqiu tilted her head, curious. “Do you have any ideas for that?”

Chen Ren’s eyes gleamed with excitement as a plan took shape in his mind. “Yeah, a few things. The more I thought it through, the clearer the marketing strategy became. I believe you’ll like it. Let me tell you about it…”

Chen Ren took a step forward while Yuqiu drew a smile on her face that showed how she already trusted him, before he could complete the plan in his mind.

***

A/N - Sorry for the delay, been busy with my brother's wedding.

24. Bai Hu Trade Association

Tang Yuqiu’s eyes fluttered open, drawn out of sleep by the light caress of dawn's light slipping through the cracks of her window shutters. The warmth of the sun's early rays touched her face, gentle and persistent, coaxing her awake. She blinked, momentarily dazed, as she soaked in the serene morning hues filtering into her room. A nervous thrill raced through her veins, making her heart thud a little faster, a quiet anticipation that prickled beneath her skin.

"Today is the day," she murmured, her voice barely audible in the quiet of the morning, yet the words stirred something deep inside her.

Her mind drifted back, unbidden, to a time not so long ago— a time when her father had finally granted her the chance to prove herself. Back then, she had been eager and full of ideas, diving headfirst into the challenge.

She had researched tirelessly, seeking out methods to increase productivity, negotiating with blacksmiths to craft better tools, and cutting prices to undercut her competitors. The thrill of new possibilities had fueled her every step.

But reality had been harsh. The workforce had struggled to keep up with the demands, and soon, profits dwindled.

Customers turned away, lured by more established names and better alternatives.

Each passing day had layered dread upon her shoulders, a weight that grew heavier with every failure. Yet she still remembered the thrill of those first few days— the heady excitement that had surged through her veins, the electric hope that had made her believe she could reshape her fate.

Now, that same excitement and nervousness welled up in her again, but it was tempered by experience, shaded by the shadows of past failures.

As she rose from bed, a new thought anchored her, grounding her racing mind.

No. This time, it will be different. I'm not alone. It wouldn’t be the same— if it does, well. Someone will be leaving the Tang Clan manor and it won’t be me.

Ignoring the small doubts that started creeping from the back of her head, she started freshening up.

She dressed with care, choosing a deep lavender robe embroidered with silver threads that caught the morning light— dignified yet approachable, she thought. It was a look that spoke of elegance, without the ostentation that might scare away their first customers.

Her maid, Ling’er, awaited her outside, hands folded neatly, her face a mirror of calm reassurance.

They shared a quiet understanding as they stepped into the lacquered carriage, the wheels creaking into motion on the streets. The city awoke around them, lanterns extinguishing as the sun climbed higher, vendors calling out in the distance, and the faint clattering of morning carts blending into a familiar hum.

Ling’er glanced at her, catching the faint crease between Tang Yuqiu’s brows. “Miss, it will be alright,” she said softly, the hope in her voice steady like a river’s current. “This venture will be a great success.”

Tang Yuqiu forced a smile and nodded, but her hands twisted in her lap, the nervous energy refusing to settle.

“I hope so,” she replied, her voice carrying a hint of doubt that she couldn’t quite hide. “I don’t trust Chen Ren, not entirely. But… Everything he’s done so far makes me believe he has a plan. We just need to follow it.” Her voice grew firmer as she spoke, like she was convincing herself as much as Ling’er.

The carriage rolled to a gentle stop, and as they stepped down, Tang Yuqiu’s breath caught in her throat.

Before her stood the shop— a space she had rented from the Tang Clan, one of the few empty properties they owned in the busy heart of the city.

The location was prime, situated where several streets converged— a crossroads where the clamour of the Market Street bled into the stately calm of the upper districts. It was the kind of place where merchants rubbed shoulders with nobles, where the scent of spices mingled with the perfume of the wealthier residents.

Her eyes lingered on the freshly painted sign above the door: Heavenly Fragrances.

The characters were bold yet graceful. They seemed to hold a promise, a hope that this new beginning could bloom into something more.

For a moment, she just stood there, the morning sun warming her back, taking in the sight of the shop that held all her dreams and worries, even though she wished this anxiety was temporary.

The sign of Heavenly Fragrances bore the symbols of the Tang Clan alongside a fancily carved golden coin emblem.

The coin symbolised Chen Ren’s role in the venture, adding a touch that complemented the Tang Clan’s prestige with a fresh, distinctive flair.

He had picked the name of the shop without much deliberation, insisting that “anything with heavenly in it sounds grand and impressive.”

Tang Yuqiu had considered arguing against it, but his certainty— and perhaps a hint of reasoning—had quieted her objections, leaving her to concede.

The door creaked as Ling’er pushed it open, the scent of newly polished counters mingling with the subtle perfume samples she and Chen Ren had laboured over, hoping to entice even the most discerning of noses.

Tang Yuqiu inhaled deeply, a faint smile curving her lips despite the anxious flutter in her chest. Here, in this small shop nestled at the city’s beating heart, was the chance to prove herself again. She just had to seize it.

She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves, and stepped through the doors of the shop.

Inside, the sweet and musky aroma of the perfumes they had painstakingly crafted filled the air. Rows of wooden vials lined the shelves, each holding a different hue of liquid, from deep amber to a beautiful lavender. The perfumes gleamed under the soft glow of enchanted lanterns, their essence catching the light as if promising untold luxuries.

Two employees stood by the entrance, bowing deeply as she entered, their postures respectful yet confident.

They were young, well-groomed men with striking features— high cheekbones, clear skin, and sharp, symmetrical lines that would draw attention from any passerby.

Chen Ren had been insistent on hiring them. “If our main customers will be women,” he had said with a sly grin, “then it’s only wise to take advantage of pretty privilege.”

Tang Yuqiu didn’t entirely understand the term, but she had grasped the essence of his strategy. And she had to admit, the logic had merit; there was a charm to these handsome employees that could certainly sway a few extra purchases.

She acknowledged their greetings with a nod, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly at their well-practised, eager smiles. “Prepare for the launch,” she instructed, her voice steady, but her heart still beating a little too fast.

The employees bowed again, promising to handle the preparations, and she turned towards the back of the shop, Ling’er trailing close behind.

They moved down a narrow hallway, the air gradually growing richer with the scents of herbs and spices. The fragrance shifted with each step— notes of sweet jasmine mingled with the sharpness of mint, followed by the earthy undertone of sandalwood. As they reached a larger chamber, Tang Yuqiu found herself standing in what Chen Ren had referred to as the “assembly line.” It was a concept that seemed almost foreign to her, but she could see the efficiency in its design.

The room was filled with rows of workstations, each one dedicated to a different task in the perfume-making process. The employees, four in total, moved with focused precision, their hands deft and practised.

Tang Yuqiu's gaze swept across the room, taking in each station.

At the first station, a worker sat with a woven basket brimming with freshly harvested herbs and blossoms. His hands moved deftly as he separated petals from stems, using a small sickle.

He hummed quietly as he worked, each cut releasing a fresh burst of scent into the air, his rhythm steady and unbroken.

Nearby, another employee sorted through piles of dried flowers and herbs, carefully removing impurities and shaking out any lingering dust.

He then placed the ingredients into large earthen bowls, readying them for the next step.

The third worker focused on the delicate task of essence extraction. He stood beside a set of gleaming brass stills, each one designed to draw out the essential oils from the prepared ingredients.

A thin stream of vapour drifted upward as he adjusted the heat with a precise touch, coaxing out the potent scents within.

Further down the line, the final station held a worker who blended the extracted oils into carefully labelled wooden containers.

His hands moved with the care of a master painter, mixing drops of different oils with a pipette, creating fragrant symphonies that would later be fine-tuned and aged.

Tang Yuqiu watched for a moment, the methodical movement of the workers soothing some of her lingering nerves.

There was something almost hypnotic about the way they worked, the low hum of the stills creating a steady rhythm in the room. It was a far cry from the chaotic struggles of her last venture; here, there was an order to things, a sense that each step had its place.

Ling’er shifted beside her, glancing at her with a faint smile. “The workers are diligent, Miss. Young master Chen Ren’s plans seem to be coming together.”

Tang Yuqiu nodded slowly, her eyes lingering on the careful process unfolding before her. “Yes... they are,” she replied, the words softer than she intended. She wouldn’t admit it openly, but in moments like these, it was hard not to see that Chen Ren’s unorthodox methods carried a certain brilliance. Maybe, just maybe, this time things truly would be different.

Tang Yuqiu stood there for a moment, taking in the organised chaos of the perfume production line— workers moving between their stations with purpose, each task flowing seamlessly into the next.

The methodical efficiency of it all, the streamlined process of turning raw herbs into delicate, refined fragrances, still amazed her.

Once again, her thoughts drifted to Chen Ren and the seemingly endless depths of his ingenuity. How had he come up with this production method?

It had allowed them to set up the shop in a fraction of the time she’d thought possible, turning what could have been a slow and arduous process into something swift and effective. Now, all that remained was for the people to come through those doors and experience their creations.

Turning back toward the front of the shop, Tang Yuqiu made her way to the counter where one of the employees stood. His posture straightened as she approached and asked, “Where is Chen Ren?”

The young man dipped his head respectfully before answering. “He was here earlier this morning, Miss Yuqiu. He checked over everything, made sure the batches were in order, and then left, saying he needed to start marketing.”

At that, Tang Yuqiu paused, her brow furrowing slightly.

She knew a few aspects of Chen Ren’s plan— he had gathered a group of children to distribute pamphlets across the city, small sheets of paper listing their perfume varieties, prices, and a promise of discounts for the first visitors.

It was a simple enough strategy, one that would ensure their name spread quickly through the crowded streets. But she was certain there was more to his scheme than just this, some other tactic or trick that he had yet to share with her.

He had been evasive when she pressed him for details, simply offering a confident smile and saying, “You’ll see the results of it. Just be patient.” It was maddening, really— how he could speak with such assurance, as if he could already see the outcome while she struggled to envision the next few steps.

She turned back to the employee, curiosity gnawing at her. “Did he leave any other instructions?”

The servant glanced at the ground for a moment, considering, before he shook his head. “He only said to make sure everything was in place, that the shop was stocked and the workers ready. And... that there would be a lot of customers by the end of the day.” He hesitated before adding, “But we’ve been open for an hour now, and no one has come in yet.”

Tang Yuqiu nodded slowly, a sigh slipping from her lips as she glanced towards the door. The empty street outside seemed to taunt her, the stillness contrasting sharply with the buzz of excitement and nerves in her chest.

She tried to swallow down the unease that bubbled up, but the silence of the shop seemed to magnify every doubt. The promise of a bustling crowd by day’s end sounded more like a boast right now, a far-off hope.

Yet... there was something about Chen Ren’s unwavering confidence, about the glint in his eyes when he spoke of this venture, that kept her from dismissing his words entirely.

He wouldn’t have made such a claim if he didn’t have something planned. But what exactly could he be up to, out there in the city’s winding alleys and crowded squares?

She clenched her hands at her sides, trying to maintain her composure in front of the staff. “We’ll wait, then,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “Make sure everything stays ready. If he’s right, we need to be prepared.”

She forced herself to keep her gaze steady on the door, watching as a few passersby glanced at the shop’s sign before moving on. What kind of marketing could he be doing?

The question lingered in her mind, an itch she couldn’t quite scratch. As she waited, she couldn’t help but wonder if, once again, Chen Ren’s unexpected methods would turn the tide in their favour.

***

The air was thick with smoke as Bai Hu, the lord of the Bai Hu Trade Association, leaned back in his chair, lazily blowing out a stream of white smoke from his curved pipe. The scented haze swirled around him, filling the room with the rich aroma of rare herbs. He had always enjoyed the tranquillity that smoking brought, a small respite from the endless calculations of profit and trade. But today, his peace was interrupted by the sound of footsteps shuffling into his private chamber.

One of his associates stepped forward, bowing deeply before holding out a small, folded pamphlet. "My lord, the reports have been verified," the associate said, his voice careful, measured. "Tang Yuqiu of the Tang Clan has indeed opened a perfume shop in the city. The rumours were accurate— she's collaborating with a cultivator named Chen Ren, and they’ve promised to sell perfumes at less than half our prices.”

The lord's eyes flicked upward at the mention, curiosity momentarily interrupting his languid repose.

He took the pamphlet from the servant’s outstretched hands, glancing down at the neatly printed prices and descriptions of fragrances. His lips curled into a mocking smirk as he examined the words Heavenly Fragrances.

“Chen Ren, is it?” he muttered, still staring at the paper. “What sect does he belong to? Could it be that the Soaring Sword Sect has decided to involve themselves with the Tang Clan now?”

The servant hesitated before shaking his head. "No, my lord. The man is sectless. Our sources say he’s little more than a stray dog in the cultivation world. His only claim to fame seems to be a noodle shop he started a few months back. And he isn’t strong— he lost to Li Xuan during the sect entrance examinations and nearly died. It’s unlikely he’ll have any significant backing or power."

Bai Hu leaned back, letting out a deep, rumbling laugh that shook the air. His amusement was palpable, echoing through the chamber. He set the pipe back to his lips, taking another leisurely puff before speaking. "A noodle seller, you say? Tang Yuqiu, that brainless girl, partnering with some nobody who couldn’t even make it into a proper sect? Ha! The Tang Clan must have grown truly desperate if they’re allowing her to throw away money like this."

His gaze turned sharp, disdain flickering in his eyes as he continued, “It’s strange enough that Tang Yuqiu’s father dotes on her so much. She should have been married off by now, serving some political purpose, but instead, he’s letting her play at being a merchant, burning his coffers in the process.” He paused, frowning at his own words. "Well, it’s not my problem if he wants to ruin his own clan’s finances. They’ll pay for their folly soon enough."

The servant cleared his throat, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice. "What would you like us to do, my lord? Should we take any measures against this new shop?”

Bai Hu waved a dismissive hand, the smoke from his pipe swirling around his fingers. "Keep a close eye on them, but I doubt it will matter. In a month, their little venture will be closed, mark my words. Let them enjoy their brief moment of hope. And try to find out if any sect is helping them with these perfumes. Even a sectless nobody could be playing a deeper game. Get me a few samples of those too.”

The servant bowed again and hurriedly left, leaving Bai Hu alone with his thoughts.

He took another slow draw from his pipe, letting the smoke seep into his lungs before releasing it in a steady stream. A lazy smirk played at his lips as he muttered to himself, “Any low-level cultivator thinks they can just waltz into the business world and make a name for themselves. The foolish lot, always dreaming, never understanding the true nature of the market.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as if amused by some private joke. In his mind, the outcome was already certain— another upstart crushed beneath the weight of reality. And as the smoke curled in the air, it seemed to carry his confidence with it, drifting through the room like a shadow of his assuredness.

***

A/N - Just came back from my brother's wedding and got sick. That's why the schedule has messed up. I will try to pick everything up by tomorrow. Thank you for the support.

25. Women and strategy

Mei Lian was the thirtieth daughter of an elder of the Soaring Sword Sect, yet that grand title masked a much humbler truth. Her mother had been a commoner, an innkeeper’s daughter who had nursed her father back to health after he was wounded outside the sect’s mountain gates during a mission.

It was a liaison born of fleeting gratitude on his part and hope on hers— a brief affair that had resulted in her birth. But being a daughter of a big shot cultivator was no blessing for her.

Her brother and sister, children of her father’s favoured wives, had the elder’s pride; she had only his name and, occasionally, a monthly allowance— a gift from a man who viewed her as one of his many, many obligations.

Even the day after it was discovered that she had some spark of cultivation talent, her father still gave her no extra attention.

Unlike her siblings, she had average skills and wasn't even admitted to the sect proper.

“A flower blooming on dry earth,” her father had called her, with a strange, cool distance that made her heart shrivel as she bowed before him.

So, Mei Lian had turned from cultivation, her spirit bound not to lofty dreams of immortality but to simpler delights.

When her mother lamented her lack of ambition, Mei Lian countered that the pursuit of life’s pleasures was, in itself, a noble quest. Pretty dresses, laughter with friends, glances from young men, the hum of a flute at a late-night party— she clung to these things as fiercely as her siblings clung to their swords and scrolls.

Yet, recently, she’d found herself drawn again and again to a place as humble as her mother’s inn had once been: a small tea shop in the centre of the city.

The shop had a warmth to it, the air filled with the fragrance of fresh tea leaves and ink-stained parchment. The source that took her attention, however, was not the tea itself but the stories told within its walls by an unusual young man named Chen Ren.

Chen Ren was hardly remarkable at first glance other than his face— average in stature, his robes plain like a normal cultivator. Yet he had the mind of a genius author.

She had fallen in love with his novel ‘Liang Shan’ and ‘Hua Yun’, the tale of romance, valour and tragedy igniting a wistful longing in Mei Lian's heart, one she hadn't known she possessed. But it was only a start.

Once he had found out that he had a small following, Chen Ren had started talking about different stories everyday. Out of all of them, she liked one named ‘Ci De Rel' the best.

Even if the name was strange, the contents of it were like one of a dream about a concubine's daughter's romance with a prince, and hearing Chen Ren talk about it made her feel like such a thing had really happened once.

She’d found herself attending his readings daily, not just to hear the tales of love and tragedy but to watch the easy way he commanded his audience’s attention.

Each line, each carefully well-thought word seemed to echo through her mind even long after she’d left the shop. And every time the tea shop’s seats got filled with other affluent young ladies, she was one of the first to listen to his tales, and in some small way, that made her feel special. It gave her a sense of pride.

This afternoon, she made her way to the tea shop with light steps again, her heart lifting in anticipation.

As she entered, she found him where she had hoped, seated at the centre of a captivated crowd.

Chen Ren’s presence was magnetic, and though he sat with effortless calm, his gaze was unwavering. He answered each question thrown his way with his eyes alight, taking time to select his words before telling— no, beautifully crafting yet another story. It was clear he revelled in his role as the shop’s storyteller.

Around him, young ladies of various stations leaned forward, and some young men sat a short distance away, casting envious glances at him and, occasionally, at her as she entered.

She caught a few of those glances herself but brushed them aside, making her way toward Chen Ren. The voices softened as she drew near, and though he barely acknowledged her at first, she could almost feel his awareness of her presence.

Today, perhaps, there would be another story that would keep her up at night in her delusions.

As Mei Lian approached Chen Ren, she halted, catching an unexpected sweetness in the air.

It was faint at first, like the barest hint of spring blossoms, but as she stepped closer, the scent grew stronger and richer, wrapping around her senses until she could barely think of anything else.

Her eyes flickered down to the wooden bottles arranged before him, each one assembled neatly, with swirling patterns along their polished surfaces that signed at something rare and precious within. She noticed the symbol of a golden coin and dragon etched on their surface.

Chen Ren’s gaze caught hers, and he lifted a hand in greeting, his lips curving into a smile that made her heart skip a beat.

“Mei Lian,” he called, his voice warm and inviting. “You’re finally here. I have something to show you.”

She approached with curiosity, unable to resist asking, “Is it... perfume you’re wearing? I haven’t smelled anything quite like it.”

Chen Ren’s smile deepened, and he gave a small, knowing nod.

“Of course you haven’t,” he replied. “You remember that scene from the ‘Liang Shan’ and ‘Hua Yun’ story I told last month, the one where Hua Yun wore a special fragrance during her second meeting with Liang Shan?”

The memory sprang to life in her mind— the daring mission that brought the star-crossed couple together, the female lead’s bold choice to wear a rare perfume that left the male lead captivated, their paths colliding in secret under the moonlight.

“Yes, I remember,” she murmured, recalling how she and the other girls had sighed over the romantic tension of that scene. “That perfume was a rare treasure— its production method rumoured to be lost for centuries.”

“Exactly.” Chen Ren’s eyes sparkled. “The method for creating it is long forgotten by most, but my clan once practised this art. These perfumes you see here…” he gestured to the wooden bottles, “were made using the same technique. Even the priciest spiritual perfumes can’t compare.”

Curiosity drew her hand to one of the bottles, her fingers brushing the smooth wood as she carefully lifted it to her nose.

The aroma that greeted her was even more intoxicating up close— a blend of warmth, spice, and floral notes so perfectly balanced that it seemed to melt into her senses. She closed her eyes, savouring the fragrance, her pulse quickening as a soft blush warmed her cheeks.

“That one,” Chen Ren said with a faint grin, “is called Opulent Breeze. It's a blend of rare blossoms and subtle herbs that make it almost... irresistible. It has quite the effect on the opposite gender— a nudge, if you will, toward a bit of extra attention.”

Mei Lian’s heart fluttered. She couldn’t help the intrigue that bubbled within her at the thought. “So… if someone were to wear this around someone they liked, it might just work?”

“Precisely,” Chen Ren replied, his gaze meeting hers, steady and amused. “Think of it as an ancient charm, refined to speak to the male heart. I don't know if it will make the person fall for you, but they would certainly give you more than a look. I’m sure there’s someone each of you has in mind, after all.”

At Chen Ren’s words, a wave of murmurs and blushing faces swept through the crowd.

Mei Lian could feel the weight of several gazes fixed on the bottle in her hands— eager, almost predatory glances from the other girls who seemed to share her newly found interest in the perfume’s promise. Even she couldn’t help but wonder, Could it really work?

Involuntarily, her thoughts drifted to Li Xuan, her father’s favoured disciple and the son of the City Lord— a man of notable standing and graceful bearing, one she had glimpsed only a handful of times but thought of more than she would ever admit.

Compared to him, her standing was meagre, her cultivation weak; she was a flower in the shadows, hardly worthy of his gaze. But perhaps, just perhaps, this perfume could change things, giving her the boldness she’d always lacked, perhaps even a chance to bridge the distance between them. It would be a dream come true.

Still contemplating, she looked at Chen Ren and asked, “Are you selling these?”

As if on cue, the other girls echoed her question, each of them leaning in eagerly.

Chen Ren flashed them a charming smile, casually leaning back as if he hadn’t just turned their thoughts upside down. “Yes, indeed. I wouldn’t keep such methods to myself— it would be a shame if only I had kept the pleasure of such scents, right? So, I’ve opened a perfume shop. Naturally, as a virtuous man who values fairness and has no desire to be greedy, I’ve set the price modestly, at only five to eight silver wen for each bottle. I’d be earning just enough to cover my costs, really.”

Mei Lian’s eyes widened. Five to eight silver wen? Her own perfumes, stored carefully at home, had cost her twenty-five silver wen each, far too precious to use liberally.

Each bottle represented weeks of saving, her indulgences carefully rationed for only the most special of occasions. And yet here was Chen Ren, offering a perfume with charm and allure beyond anything she’d worn, and for a mere fraction of the price.

As she mulled this over, Chen Ren’s voice drew her from her thoughts. “So, how about it?” he asked, his tone as smooth as the fragrance lingering in the air. “Would you all care to take a short walk to my shop? You can browse and see which perfumes suit you best.”

The girls’ excitement was palpable, some of them already half-rising from their seats in anticipation. Before anyone else could respond, Mei Lian blurted out, “Yes, please!”

The other girls quickly voiced their agreement, some flashing her envious glances as if she had been the first to discover a hidden treasure. Chen Ren chuckled softly, giving an amused look over them all. With a gesture that was equal parts flourish and invitation, he signalled them to follow him.

***

Chen Ren stood in the middle of his perfume shop, surrounded by the wafting scents of floral and herbal blends that filled the air. His gaze drifted over the group of young misses clustered around, their faces flushed with excitement as they lifted the small bottles displayed, sampling them with an air of reverence.

Some of them shot occasional glances toward the staff's handsome features, who, to their credit, maintained a professional stance, allowing no interference beyond what was needed to assist.

Chen Ren smirked inwardly, pleased with their discipline. The last thing he needed was anything untoward disrupting the sense of mystique he’d worked so hard to create.

It was almost laughable how easily it had all come together. Selling perfumes, as it turned out, was even simpler than selling noodles— and it was all thanks to a single idea that had dawned on him when he’d first found himself surrounded by those curious, enamoured young women at the tea shop.

All he’d needed to do was convince them that his perfumes were the same ones from the stories he'd told. A rare blend, a lost art— these words were enough for them to follow him to his shop with starry eyes, ready to make him richer.

Just as he was revelling in the success of his little scheme, he caught Tang Yuqiu’s gaze from across the room, her expression somewhere between amusement and suspicion. The look was enough to prompt a raised eyebrow from him.

“What’s that look about?” he asked, unable to hold back a smirk.

Tang Yuqiu folded her arms. “Oh, nothing. It’s just... for a moment, I almost forgot you were a hedonist,” she replied, a hint of teasing in her tone. “The way you’ve been acting these past few weeks, I half-expected you’d forgotten it too. But it seems I was wrong.”

Chen Ren chuckled, feigning offence as he tilted his head. “Now, is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?”

“Both,” she shot back, grinning. Her gaze shifted to the young ladies, each lost in her own cloud of fragrance. “Though, I have to admit, you’ve surprised me. How on earth did you manage to gather this crowd? I know a few of them— they’re not the type to just fool around with any guy.”

“There’s no fooling around here,” he answered smoothly, as if offended by the suggestion. “I happen to frequent the same tea shop as them, and, well, I simply befriended them. A few words, a hint of promise, a sample or two, and they were ready to come see the real thing.” He cast a meaningful glance over the crowd, his eyes gleaming with a quiet confidence. “But the real business starts now.”

She tilted her head, intrigued. “And what exactly does that mean?”

A sense of satisfaction filled him with her question, but it wasn’t just about the perfumes; it was about the next step. He glanced at Tang Yuqiu, his lips curling into a faint smile.

“Word of mouth,” he said, gesturing subtly toward the ladies. “These young misses will go to parties and gatherings, and others will notice the scents. It’ll spread to the ladies in their families, then their friends— and soon, everyone will know. Between that and the pamphlets we are already distributing, it won’t be long before the middle-class ladies are drawn in too. If you don't know, the middle class always wants to appear richer than what they are and our prices are low enough for them to have that chance. And once that happens, we’ll barely have enough staff to keep up with the demand.”

Tang Yuqiu raised an eyebrow, her scepticism clear. “Sounds like a dream.”

He chuckled. “Well, it’s happening right in front of you.” His gaze sharpened. “But don’t forget what I said before— vultures will come. We’re eating into their market share, and they won’t let that go without a fight. They’ll try to block us or copy our methods. Their prices are too high for anyone but the wealthy, so they can’t compete with what we’re offering here.”

She considered his words, nodding slowly. “So you’re sure they’ll retaliate?”

“Oh, I’m certain,” he replied confidently. “If this goes the way I think it will, we’ll take a big chunk of their market and expand it at the same time. But I have to admit.” His eyes glinted with amusement. “I’d love to be there when they finally realise what’s happening. I’m sure they’re just expecting us to flop. Imagine their faces in a week when they see our business flourishing and realise it’s already too late.”

Tang Yuqiu stifled a laugh, smirking as she looked at him. “That would be funny and we will be ready when they come for us.”

“Oh, we will,” he replied smoothly, his voice steady as he watched the customers around them. “In the meantime, let’s see just how far word of mouth will take us.”

26. Xianxia staple young master

The week flew by in a flurry of scents, simmering broths, physical training and evening reading. His attention was required for one thing after another, or sometimes, two or more things at the same time.

Chen Ren had hoped that this cultivation world might have had its own sense of time—perhaps longer hours or slower days— but it turned out that even here, a day only granted twenty-four hours.

With his noodle stall running each morning, perfume shop drawing an endless stream of eager customers, training with Yalan and late nights spent poring over dusty scrolls in the teahouse, he barely had a moment to breathe, let alone some alone time.

Even the thought itself made him sigh out loud.

Were it not for Tang Xiulan, who was handling the busy hours at the stall and the children continuing the marketing process as they had been told, or Tang Yuqiu and her staff managing the perfume shop’s customers’ demands, he would have been stretched to his breaking point.

If anything, it had been humbling to know that even with his cultivation, he still had his limits. He realised that true power wasn't in individual strength, but having people to rely on.

Even if he couldn't trust everyone with his secrets, there were enough people that he could delegate tasks that he didn't want to do himself.

His thoughts frequently drifted to forming his own sect, to have a force of loyal individuals to carry out his will, protect his interests and push his vision forward. But the price tag for even beginning to establish a sect was steep.

The going rate was ten low grade spirit stones, a fortune he hadn’t yet amassed. One low-grade spirit stone alone was worth about one hundred silver wen— an amount that might sustain a family of four for a few months. And with two businesses that he had just started and the debt to Feng Ming that he hadn’t cleared, he had no extra wen lying around to invest in a sect. Not until he started to get the profit from his perfume business.

For now, that dream would have to remain on hold.

He would look for ways to get into an unofficial sect status for the time being. Yet with all the busy days and never-ending customers, there was one other change that hadn't been expected— a noticeable shift in his own cultivation.

At first, it was a subtle pulse, a faint ripple of qi awakening within him whenever his perfume shop made a sale.

He could barely feel its power, but weirdly enough, he somehow knew that it had always been there. It felt somewhat like an organ— like a part of him.

But with each passing day, every time he witnessed how more customers filled in with an eagerness that quite matched his enthusiasm about his businesses, the pulse strengthened like it absorbed something from the growing popularity around him.

Unsurprisingly, Yalan had also taken notice.

One afternoon, Chen Ren stood behind the counter of his perfume shop, a quiet satisfaction settling over him as he watched the bustling scene before him. His gaze swept across the crowd, each person moving with purpose through the newly displayed batches of perfumes. At least twenty women of all ages browsed the shelves, their eyes lighting up as they took in the liquids that glistened like jewels in the soft afternoon light.

He couldn’t help but notice how some of them hesitated near the more exclusive perfume bottles— the ones that sat on polished wooden stands, slightly elevated above the rest.

Those were priced higher, their labels embossed with noticeable silver lettering, each scent more luxurious than the last. Fingers hovered, eyes lingered, and Chen Ren could see the spark of temptation flickering within them.

The white-furred cat sat primly on the countertop beside him, her amber eyes blinking slowly as she followed his eyes. But it seemed that the bustling customers weren't her concern.

“You’re very close to a breakthrough,” Yalan noted, her tail swishing elegantly. “Very… Very close.”

Chen Ren’s attention was immediately withdrawn from the customers.

“At this rate, you might even jump two stars in the body forging realm if this flow of qi continues.”

Chen Ren’s mouth tilted into a smirk, his eyes once again going back to the patrons that milled around, sniffing perfumes and discussing their favourite scent among the ones that were there. Tang Yuqiu and her staff moved briskly, trying to keep up with the influx of customers.

The middle-class ladies had arrived just as he’d planned, dressed in their simpler clothing but with eyes just as eager as the more affluent young misses. He saw a trio among the crowd even trying to push other women away to get to try out one of the scents. He could only hope that there would be no bloodshed. But anyway, the word of mouth had done its work, bringing them to his door without so much as a single gold coin spent on advertisements.

Chen Ren glanced at Yalan, his thoughts stirring as he observed the faint glow of the qi entering his body. “I didn’t see such a rapid boost with the noodle stall, when I was doing my best to keep it afloat,” he spoke internally, watching the cat as she stretched lazily atop the counter. “Could it be the big amounts of profit this shop is making?”

Yalan tilted her head and gave him a wry look. “Perhaps,” she purred, and answered him through his mind. “Though there are always other factors. Each path in the dao has countless layers. But if more profits with every new business are going to spur your progress, then I’d say you should be launching a new venture every month.”

Chen Ren let out a soft, wry chuckle. If someone looked at him, it would appear as if he was laughing alone and would term him as crazy. Thankfully, everyone was busy doing their own stuff, some more serious than the others. He quickly composed himself and looked at Yalan. “That’s moving a bit fast. It takes time to manage things, you know. It’s not as easy as you say.”

Yalan’s eyes gleamed, and her whiskers twitched with amusement. “Not like you’re targeting cultivators here. Mortals are easier— less likely to send you flying if they’re unhappy with your products.

He shook his head. He could think of a lot of scenarios where the will of mortals could overpower cultivators. Even if this world didn't have anything such as firearms, bombs and nukes, there were a lot of influential mortals too.

“Some mortals have a certain power. Of course not in qi or cultivation techniques, but when it comes to wealth and reputation? They can be just as dangerous. Moreover, there are always weapons that would be able to kill cultivators in one go.”

Yalan gave him an odd look. “What type of weapons would those be? I have never heard of something like that.”

Before Chen Ren could respond and go over the history of his own world where guns had changed the whole warring scene, a middle aged woman in modest but neatly kept robes approached the counter, holding a perfume bottle with an air of curiosity. Her height was what he noticed at first.

She was extremely tall, taller than Chen Ren, but he could tell that she was a mortal. And not a wealthy one.

Her eyes lingered on him for a few seconds. He cleared his throat, and she immediately broke her trance and nodded to the bottle in her hands.

“Hello,” she said, her voice laced with hesitance. “Could you tell me the price of this? And… perhaps a bit about its qualities?”

Chen Ren’s eyes brightened with a salesman’s zeal, and he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice just enough to capture the woman’s attention. “This fragrance is designed to leave a subtle, lingering impression on others. Some even say it has a faint charm for drawing admiration from the opposite gender. Let's say it makes you smell.. Mysterious. People will take a second look at you… And the best part? It is only eight wen!”

The woman’s cheeks tinged with a rosy blush, and she chuckled, slightly embarrassed. “Oh, that’s… charming, but I’m hardly in my youth anymore for such tricks.”

Chen Ren frowned at that. “Youth? What does that entail to you because you look great… and madam, if I were seeking someone, I’d be honoured to ask for your hand.” He delivered it smoothly, a practised compliment with just enough sincerity to make her laugh, a delighted twinkle in her eye.

“Oh, you are a charmer!” she said, the blush deepening as she fished out her silver and placed it on the counter. She glanced down at Yalan, her hand extending to pet the cat.

Yalan’s tail flicked in warning, and with an indignant hiss, she ducked just out of reach. The woman quickly withdrew her hand, casting Chen Ren an apologetic look as she bustled out of the shop. It happened too quickly as the woman practically fled from the shop.

Once she was gone, Chen Ren raised an eyebrow at Yalan. “A little more courtesy with the customers wouldn’t hurt, you know.”

Yalan sniffed, grooming her fur with a practised swipe of her tongue. “My fur requires… maintenance. Not just anyone can touch it.” She held her head high. “It takes time to set it.”

“Set in? How do you even set in your… fur?”

“Glorious spit, how else? It’s a task for higher beings alone.”

Chen Ren chuckled, shaking his head with amusement. But the moment didn’t last; his laughter faded as he caught sight of Tang Yuqiu weaving her way purposefully through the shop, slipping between customers with her usual grace and stopping in front of a worker.

They talked for a brief moment and her expression shifted. Almost as on cue, she looked directly at Chen Ren and started marching towards him.

There was an urgency in her stride, a subtle tension in the set of her shoulders. When their eyes met again, her gaze locked onto his. Chen Ren felt a ripple of curiosity stir within him. Whatever the worker had told her there, wasn’t a small matter.

He straightened, his casual stance shifting as he prepared himself for the news she clearly carried.

“What’s going on?” he asked, attempting to keep his voice steady from sounding too curious.

Tang Yuqiu stepped closer and said with a low voice. “I just received a report. The Bai Hu Trade Association’s head isn’t pleased. It seems they’ve noticed our little shop’s success.”

Chen Ren’s expression darkened slightly. “And the Cang Clan? They’re bound to have caught wind by now too.”

“They are watching us quietly, but I don't think they will do anything. Their perfume business is just one of their many holdings, and they’re not eager to lose any relationship with the Tang Clan. But Bai Hu… he doesn’t care. Their entire brand revolves around perfumes, so he can’t afford to just sit back while we grow. It’s only a matter of time before they make a move.”

Chen Ren nodded. “So it begins. One week of peace and prosperity was more than I expected.”

Tang Yuqiu looked at him expectantly. “So… what do you plan to do?”

“For now? Nothing,” Chen Ren said with a casual shrug, though a glint of calculation sparked in his eyes. “We’ve prepared for most things they might attempt, but their opening move will reveal the rest of their strategy. They can’t come at us legally, so they’re left with a handful of unsavoury options: try to sabotage our supply chain, poach our staff to sniff out our methods, tarnish our reputation with slander, or… resort to a full-blown assault.” He paused, his gaze sharpening as his thoughts spun. “Or maybe they’ll try all of them at once. If they’re rattled enough, they’ll throw everything they’ve got our way.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “But no matter what angle they take, it’s going to be interesting to watch them squirm.”

His fingers tapped on the countertop in a rhythmic beat, as if already counting down the inevitable.

***

The tension in the Bai Hu Trade Association’s headquarters was thick enough to cut with a knife. President Bai Hu slammed his fist down on the polished mahogany table, causing a stack of reports to scatter, their pages fluttering in the sudden silence. His face was red with fury, and his sharp gaze swept over the assembled staff, each word he spoke laced with rage.

“How could this happen?” he barked, his voice echoing inside his office. “Over a hundred customers in just a week buying from them!” he snarled, his voice thick with disbelief and simmering anger. “Even high society is abuzz with talk of these so-called ‘new perfumes.’ Most of them wouldn’t touch the stuff themselves, of course— they consider the low price beneath them! But then tell me, how in the heavens are they managing to sell so much? Are the middle class just buying anything now?”

He threw a scornful look at the perfume samples scattered on the table, eyes narrowing as if each bottle mocked him with its success. “Have they found some secret formula to draw in customers by the droves? Can anyone explain this absurdity to me?”

A junior associate tentatively raised his hand, clearing his throat before he spoke. He visibly shrank back to his seat when Bai Hu’s eyes fell on him.

“Speak!”

“Sir, like you said, it's mostly due to their appeal among middle-class women. The prices make it affordable, and their numbers are high. Even if they’ve barely grazed our upper-tier clientele, they’re pulling in a whole new market segment.”

“Market segment,” Bai Hu snarled, his fists clenching. “I fucking couldn’t care less about segments. The longer they’re out there selling, the closer they get to producing something aimed at our premium brands, and when they do… they’ll eat into our market share. That rogue cultivator is making a fool of us!”

He seized a bottle his staff had managed to acquire from Heavenly Fragrances, holding it up with a look of utter disdain. Turning it over in his hand, he scrutinised the plain wooden casing and the design of the golden coin with the dragon around it, his lips curling in disgust. “Look at this!” he sneered, voice dripping with contempt. “Not a single trace of qi, not a whisper of spiritual energy— nothing! And yet it’s selling like wildfire! How are they pulling this off with something so… ordinary?”

He huffed, setting the bottle down with an angry clink as he continued, “It’s absurd! Those middle-class women have no discernment at all—they don’t care about spiritual refinement, only that they smell better than a street rat!” The thought gnawed at him, his fingers tapping furiously on the table as he spat, “They might as well be selling coloured water in a glass jar, and those fools would still line up to buy it!”

President Bai Hu’s staff exchanged glances, their tension palpable as they hesitated before one brave soul stepped forward, voice wary but steady. “So… what should we do, sir?”

Bai Hu’s eyes narrowed, and he took a deep breath, the frustration in his expression slowly giving way to something more calculating. He clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling the anger running through every cell of his body. But he must control his feelings—he needed to be logical. “I’m thinking,” he replied.

At that moment, the door opened with a quiet click, and a tall, striking young man strode in.

His features were a reflection of Bai Hu’s own, only younger, sharper, and cut with an elegance that drew a second look. Dark eyes glittered beneath perfectly arched brows, and a confident smirk played across his lips as he bowed in respect. "Father, allow me to take care of this matter."

Bai Hu’s eyebrows shot up, his gaze hardening. “And what exactly are you saying, Bai Shen? You do realise this isn’t some trivial issue. It’s a business threat— one I can’t afford to let slide.”

Bai Shen met his father’s intense gaze with an unflinching calm. “I’m aware, Father. That’s precisely why I want to handle it. All I’ve been doing is just overseeing some of our shops. It’s time I learn to face real competition. If I am to take over the Bai Hu Trade Association someday, I need this experience. Please, let me handle this.”

A flicker of thought passed through Bai Hu’s eyes as he weighed his son’s words. He was right, he needed this experience and if Bai Hu knew anything, it was that they both were cut from the same cloth. Like him, his son wouldn’t hold back at any kinds of threat. After a long moment, he nodded, his voice slow and firm.

“Very well, then. You’re free to proceed as you see fit. But be clear-minded and deliberate. I want Heavenly Fragrances out of business as soon as possible. Understood?”

Bai Shen’s smirk widened as he gave a slight bow. “I understand perfectly, Father. I’ll make sure they’re wiped off the map.” He straightened, his voice carrying a quiet conviction, and without further words, he turned and left the office.

The rest of the staff looked at his fleeting back, taking a sigh of relief, thinking they had escaped their boss' screaming.

***

Outside, Bai Shen stopped on the stone steps, his gaze lifting to the skies. The clouds were thick, covering the sun as it struggled to pierce through. He smirked, his eyes dark with a simmering ambition.

“Tang Yuqiu,” he muttered under his breath, voice laced with venom, “you dared to turn down my proposal, only to seek solace with some rogue cultivator. You think you can rise without me? Foolish. I’ll see to it that you fall— and fall hard.” His fingers clenched, his voice dropping to a whisper. “When that day comes, the only hand you’ll reach for will be mine. And when I have you, the Tang Clan will fall to me as well.”

With a final smirk, Bai Shen turned on his heel, his stride confident, already savouring the power he envisioned within his grasp.

27. Absolute Might

Heavenly Fragrances grew larger with each passing day. The name itself became familiar in the city’s middle-class households. The rapid development within such a short time was unusual, but Chen Ren had expected this would happen. What had started as whispers of an exotic yet affordable perfume soon became an uproar. Each happy customer seemed to pull another into its fold, and soon, Heavenly Fragrances was on every discerning lady's lips— quite literally, a scent too captivating to ignore.

The social circles of the middle-class women, notorious for their close-knit networks and strong influence, became a web for the perfume’s fame to flourish.

Something common with these sorts of circles was that they wouldn’t hype up just any product, and when they did— it became the talk of their gatherings, regaling each other with stories of compliments they received, and the sense of sophistication the perfume imparted.

The fragrance was no longer just a simple luxury; it was now a trend that every middle class woman should have.

So eager not to fall behind, more women found themselves splurging on the fragrant indulgence. Some spent more than they could comfortably afford, all for the allure of being part of this new trend.

A single bottle of Heavenly Fragrances had quickly become more than just a scent— it was a statement, a piece of prestige, and every woman who wore it felt just a little bit more enchanted.

A chain reaction had begun, and every purchase, every conversation, rippled outward, drawing in more and more. But Chen Ren didn’t sit back and let word of mouth do all the work.

He actively drove the demand, laying down the foundation for Heavenly Fragrances’ growing fame.

The initial wave of interest had come from his strategic pamphlets and the tea house promotion, where his marketing through his stories had paved the way.

Mei Lin's small crew had been hired to distribute the pamphlets around the city, especially near the residential streets where most of the middle class lived. Yet he knew that to sustain momentum, he would need more than just initial curiosity.

The tea shop promotion had a limited reach, with mostly upper-class ladies visiting regularly, and while they had shown some interest, the perfumes had yet to gain a strong foothold in elite circles.

This left Chen Ren considering his next steps. If the tea house had helped plant the seeds, then he would need other community hubs to see his idea fully bloom. So, he decided to take his marketing efforts further, focusing on areas where groups of women gathered together regularly.

***

Standing outside a small seamstress’s shop, Chen Ren crossed his arms and observed the scene inside. Through the open doors, he could see women gathered in clusters, their chatter filling the air as they waited for their clothes to be mended.

An elderly seamstress sat in the centre, her hands deftly weaving stitches into a worn robe. Yet, for once, the women’s eyes were not on the seamstress’s skillful hands. Instead, they were all focused on Tang Xiulan, who stood confidently in the middle of the room, her calm presence commanding their attention. She stood straight, her hands moving in the air every time she spoke— but her movements were graceful, well-rehearsed, if anything.

From his position, Chen Ren couldn’t make out every word, but he could see the spell she was weaving on her audience. Tang Xiulan held one of Heavenly Fragrances’ bottles in her hand, her fingers gliding gracefully over its simple yet elegant design. Her smile was warm and inviting as she tilted the bottle, and one of the ladies gasped softly, eyes widening with interest.

The ladies murmured excitedly among themselves, nudging one another with anticipation as they watched Tang Xiulan.

Chen Ren could see how carefully she controlled the moment, waiting until the woman's attention was thoroughly piqued before explaining the scent. Her natural charm was working wonders, and from the way the ladies hung on her every word, he could already imagine half of them purchasing a bottle by the end of the afternoon.

Chen Ren’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. He folded his arms and let out a low chuckle to himself. Heavenly Fragrances might have started as an experiment, but it was quickly turning into his strongest asset.

He watched patiently as Tang Xiulan charmed the small crowd in the shop, her words soft and compelling as she shared the tales behind Heavenly Fragrances' latest scent.

He noticed that even from a distance, a faint but captivating aroma surrounded her, lingering in the air and adding an effortless allure to her presence. In the end, she took out one of their newer scents— Swan’s Velvet.

The wooden bottle was filled with a scent that would make anyone take a second look at the wearer— sweet, floral, and enchanting. She muttered something and twisted the bottle for the ladies to see. Then, she extended it to arm’s length and sprinkled once, twice, and thrice.

The ladies around her gasped and clutched each other, some even closing their eyes and inhaling deeply.

The exaggerated reaction made Chen Ren smile. The newest perfume always had that effect on them, no matter where they went.

He turned around from looking inside the shop and waited for Tang Xiulan to come out. Soon, the floral scent filled his nostrils and looked back to see her petite figure.

“How did that go?” Chen Ren asked.

She immediately wiped a bit of sweat from her forehead, exhaling a small sigh as she looked up at Chen Ren. “Young master, please tell me that was the last shop. I think I’ve talked about perfumes enough for an entire month— I’m exhausted.”

Chen Ren smiled, nodding approvingly. “You did an amazing job, Xiulan. And yes, that was the last one for today. I believe that should be more than enough to keep the word spreading for now.” His gaze shifted back toward the women now buzzing amongst themselves. “The way they were looking at you, I could practically see the envy in their eyes. It’s clear they noticed how nice you smelled.”

She chuckled and nodded. “They were. And when I mentioned how things between me and my husband had been going so well since I started using it, they looked like they’d make a beeline to Heavenly Fragrances the second they left here.” She gave a small laugh, then sighed. “I suppose I’m getting better at lying or as you call it— Stretching the truth.”

Chen Ren’s grin widened as he nodded knowingly. “It’s all part of business. Besides, we’re not lying about the quality of the product itself. It’s just good storytelling.” He paused, glancing at the street beyond the shop. “Let’s head back. I think you’ve more than earned a break today.”

She raised an eyebrow, looking slightly concerned. “What about the stall? I closed it before coming here, but won’t we miss the evening wave?”

Chen Ren shrugged. “It’s just one evening. We’ll manage without it, and you’ve been working hard lately. You should get some rest.”

Tang Xiulan seemed to relax a bit, her usual brisk frontier softened. “Well… thank you, Young Master. I’ll be ready to start again right where I left off tomorrow.”

She nodded at her own words, and they continued down the bustling street toward the store.

As they walked, Chen Ren glanced at her, a slight guilt tightening his chest. Yes, he wanted money— plenty of it, in fact—but he understood that the true lifeblood of a successful business lay in the well-being of its people.

The health, both physical and mental, of everyone working alongside him mattered far more than the allure of quick profits. He could see the toll the long hours were taking on Tang Xiulan; she had been managing the stall on her own far too often, juggling the demands of customers and the intricacies of the business without a moment’s rest.

Today, allowing her a break felt like a small, yet significant step toward easing his conscience.

It was a chance for her to recharge, to step back from the relentless pace they had set, and it felt right.

He knew that a content and well-rested employee was far more valuable than a few extra coins in the till. As he watched her wipe the sweat from her brow, he felt a swell of determination; if he was to build something lasting and meaningful, he needed to ensure that the people who helped him achieve that were supported and cared for, not just as workers, but as individuals with their own lives and needs.

They continued to walk. Although a silence threatened to come between them, Tang Xiulan broke it by talking about the recent developments.

“The Bai Hu Trade Association has been awfully quiet for the last two days. Do you think they’re letting this go?” she said, a touch of concern in her voice.

Chen Ren shook his head thoughtfully. “No, I doubt it. They’re definitely up to something; we just don’t know what yet. They’re probably trying to gather information— figuring out if any sect is backing us and getting a feel for our resources. We use such a different method from what they know that it’s bound to raise questions. But sooner or later, they’ll make their move.”

She nodded, smiling slightly. “You’re good at coming up with possible theories of what might happen.”

He chuckled. “I just try to consider every possible angle. It’s a habit I picked up in school.”

Xiulan tilted her head curiously. “School?”

Oh well.

For a brief moment, Chen Ren hesitated, he spoke too soon. Schools weren't common in this world and only the wealthier clans or scholar households knew how to read and write, and passed it to their children through private lessons. But the feeling soon turned to a pang of homesickness. “Yeah… there was one in the city I was born in,” he said vaguely, glancing ahead as the storefront came into view. “But anyway, let’s see how the store is doing today.”

Good save, he mentally patted himself in the back and entered Heavenly Fragrances.

The shop still had a few customers, checking over the perfumes with the staff gently explaining everything about them, but rather than them, his eyes focused more on Tang Yuqiu at the counter, her brow furrowed in concentration as she spoke with an older man.

He knew who the man was— Elder Qiu, the leader of the gathering community they were using to procure herbs.

Elder Qiu had his arms crossed in front of him as he spoke in a very low tone— his voice just enough for only the pair to hear. His expression matched Tang Yuqiu’s serious expression, and the two appeared deep in conversation, exchanging words that seemed to weigh heavily between them.

Chen Ren’s heart sank as he observed the intensity of their discussion. One look at their serious expressions told him everything he needed to know: something had gone wrong.

He turned to Tang Xiulan, “Looks like one of the scenarios I thought of has already come knocking.”

***

Chen Ren, Tang Yuqiu, and Elder Qiu stepped back a bit, allowing the extremely lively store’s noise to fade as they moved into a quieter corner, inside their storage room. Chen Ren observed Elder Qiu’s worried expression and waited, letting the older man gather his words.

“I’m assuming another group of gatherers has started taking all the herbs we need,” Chen Ren said, prompting him.

Elder Qiu gave a heavy nod, his expression darkening as he leaned closer. “Yes, Young Master, they turned up just yesterday, but they’re relentless— practically stripping the area of every useful herb. As it stands, no permit is needed for these common plants, so by law, they have every right to gather them… but they’ve taken it further. They’ve positioned themselves in all our regular gathering spots, intercepting us and making it clear that any attempt to collect there will be met with consequences.” He hesitated, a glint of frustration in his eyes. “They don’t just imply retribution; they threaten it outright if any of us so much as set foot nearby.”

Tang Yuqiu’s eyes narrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Have you gone to the city guards about it?”

“We have, but they refused to help,” Elder Qiu replied, frustration seeping into his voice. “They claim their duty ends at the city limits and won’t risk venturing into the forest to interfere. All they know, the men haven’t broken any laws.”

Tang Yuqiu scowled, her brow furrowing deeply. “Perhaps we could send the Tang Clan guards with you?”

Elder Qiu considered her offer, nodding slowly. “It would help, Miss Yuqiu… but I worry it might just escalate things into a full confrontation. Their numbers are significant— about three dozen, quite a few of them are heavily armed. If we can’t access our usual areas, we’d have to go deeper into the forest, and that would bring the risk of higher-tier beasts.”

Chen Ren nodded at Elder Qiu, understanding where he was coming from. If they sent guards with him, a conflict was surely going to start and the gathering community would be caught pretty badly in it.

He didn't want such a thing.

“For now, stay clear of them. Focus on identifying who they are and report back,” Chen Ren said. “We’ll give you further instructions once we know what we’re dealing with.”

With a respectful nod, Elder Qiu departed, leaving Chen Ren and Tang Yuqiu in a thoughtful silence. Chen Ren’s gaze hardened as he turned to her. “Looks like I was right. They’re targeting our supply lines.”

She nodded, looking troubled. “I could still send our guards, but three dozen is no small number. A confrontation might not end well for us.”

Chen Ren smiled faintly. “Seems the Bai Hu Trade Association isn’t underestimating us anymore. But that’s exactly why we secured several months’ worth of supplies in advance. They’ll find it harder than they think to hurt us.”

Tang Yuqiu’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of admiration and relief as she nodded, her confidence in him visibly reinforced.

Her lips curved into a nod of approval as Chen Ren opened the hefty container that was in the back of them. Inside, tightly packed heaps of dried herbs filled the space, their subtle, earthy scents mixing in the air. Chen Ren smirked, tapping the side of the container before gesturing around the room, where similar crates were stacked nearly to the ceiling, filled with months’ worth of essential supplies.

“If the Bai Hu Trade Association thinks they can stop us by cutting off our supplies,” he said with a glint of confidence in his eye, “they’re in for a surprise.”

As he inspected the crates, he turned back to Tang Yuqiu. “So, how’s the planting coming along?”

A hint of pride sparkled in her eyes. “Better than expected, actually. We’ve successfully planted common herb varieties around our rice fields. They’re taking well to the soil, growing strong on the northern side of the city where we’ve fortified our lands. It’s safe from Bai Hu Trade association’s reach, too.”

Chen Ren’s grin widened, satisfaction blooming across his face. They’d planned this well.

From the start, he’d anticipated the possibility of trouble with supply chains, especially from a competitor as large and well-established as the Bai Hu Trade Association. It was why he’d pressed Tang Yuqiu to invest in a significant stockpile, securing enough herbs to meet production demands for several months. It had been a large investment, one that had initially seemed excessive, but he’d insisted, confident that preparation would give them an upper hand.

And he hadn't just left it at that. There had been a second plan which was the plantation.

By redirecting resources to plant common herbs within the Tang Clan’s rice farms, they’d established a long-term, self-sustaining source of supply. In a few months, by the time their stored herbs ran low, those plants would be ready for harvest. Their supply would be safe, secure, and best of all— untouchable by their competition.

“Good work, Yuqiu,” he said, his tone approving. “Once those herbs are ready, we’ll be nearly untouchable. They’ll have wasted all their efforts, and we’ll still be growing.” Chen Ren smirked, a glint of mischief in his eye as he crossed his arms. “Let’s see how they react once they realise choking our supply chain doesn’t even make a dent.”

***

In a spacious room, Bai Shen sat in a high-backed chair, surrounded by crates stacked with bundles of fresh herbs. Their earthy and potent scents filled the air, mingling into a thick, pungent aroma that only deepened his irritation. He rubbed his forehead, his fingers pressing hard against his temple as if willing his thoughts to untangle. Instead, the smell seemed to cling to him, amplifying the tense atmosphere in the room.

His narrowed gaze shifted to the staff member standing stiffly before him, the man visibly uneasy under Bai Shen’s scrutinising stare. Shadows from the sparse candlelight cast across the staff member’s face, catching the nervous flicker in his eyes as he waited for Bai Shen to speak.

“Speak now, can you? I don’t pay you to stay mute.” Bai Shen sighed loudly.

“Sir,” the staff began, his voice filled with uneasiness as he looked at him. “Today, around fifty customers bought items from Heavenly Fragrances. It seems that much of the middle class is now aware of them, and there’s been a rush as people are eager to get their perfumes. The sales are high, and we’re expecting the momentum might slow down and stabilise— but for some reason, their products are practically flying off the shelves.”

Bai Shen clenched his fists on the armrest, a dark look settling over his face. “A week has passed since we took over their supply chain, stopping the gatherers from accessing the herbs they need. How are they still producing so much?” He paused, his frustration evident as he mulled over the problem. “Did they start out with a year’s stockpile?”

The staff’s face remained neutral, but the tension was clear as he continued, “We haven’t been able to confirm that, sir. So far, any attempts to find out have led us nowhere.”

Of course, it hasn’t. His jaw clenched at the outcome of his plan. “What about their employees? Have you had any success convincing someone to switch sides?”

The staff looked hesitant, but he cleared his throat and said, “We’ve reached out to three of them so far, but none have shown any willingness to switch loyalties or reveal the formula, no matter how much we offer. It seems all of them are longstanding Tang family employees, and they’re well-compensated. Even when we attempted… additional encouragement— they refused to say a word.”

Bai Shen’s frown deepened, his irritation growing. “They were that loyal?”

The staff hesitated, then nodded. “We suspect they’ve been bound by a qi oath, sir. Breaking that oath would have severe repercussions, possibly even death. They’re steadfast in their silence.”

For a moment, Bai Shen’s fingers drummed against the wooden armrest, the taps echoing in the quiet room.

Bai Shen’s eyes narrowed, his lips pulling into a sneer. “Then offer them a price worth forfeiting their lives for. We need that formula,” he hissed, fingers tapping irritably against the arm of his chair. “Heavenly Fragrances is eating into the middle-class market share that we were never able to tap before, and that needs to stop.”

The staff member, who had already been shifting uncomfortably, looked down, exhaling quietly before speaking. “It’s… no longer possible, sir,” he admitted cautiously. “After the threats we issued, they’re practically impossible to approach. They have guards hanging around them now.”

Bai Shen’s irritation boiled over. “Useless, all of you!” In a swift motion, he grabbed a handful of herbs from a nearby crate and hurled them toward the staff member. Leaves and stems scattered through the air, and the man barely managed to dodge, stumbling back against the crates lining the wall. “Every move I make is thwarted— everything is falling apart! I can’t work like this!”

The staff quickly collected himself, swallowing as he ventured, “Young Master Shen, it’s known that the cultivator Chen Ren carries quite a few debts. Perhaps we could acquire them and gain leverage over the business through that?”

Bai Shen’s cold gaze flicked to the staff, who flinched slightly under the intensity of it. “You think I haven’t considered that?” His voice was icy. “I already reached out to every creditor holding Chen Ren’s debts. But those cowards refused, saying they didn’t want to involve themselves. And I have no doubt it’s that old fox Tang Jihao pulling the strings behind the scenes, making sure no one dares cross his daughter’s business.”

“Then… what now, sir?” the staff asked, eyes downcast.

Bai Shen rose to his feet in slow motion, adjusting his sleeves. He pursed his lips and stood taller. “Since I can’t sever their supply line or buy out their employees, and leverage from debts is beyond reach, I’ll resort to the one thing that can silence any opposition.” His gaze hardened, a dark light glinting in his eyes as he spoke with deadly finality. “Absolute might.”

***

A/N - If anyone of you don't know, you would get 15 chapters ahead of Magus Reborn (7300 followers and counting) too on patreon alongside Dao of Money for no extra charges. I have been getting messages with readers asking about it.

28. Unofficial sect status

Despite the relentless sabotage of their supply lines by the Bai Hu Trade Association, Heavenly Fragrances grew stronger with each passing day. It was as though the heavens themselves had taken a liking to Chen Ren in this world.

As the time went on, he felt more relaxed. Unlike the initial days where his eyes always scanned for threats, now he felt at ease. Obviously, he wasn’t foolish enough to think that Bai Hu trades wouldn’t try something new, but something had shifted. A quiet confidence had settled into his bones.

His second business—the one that had started out as little more than a daring gamble— was thriving, and Chen Ren could no longer ignore the fact that it was moving on its own, gaining momentum as if the tides themselves had shifted in his favour. And that was worthy of a celebration on its own.

Deep down, he knew it was all due to the hard work and careful planning that had been put into work. Which would result in getting back his medallion sooner.

It was no longer a pressing worry. The debts, too, that had once seemed like a huge mountain before him, were beginning to shrink in size.

The surge of success also carried a surge of energy within him. As his businesses flourished, so too did his cultivation. The energy in his dantian flowed like a river in flood, ready to burst forth and carry him to the next star.

He felt his strength growing every day and his body humming with vitality, his soul expanding.

But Yalan had warned him not to rush. “Your foundation is not solid enough,” she had told him one evening. “Rushing ahead will only make your cultivation unstable. Strength gained without a firm foundation is like a house built on sand.”

Chen Ren had understood the truth in her words. He knew that if he advanced too quickly, the power he gained would slip through his fingers like water. So, he had agreed to wait. His dantian swelled with energy every day, but he focused instead on his basic techniques, his footwork, his breath control, and his internal strength. He would wait until the day was right— until the foundation had been fully set— before advancing to the next star of cultivation.

And so, he bided his time, quietly practising his basics, knowing that his true breakthrough would come only when the foundation was unshakable.

But amidst this flurry of activity—his thriving businesses, his growing power, and his ongoing training— there was one task that had been occupying his thoughts more and more. He had been dreaming of it for a while, waiting for the moment when the time would be right. And now, at last, he felt it had come.

It was time to register his sect. Unofficially, of course.

In this world, forming a sect was no small feat. It was not merely a matter of gathering a few disciples and proclaiming oneself as a sect leader.

According to the laws of the empire, an official sect required a formal registration process, complete with an application detailing the sect’s values, goals, and leadership structure. Even for an unofficial sect, the application needed to be submitted to the City Lord’s office. This was not a formality one could ignore, for failure to register could lead to unwanted attention from the local authorities.

Fortunately for Chen Ren, there was no cap on who could be a leader of a sect. Even someone at the body forging realm, like him, could claim the title.

After gathering all the necessary information about the process of registration, he made his way toward the City Lord’s office. Yalan followed behind him, her steps light and graceful, her presence like a soft whisper on the wind. As always, she moved with the languid grace of a cat— her posture relaxed, yet her eyes ever-watchful.

In fact, with the way she acted so casually beside him, it was hard to remember that she was something more than just a… pet, one who had lived through centuries and seen far more than he could imagine.

The City Lord's office was located right in the centre of the city. Its marble columns reached toward the sky from four directions— two at the front, and two from behind. The whole building was white and it shone under the midday sun.

The building was a symbol of the Kalian Empire’s might and prosperity, its polished gates were coloured with gold. There were guards stationed at every entrance, their expressions impassive as they observed the comings and goings of the people.

One word that described the ongoing activities of the place would be… Busy— merchants, cultivators, bureaucrats, and normal commoners walking in and out of the grand entrance, some hurrying with urgent matters, others exchanging polite nods and greetings. The scale of the place was staggering, with multiple wings and levels filled with bustling offices.

As they approached the main entrance, Chen Ren paused momentarily to take in the sight of a large stone tablet standing near the courtyard. Its surface was polished to a gleam, and inscriptions ran across it in flowing script. It was a monument to the history of the Kalian Empire, reminding everyone how far they had come.

Chen Ren’s gaze lingered on the stone tablet for a while, his mind wandering.

Kalian Empire was the biggest power in this world, but there was always something about the empire that struck him as... fragile. How could a single emperor, even one of such immense power, keep it together for so long? Something about the weight of thousands of years, the endless cycles of history, made him wonder how it had all survived.

For example, cultivators could live for a long time, so how come not one of them had gotten strong enough to challenge the might of the empire?

From what he knew, the empire was founded by Xian Ju, a nascent soul cultivator. Yet as he thought further about him, he realised there were no records about him that he could remember. He had just vanished one day, leaving the whole empire to his descendants.

“I wonder if he simply got killed since nascent soul cultivators can live for thousands of years. But who will be strong enough to kill such a being?” he muttered, reading the stone table where information about the current emperor Xian Shuren was written.

The current emperor, a domain manifestation stage cultivator, ruled over the empire’s vast territories. Despite being an entire realm weaker than the founder, it was said that his power was unmatched, his control over the empire absolute.

The cities stretched far and wide, and the sects, each with their own powerful cultivators, were united under his rule. It all sounded like the height of stability. Yet, there was a gnawing feeling in Chen Ren’s chest, a question that remained unanswered: How had the empire lasted for so long?

His musing was interrupted by Yalan’s soft voice, cutting through his thoughts like a cool breeze.

"Thousands of years is a long time, isn't it?" she said, talking to his mind. "I’ve wondered about that too. I’ve heard whispers of rebellions, but they were all swiftly quashed. The royal family is strong— stronger than any of the rebellious factions could ever hope to be. Even the first emperor was like that— unyielding."

Chen Ren turned toward her. "You mean the founder Xian Ju? The one who established the Kalian Empire?"

Yalan nodded. "Yes, he was already a legend by the time I got my senses. The stories about him… there were mysteries surrounding him, even back then."

"What kind of mysteries?"

"Mostly about the founding of the empire, there are very few records of how it came to be, but there were rumours. Some say the Kalian Empire emerged from the ashes of a cataclysm that destroyed all the other empires and kingdoms. It’s said that Xian Ju rose from that destruction like a phoenix, uniting the fractured lands and forging the empire while making the weakened sects his subordinates. But... These are just rumours, and I doubt anyone will ever uncover the full truth unless they become royalty themselves."

Chen Ren’s brow furrowed. The idea of an empire rising from such devastation fascinated him, but it also struck him as tragic— an entire world consumed by a cataclysm, only for a new order to rise from its ruins. It made him wonder if there was something more to the empire’s stability than met the eye.

Yalan, however, was quick to dismiss it with a lazy stretch, her tail flicking behind her. "Either way, these things aren't important for you to learn about right now. There's nothing you can do with that knowledge anyway. You're more concerned with your own rise, aren't you? Let’s go inside."

Chen Ren smiled, amused by her practicality. "You're right, I suppose. Let’s take care of what matters first."

With a final glance at the tablet, Chen Ren turned and stepped through the gilded gates of the City Lord’s office.

He approached the receptionist’s desk, where a young woman sat with an air of practised indifference, her quill moving swiftly over a ledger. Her eyes were narrowed at whatever she was writing on.

"I’m here to register my sect as an unofficial one," he said steadily.

She looked up at him for a moment, her eyes moving over him as if appraising his status, then nodded. "Go up to the second floor, Room 215. You’ll find an official there who can assist you."

"Thank you," he said, giving her a polite nod before turning to ascend the staircase. Yalan, following behind him like a shadow, swooshed her tail in a languid motion, seemingly uninterested in the busy surroundings.

The second floor was quieter, the grand echo of the lobby muted by thick carpets and polished wood. The hallway stretched out before him, lined with closed doors and the occasional guard or assistant passing by. At the end of the hall, Room 215 had a simple plaque affixed to the door. Chen Ren approached, gently pushing it open.

Inside, it was a normal office— a little less ornate than the grandiose structure of the building might suggest, but still neat and professional.

The room was well-lit, with a large table at the far side, piles of scrolls and paper scattered neatly in organised disarray. Behind one of the nearby desks sat an official, a man in his late thirties, with black robes adorned with the insignia of the City Lord’s office. He was bent over a piece of parchment, scribbling something with a quill, completely absorbed in his work.

As soon as Chen Ren saw him, he recognised him as Liu Wen, one of his first and regular customers who would try his noodles everyday.

Near the centre of the room, two men sat at a table, one leaning forward with an intense focus, while the other was reclining back in his chair, eyes narrowed in concentration. He also recognized these two men— Zhang Wei and Lin Feng.

Although these two weren't as regular, they would still try out the noodles every few days. And would often ask for a second bowl.

They were playing chess, a game that had clearly captured their full attention. Their moves were slow but careful, and from the looks of it, they had been at it for some time. The atmosphere in the room felt relaxed— perhaps a little too much so, given the status of the place.

Ignoring them, he stepped forward towards Liu Wen and his eyes widened slightly, a flicker of recognition passing through them.

"Ah, Scholar Wen," Chen Ren said, standing before the stall with a polite smile. He hoped his registration would be quicker with familiar faces. "It’s good to see you again."

Liu Wen blinked, clearly taken aback for a moment. "Aha, it’s you, the noodle stall owner," he said, adjusting his robes with a small cough, obviously trying to make sense of the situation. "I didn't expect to see you here. I don't know if you are lost, but this is the room for sect registration."

Chen Ren chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing as he extended his hand in a friendly gesture. "Yes, Scholar Wen. I’m a cultivator as well. Noodles are just a business of mine. I came here to register my sect— an unofficial one, of course."

Liu Wen's eyes widened further, and for a moment, his expression grew stiff. He looked between Chen Ren and the two chess players, a slightly bewildered expression forming on his face. It was clear that Liu Wen hadn’t realised who Chen Ren was beyond his role as the noodle vendor.

Liu Wen, soon masked his surprise as he smiled apologetically, realising the misunderstanding. "I’m sorry, I never addressed you properly before. I should have been more respectful." With that, he gave a small, formal bow, intending to show Chen Ren the respect he felt was due.

Chen Ren, still somewhat flustered, waved a hand in protest. "No, no, there’s no need for that. I should be thanking you for trying my noodles. Now, if it’s not too much trouble, could we proceed with the registration for my sect?"

Liu Wen nodded quickly, recovering his usual composure. "Yes, yes, of course. My apologies for the delay. Just give me a moment. I’m not the one handling the sect registrations usually— more on the finance side of things— but I’m covering for a friend today. I’ll get you the form."

Chen Ren nodded in understanding. Liu Wen stood up from his seat and walked over to a shelf on the wall, pulling down a scroll and quickly unfurling it. After glancing at it for a moment, he walked back to Chen Ren.

"Here," Liu Wen said, handing the scroll to him. "This is the debrief form, basically things that you need to know about. But I believe you won't be here if you don't know the right way to register. Anyways, it’s just protocol. I will bring you the application form soon. You’ll need to fill it out with your sect's name, its values, and any members you have. Then, it will be processed and reviewed. If everything is in order, you’ll get approval for it to be recognized as an unofficial sect."

He accepted the scroll with a nod. "Thank you, Scholar Wen. I appreciate your help." He unfurled the scroll, glancing over pages. Liu Wen was right, he already knew the things that were written.

Liu Wen gave a tired smile. "I’m just doing my job," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It’s not often I see someone I recognise here. Anyway, wait for a bit as I get the form."

He left after giving another bow.

Chen Ren sat at the desk, reading through the scroll leisurely to see if he had forgotten something when his ears were drawn to the quiet murmurs of conversation between the two men still playing chess nearby.

The room was filled with a soft ambient noise— rustling papers, quills scratching against parchment, the faint shuffle of footsteps as people moved in and out— but these two men seemed oblivious to the rest of the office. Their conversation, more casual than anything of great importance, floated to Chen Ren’s ears.

"Did you hear? The city tournament is starting in two months," Zhang Wei said, tapping a pawn across the chessboard with an absent flick of his wrist.

"Really?" Lin Feng replied, lifting an eyebrow as he pondered his next move. "I didn’t know they would hold it so soon."

"Yeah, it seems like it's been scheduled for a while. I wonder who’s gonna win this time. What sects do you think will send their competitors?"

"Hmm, well, Li Xuan’s probably gonna take the win again, right?"

Zhang Wei chuckled, shaking his head. "I don’t know. He might, but there’s a big question mark hanging over him now that he entered the Soaring Sword Sect. That might change things. My bet’s on the Void Blade Sect this time."

"Void Blade? They lost a sect war and disappeared, didn’t you know?"

"What do you mean, 'disappeared'?”

“The entire sect building got confiscated. The sect vanished off the map, just like that. No one knows what happened. They say there’s a lot of internal politics behind it. But whatever the case, they’re no longer around to compete."

"Really? That's crazy. Void Blade Sect was a powerhouse three years back... How could they just vanish like that?"

"Yeah," Lin Feng murmured, tapping his fingers against the chessboard. "It’s all whispers, really. But it’s a shame, though. They were strong. I guess there’s no guarantee of success even if you’re strong."

Chen Ren listened intently, his mind turning. He knew of the Void Blade Sect. It was one of the sects Chen Ren wanted to get into if Soaring Sword Sect didn't take him.

Although not as grand as the Soaring Sword Sect, it was one of the well-known established sects and apparently now, it was reduced to nothing.

It was a powerful reminder of the unpredictable tides of power in the cultivation world for him. Even a sect with a rich history and strong disciples could be wiped out in the blink of an eye, either through internal betrayal or external war. It made him wonder about his own ambitions— how easily they could come crumbling down if the right forces were at play.

Yalan’s voice broke through his thoughts. "Will you be taking part in the tournament?"

Chen Ren glanced up at her, still processing what he'd heard. She was sitting at the edge of the room, her tail curled around her legs, watching the chess players with mild interest. He tilted his head slightly, considering the question. "If sect cultivators are going to be entering, it’s bound to be fierce. I probably won’t, though. I’m not strong enough, I believe. But…" He paused, the thought lingering in his mind. "I might change my mind once I see the prizes. Who knows? It might be worth it."

"True. There’s always a reason to join a competition if the rewards are great enough."

At that moment, Liu Wen returned, holding the application form in his hand. "Here," he said, offering it to Chen Ren. "Please fill this one out and I’ll submit it for you to be registered as an unofficial sect."

Chen Ren took the form, unfurling it with a glance.

It was simple enough— sections for the sect's name, the name of the sect leader, a short description of the sect's mission and goals, and, of course, the sect crest.

All things he had already considered and decided upon. He filled it out quickly, every line coming naturally to him. He filled in his own name as the leader, wrote a short but clear description of the sect's values, and sketched a basic idea of its crest.

Once completed, he handed the form back to Liu Wen, who looked it over with a quick scan.

"Divine Coin Sect," Liu Wen said with a raised eyebrow. "A sect focused on business and cultivation, huh? Never saw that before."

Chen Ren stood silent, simply nodding.

Liu Wen continued. "That’s a unique idea. I haven’t heard of many sects that take that approach." He paused for a moment, as if contemplating it further, then set the form aside. "Alright, I’ll submit this to the City Lord’s office for processing. You should receive a confirmation soon enough."

"Thank you, Scholar Wen," Chen Ren said, his gratitude sincere. "I appreciate your help."

***

Chen Ren stood at the front of his new stall that Tang Jihao had helped build, eyes scanning the area, a sense of pride swelling in his chest.

The stall was modest but well-built, the hard work of helping Tang Yuqiu paying off in every detail. He hadn’t manually set up everything, but the entire design was his work.

It was made up of wood, the exterior painted in a simple but elegant shade of green that matched the natural surroundings. A counter was set up in the front, where customers could easily approach to make their purchases. A few seats were placed around the stall, offering a place for those who wanted to sit and enjoy their noodles or just take a break from the busy street.

At the back of the stall, a small, cosy corner had been set up for Tang Xiulan. She would be working here— with a seat which she didn’t have before so she could rest whenever she could.

But it wasn’t just the exterior that caught his attention. No, his gaze moved upward, where the sect crest had been proudly placed on a sign above the stall.

The crest was simple yet meaningful— an image of a golden dragon on a coin surrounded by swirling energies, symbolising both wealth and cultivation, the merging of the material and spiritual. Chen Ren smiled softly as he took in the sight.

Surely I came a long way from that small noodle stall, heh. But still, so far to go.

The Divine Coin Sect’s noodle stall was busy with customers— some returning for their daily fix of noodles, others drawn in by the enticing smell of freshly cooked food. The steady flow of people had turned the corner of the street into a small gathering, with lines of customers waiting to be served.

Chen Ren leaned against the side of the stall, his arms folded, observing the scene. Tang Xiulan moved as usual, taking orders, preparing dishes, and managing the growing crowd. She was gentle yet precise with her movements, a smile never leaving her face as she greeted each customer. The scent of boiling broth and fried ingredients filled the air.

His eyes flickered to a group of street children who had gathered around the stall. They were quick, their nimble hands darting in and out as they helped Xiulan manage the orders— running small errands, delivering food, and helping with whatever they could.

Chen Ren had known they had been helping out ever since the noodle stall had begun growing in popularity, but seeing them now, as an integral part of the stall’s operation, made him feel a mix of pride and concern.

He approached Tang Xiulan, watching the group for a moment before turning his gaze to the bustling crowd.

"It looks like business has really boomed," he said, feeling satisfaction.

Xiulan glanced up at him, her smile warm. "We’ve got a lot of repeat customers now. The noodles are light and easy to eat, and they crave it every day."

Chen Ren nodded thoughtfully. "I believe we can start thinking about expansion once I figure out the sauce. It’s the key to making us stand out even more."

"Expansion?" Xiulan asked.

"Yeah," Chen Ren continued, his mind already turning to future plans. "I want to open more stalls, hire employees, and let them handle the operations. That way, I can focus on other things and let the business grow by itself."

Xiulan was about to respond, but just then, the leader of the street children, Mei Lin called out to her, asking for help.

"Young Master, we can talk about it later," she said. "There’s something I need to take care of. But before I go, could you give those noodles to those people over there?" She pointed down the street, toward a small corner where a cluster of figures sat hunched over.

Chen Ren’s gaze followed her finger, and he froze. The group of people were sitting at the edge of the street, dressed in ragged clothes, with dirt smudged across their faces. Their eyes were filled with hopelessness as they watched the crowd move. Some of them had their legs crossed awkwardly, while others seemed to be hunched over as if carrying invisible burdens. They didn’t seem like ordinary customers— no, these were beggars, their posture and appearance easily gave them away.

"You’re feeding them?" Chen Ren asked, his brows furrowing as he glanced back at Xiulan.

Xiulan nodded, her expression soft. "I felt for them, so I started giving them noodles every day. They’ve started gathering around now." She paused, and her gaze softened further. "All of them have physical deficiencies, and they don’t have the money for treatment. I just... I feel bad."

Chen Ren watched her for a moment, his mind turning over her words. He wasn’t a man to turn his back on the poor, but there was always a limit. "I see," he said slowly. "I don’t mind feeding them, but just make sure we don’t get more of them.”

I’m not running a charity here, he wanted to say, but he knew better. She was empathetic, and he understood that.

Xiulan nodded in agreement, her expression thoughtful. "Of course, Young Master."

As she turned to attend to the children, Chen Ren picked up the batch of noodles she had set aside, still mulling over the situation.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but there were always consequences. More beggars would mean more mouths to feed, and soon he would have a crowd of freeloaders on his hands. It wasn’t his job to take care of the city’s problems— it was the authorities' responsibility to manage the streets.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse to give noodles. The group of beggars had been lingering around for some time, and some of them had even started approaching the stall looking for food. With a sigh, he made his way toward the corner.

The beggars were quiet, huddled together on the dirt-covered ground in an uneasy stillness. Their faces were gaunt, their bodies thin, and their clothes were threadbare. Some of them didn’t even have shoes. Chen Ren approached, and as he did, the beggars slowly turned their heads towards him. Their eyes were hollow, filled with a deep sadness.

One by one, they murmured their gratitude. "Thank you for your generosity, young master," they said in unison, their voices faint but clear.

Chen Ren nodded stiffly as he handed out the noodles, each one muttering their thanks as they received their portions.

But then, as he came to the last person in line, something caught his eye.

A figure was sitting at the far end of the group, alone, their head lowered. At first glance, there was nothing unusual about them— except that they didn’t seem to belong with the others. The person had long, dishevelled hair that fell like a veil over the face. Their posture was different— stronger, more upright— but their head was lowered, hiding their features.

He couldn’t see any physical deficiency and couldn't even tell if it was a man or a woman.

Chen Ren hesitated for a moment before crouching down, offering the noodles with a soft voice. "Here... eat. You look like you haven’t eaten much in days."

The person slowly lifted their head, and as they did, Chen Ren saw their face for the first time.

A woman. Her features were sharp, delicate even, but there was something unsettling about her. Her cheeks were sunken, her skin pale and stretched thin over her bones. But it was her eyes that struck him. Violet eyes, piercing, full of something he couldn’t quite place. They glinted with an intensity that made him uneasy.

"Why are you feeding me?" she asked, her voice low, almost defiant.

Chen Ren didn’t quite know how to respond. "You look hungry," he said lamely.

The woman stared at him for a long moment, her gaze unwavering. "What do you want in return?"

He fumbled for an answer, feeling out of his depth. "Nothing," he repeated his intentions. "I’m just... giving it to you because you look like you haven’t eaten much."

She glanced down at the noodles, her lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

"I don’t think you’re capable of giving me anything," he said, as a matter of fact. He set the noodles down before her "Just eat it," he said for the third time, then turned and walked away.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about that encounter. But as he returned to the stall, the strange sense of unease faded, only to be replaced by something much more immediate.

A large group of men, all dressed in black, were slowly making their way toward the stall. He froze, his heart sinking as he watched them. They moved with a quiet confidence, as though they owned the street.

One of the men at the front shouted, his voice carrying across the street. "Listen up, everyone! Blood Snakes are doing an inspection here tonight! Show us proper respect and behave!"

Blood Snakes? Chen Ren’s brow furrowed, and a sense of dread settled in his chest.

He didn’t know who— or what— the Blood Snakes were, but the way the men moved, the way they commanded the street, told him that this was no ordinary group.

***

A/N - Almost 5k words. Thank you for reading.

29. Blood Snakes

Blood Snakes took the marketplace by shock.

Whispers slithered through the crowd, all the eyes darting nervously to the end where they moved with purpose.

There were ten of them, wearing black shirts with the emblem of a blood-red snake stitched across their chest. Their grins spoke of the power they possessed as they thrust their chests out with each step they took. A tall, bald man walked in the front, acting like the leader as he waved to a few stall owners.

Chen Ren felt their arrogance reeking out of every side look they gave. Ruffians, that’s what these assholes look like.

Behind him, customers who had been chattering only moments ago fell silent. He looked back and saw how they were stiff with fear. Their eyes widened and some even visibly shivered.

Even stall owners, who normally barked and bantered with customers, were quiet almost as if some force had muted them. Old Man Tian, whose wrinkled hands were usually busy arranging his wares, stood frozen. His eyes kept daring around as though he was trying to find a way out of the street.

Amidst noticing all the reactions towards the Blood Snakes, Chen Ren stood motionless. He looked through his memory, remembering if he knew of them until a memory struck— A conversation the old him had with one of his friends about gangs controlling the underground market of the city.

Blood Snakes was one of them.

His gaze shifted to Tang Xiulan beside him, her usually composed expression now tight with unease. “Are they the gang that controls this side of the city?” he murmured, keeping his voice low as he watched their predatory movements.

She nodded, a shadow passing over her face. “Yes, they’re called the Blood Snakes— one of the three major factions that run the city’s underbelly. They have a strong grip on the underground potion market and are known for being ruthless. Crossing them is asking for trouble.” Her eyes narrowed, scanning the scene as the gang members paused at various stalls, sending the merchants into a flurry of fearful compliance. “But I can’t figure out why they’re here today.”

Chen Ren’s brows knitted together, his eyes following the tense glances exchanged between the stall owners and the gang.

It almost felt as if they happened in slow motion— the passerby quickening their steps or diverting their routes to avoid coming too close, one elderly vendor trembling as he handed over a pouch of coins. It was probably his entire stash of profits for the day— week or even month, who knew?

The gang members sneered, pocketing the money before moving on, leaving the vendor visibly shaken.

“It doesn’t seem like this is the first time they’ve done this,” Chen Ren muttered, eyes hardening as he took in the scene.

The Blood Snakes didn’t come just for show; they came to collect, intimidate, and remind everyone of their power. Their actions sent a pulse of anger through him. Whatever their purpose today, it wasn’t for good. If anything, Chen Ren wanted to know why they had shown themselves suddenly when he hadn't seen any of them in the past month.

As the first of the gang members reached their vicinity, the smile on his face widened, revealing teeth that gleamed unnaturally white. The man's eyes glistened with a predatory look as he surveyed the scene, taking in the array of stalls and the frozen stares that greeted him.

Power, palpable and oppressive, settled over the marketplace like an unseen hand. And in that suffocating silence, Chen Ren stood unmoving.

The ruffians strolled from stall to stall, their heavy boots hitting the cobblestones with a rhythmic thud that seemed to echo through the street. They paused at each, their voices low but edged with menace.

A murmur of protest would rise out of the merchants, but it was always swallowed quickly by the sound of coin purses being emptied.

The day’s earnings slipped from trembling hands into greedy palms, and the laughter that followed was cold and victorious, as though they'd won something far greater than just coins.

He glanced at Old Man Tian's skewer stall as the thugs walked towards it. Chen Ren’s muscles tensed.

The old vendor, whose greying hair and stooped shoulders betrayed a life lived under the weight of years, was holding himself together with what little dignity remained. His fingers quivered, brushing against the skewers as if he could somehow make them sizzle louder to drown out the scene unfolding in front of him.

The ruffians were coming closer now. They moved with a purpose, like wolves circling their prey.

The bald thug leading them was a mountain of muscle. His tattooed arm flexed as he reached for the collar of Old Man Tian’s threadbare tunic, lifting him effortlessly from the ground.

The old man gasped, a small, pitiful sound echoing out, his feet dangling inches above the dirt. The others flanked him, laughing at the scene.

Chen Ren’s gaze narrowed, his heart thudding in his chest. He could see it— the struggle in the old man’s eyes, the unwillingness to look up, to face the inevitable.

Fear was settling in his bones like a cold fog.

The bald thug’s voice was dripping with mock familiarity as he spoke. “Old man, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” His grin spread, and his eyes gleamed with a dangerous hunger. His hand travelled from the vendor’s collar to the round belly that had grown soft with age, fingers pinching as he laughed. “Judging by that round belly of yours, I’d say you’ve been eating just fine.”

Old Man Tian’s lips quivered as he forced the words out. “Just doing decently, my lord. My old bones... they don’t move as they used to.”

The bald man's eyes flicked to the sizzling skewers, their savoury scent thick in the air. His sneer softened for a brief moment as he took in the smell.

He reached down and snatched one of the skewers from the grill, ignoring the heat, and bit into it with a grunt of approval.

The moment of softness vanished, replaced by something far more venomous. “Your food might be old like you, but it’s still good,” he said between chews, his mouth half-full, a greasy grin tugging at his lips. “Must be raking in a tidy sum, eh? Why don’t you share some of that with me? My pockets are feeling rather light these days.”

Old Man Tian’s hands shook so violently that the pouch of coins he held almost slipped from his grip. He fumbled as he tried to offer a few scattered pieces of copper.

His fingers trembled, betraying him in front of the thug, who only sneered at the small, pathetic offering. Before the old man could register what was happening, the thug's hand was already around the pouch, snatching it with a swift, greedy swipe.

He held it up, eyes twinkling with malicious delight as he gave it a shake. The coins inside clinked together, a sound that seemed to mock Old Man Tian’s helplessness.

The bald thug’s grin twisted, and his voice lowered, dripping with cruelty. “Be thankful I’m sparing your miserable life, old man,” he spat, his breath hot and rank. “Don’t cling to that money like your life depends on it— you won’t need it in the afterlife, and you’re already halfway there.”

The words hung in the air, bitter and unrelenting. Old Man Tian’s shoulders sagged even lower, and Chen Ren could see the moment the last shred of defiance left his body.

He watched the ruffian, still grinning as he pocketed the coins, and a fire stirred in his chest— a flame sparked by the injustice of it all.

Chen Ren watched the scene with a frown, his brow furrowed as his senses sharpened. Where did these people come from? Where are the guards? Have they been paid off? His instincts told him that something deeper was at play here.

He shifted slightly, searching for Yalan. The cat wasn't on her normal spot on top of the stall, so he looked around for a few seconds before he felt her sitting right behind him.

Her amber eyes gleamed with an otherworldly calm. She looked unbothered by the surrounding tension, her tail flicking lazily as she studied the scene with the kind of detached amusement only a spirit beast like her could possess.

Before he could say anything, her voice cut through the stillness, her words laced with quiet command. “Don’t you dare give away your money like a coward.” The soft sound of her voice held the weight of a warning, the sharpness of it jarring against the otherwise heavy atmosphere.

Chen Ren’s lips twitched upward, but only slightly, as he spoke in the silence of his mind. “I never said I would.” His gaze never left the thugs moving through the crowd. “It’s just strange. These people… they appear out of nowhere. I’ve been here long enough to know the ebb and flow of things, and I’ve never seen anything like this. What do you think?”

Yalan’s tail flicked again as she narrowed her eyes, her attention flicking from one thug to another. “A lot of them are just mortals. Drunk on power, thinking they can run the place with their numbers. But the bald one—the one leading them—he’s at the fifth star of the body forging Realm.” Her voice dropped, dripping with disdain. “There are three more cultivators, each at the third star of the body forging realm. Cultivators with spirit roots, but they’ve chosen to become nothing more than thugs, extorting the weak. A disgrace. No better than demonic cultivators.”

Chen Ren’s gaze hardened as he took in the information. He could see the power radiating off the bald thug, and the others— no less dangerous, even if they lacked the same star rank. His mind began to work, considering the implications. “It’ll be a tough fight, then,” he murmured under his breath, already calculating the risks.

Yalan’s gaze softened, as though she could read his thoughts with ease. “You should be able to defeat them if you keep your eyes and ears open,” she said, her voice steady with quiet confidence. “Your techniques are more refined than theirs. They’ll be no match for you if you don’t underestimate them. And if things get out of hand, I’ll step in.”

He knew she was right. Chen Clan's techniques were not weak and although a sect like Soaring Sword Sect might have better techniques, he wouldn't expect that from street thugs, even if they were cultivators.

“Okay,” he said softly, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the market. “But I need to know if there’s anything more to their extortion racket. If there’s a deeper conspiracy, it could change everything.”

Yalan’s ears twitched, her tail flicking once more as she stared at the group with an eerie calm. “There always is. People like them don’t just appear for nothing.” Her voice was laced with a knowing edge. “But don’t be too hasty. We can get everything out of them once we beat them up. Just stay alert. If you can handle beasts, you can handle thugs.”

Chen Ren’s eyes sharpened, his resolve settling into something unshakable. “I’ll take care of it. I always do.”

As he finished the conversation with Yalan, the thugs finished with the other stalls and moved towards him. His customers parted ways for them as two men flanked his stall as if standing there to make sure he couldn't run away.

Around Chen Ren, the children who had been eagerly helping a few minutes before stilled, their wide eyes darting between the approaching gang and him. Tang Xiulan’s posture stiffened, her fingers curling into tight fists.

“Well, well,” the bald man drawled as he came to a stop in front of Chen Ren’s modest stall. His eyes, sharp as knives, took in every detail. “If it isn’t the delicacy I’ve been hearing so much about. You invented it, right? I heard you are a small-time cultivator who already gave up on reaching the heavens and is now making perfumes. But hey, at least they are earning you good money.”

The two men behind him snickered, one elbowing the other.

“A cultivator peddling perfumes! What a joke,” one of them jeered, his laughter loud and mocking.

Chen Ren’s chest tightened, a cold realisation seeping into his veins. If he was just suspicious before, the words confirmed the fact that there was something else going on. He wasn't just paranoid. These men knew more than they should.

His heart thudded in a steady, ominous beat as he gave a glance at Tang Xiulan. She met his gaze head-on, eyes fierce, smouldering with defiance despite the danger coiled around them.

The bald man, a mountain of muscle and menace, raised a hand and snapped his fingers. The sound cut through the market like a blade, silencing his comrades instantly. “Let’s not make fun of this young man over here. Money is money and everyone wants it, even us cultivators,” he said, his voice rough and tainted with malice.

He walked around showing off his arrogance and slapped his palm against Old Man Tian’s wooden stall, which was right next to Chen Ren’s, making the fragile structure shudder under the force. The skewers rattled, one clattering to the ground and rolling to a stop near Chen Ren’s feet.

“But let’s not waste time, eh?” The bald man’s eyes gleamed with an ugly, feral light as they settled on Xiulan. “Hand over every coin you’ve got here,” he continued, the edge of a smirk creeping up his scarred face. “And the girl comes with me. My bed’s been too cold these days.” His finger jabbed toward Xiulan, punctuating his words with a twisted promise. The marketplace seemed to collectively inhale, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Tang Xiulan’s jaw tightened, and she met his leering gaze with eyes that could slice through iron. The tension between them crackled like a drawn blade.

Chen Ren’s vision narrowed, the world around him fading as a deep, seething fury took root. His voice, when he spoke, was low and controlled, emphasising every syllable. He literally spat his words. “Try that, and I promise you won’t be able to touch any women going forward.”

The bald man’s eyes widened briefly before his smirk returned, broader and uglier than before. He threw his head back and let out a bark of laughter that bounced off the nearby stalls and echoed into the watching crowd. His lackeys joined in, their laughter a grating chorus that sank claws into Chen Ren’s composure.

“Oh, is that so?” the thug taunted, spreading his arms wide as he turned to address the cluster of bystanders who stood frozen at the edges of the market, their faces pale and drawn. “Listen up, everyone! This young master here seems quite enamoured with his little maid. But look at her!” He gestured toward Xiulan. “She’s not even that pretty!”

More laughter followed, harsh and mocking, drilling into Chen Ren’s ears. His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms.

But the laughter faded as the bald man’s smile disappeared, replaced by a look of cold calculation.

He leaned in, voice dropping to a near whisper. “How about this? I won’t take the girl. Instead, give me your perfume formula. My boss is interested in it, you see. He’s quite fond of perfumes.”

Chen Ren’s eyes hardened. “He can come to my shop and try the perfumes. As for the formula, I don't think he can afford it.”

The bald man’s jaw twitched, his smile souring. “My boss doesn’t buy what he can take. He prefers... acquisitions.”

Chen Ren didn’t flinch, his voice steady as a blade. “Then I have two words for him: fuck. off.”

The moment Chen Ren’s defiant words left his lips, the bald man’s face darkened.

His eyes, now smouldering with rage, narrowed to slits as he drew his fist back, ready to strike.

But before the blow could connect, Chen Ren’s instincts surged, and with a flicker of his feet, he propelled himself forward, [Lightning Step] sparking beneath him. The sudden movement sent a ripple through the onlookers, gasps escaping the mouths of those who dared to watch.

The bald man’s punch met space, his momentum carrying him forward as he stumbled and spun around, eyes flaring with fury. “You’ve picked the wrong fight!” he roared, veins bulging on his neck.

He lowered himself like a charging beast, muscles coiling as he unleashed a battle cry. “[Raging Bull Rush!]” With a force that cracked the stones beneath his feet, he charged, each step shaking the ground.

Chen Ren dodged to the side, barely escaping the head-on rush. The wind from the bald man’s charge ruffled his robes, and sweat trickled down his brow. He clenched his jaw— this man was faster and stronger, a formidable opponent. But defeat wasn’t an option.

Before Chen Ren could catch his breath, two mortal lackeys rushed at him, fists swinging. He caught one by the wrist, his fingers tightening like iron. The man’s eyes widened in shock as a flash of electric-blue light crackled from Chen Ren’s palm. “[Thundering Fists!]” The jolt sent the lackey stumbling back, yelping in pain.

The second thug flinched, but before he could retreat, Chen Ren repeated the strike, sending him sprawling.

The brief victory was cut short by a bellow from the bald man, who had already whirled around and resumed his charge.

“I’ll crush you!” The gap between them disappeared in a heartbeat, and Chen Ren’s mind raced. He darted into the open space of the market, weaving between overturned carts and dodging terrified bystanders.

“Come on, is that the best you’ve got?” Chen Ren taunted, trying to buy himself precious seconds while striking at the gang members scattered around. The bald man’s eyes burned with rage as he ploughed through obstacles like a bull gone mad, his singular focus on Chen Ren unwavering.

Suddenly, Chen Ren’s luck ran out. The bald man pivoted with unexpected speed and struck him with a head-first blow. “[Bull Smack!]”

The impact sent Chen Ren hurtling backward, his body crashing into a wooden stall that splintered under the force.

Pain flared across his back as he gasped, pushing himself up on shaking arms.

Before he could fully regain his stance, another shout cut through the chaos, sharp and hissing like the creature it invoked. “[Cobra Fang!]” The voice belonged to a wiry man who leaped into the fray, his movements fluid and sinuous, as if his joints were made of water. His eyes gleamed with a predator's focus.

Chen Ren's chest tightened— this man was one of the three-star body forging realm cultivators.

The air crackled with sudden tension as the man’s fist lashed out, a strike as quick and venomous as a serpent's bite.

Chen Ren’s instincts screamed, and he pushed his body into motion, twisting just enough to avoid the blow. The wind of the missed strike brushed his cheek like a cold whisper, and the ground seemed to lurch beneath him as he spun back, breath ragged.

He didn’t pause. Chen Ren channelled his qi, feeling it spark like wildfire through his veins.

With a surge of determination, he unleashed “[Lightning Frenzy!]”

His fists blurred, trailing sparks as they met the cultivator’s torso. The man’s eyes widened in shock as the force crashed into him, sending him sprawling backward into a nearby cart, which exploded into splinters and sent up a plume of dust and shattered wood.

A fleeting wave of triumph rippled through Chen Ren’s chest, but it was crushed a heartbeat later. Iron bands locked around him from behind— a crushing, unrelenting grip that threatened to crack his ribs on contact.

The bald thug's brute strength was immense. He gritted his teeth as pain seared through his back, muscles screaming as he struggled to breathe, let alone move.

“Hold still,” the bald man growled, his breath hot and rancid against Chen Ren's ear. “Zhi, break his ribs.”

Another man, scarred and grinning with feral delight, stepped into view. The marketplace seemed to shrink, the noise of the crowd fading to a dull roar as the new threat moved closer.

“[Multiple Snake Bites!]” he intoned, the technique name slicing through the air.

Chen Ren’s world exploded into a white-hot agony as the blows rained down, reverberating through his bones and forcing the breath from his lungs.

His vision darkened at the edges, a dance of shadows and pain as he lashed out blindly with a desperate kick. The strike connected with a satisfying thud, sending Feng stumbling back a few steps, a curse on his lips.

But the reprieve was momentary. The vice-like hold on him tightened, the pressure biting deeper until it felt as if his ribs might shatter under the strain.

Blood thundered in his ears, drowning out everything but the raw, animalistic drive to survive. His vision wavered, the world around him threatening to blur into nothingness.

Should I call out for Yalan? The thought, sharp and urgent, clawed at his mind. Pride, though, rose like a stubborn flame. Yalan had faith that he could handle this. And so did he. With a gasp, he steeled himself, even as a fresh wave of pain lanced through him.

Just then, a glint of metal caught his eye— a knife, its edge slicing through the air toward him with deadly intent.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.

30. Yu Kuang

Chen Ren caught the piece of sharp metal striking him through the air. His body reacted faster than his mind, twisting in the air sharply.

The knife whistled past him, slicing so close that he could feel its chill brush against his cheeks. But the knife’s momentum downgraded and found its mark on the leg of the bald man who had been holding him as if he was clinging to his dear life.

A strangled cry erupted from the bald thug’s throat.

His iron grip fell away as he stumbled back, eyes wide with pain and rage, hands reflexively reaching for the buried blade.

Blood dripped down his leg as he staggered, his breath coming in gasps as he clutched at the knife buried deep in his flesh.

His expression twisted in agony, but his eyes burned with unrelenting fury, hatred spilling from his every movement.

Chen Ren didn’t hesitate; his body surged into motion. In one fluid motion, he sprang to his feet, eyes darting to where the knife had come from. There, at the edge of the market, stood the beggar girl who he just gave noodles to.

Her eyes were burning with determination and three more knives shone in her small, weak, calloused hands. If anything, she seemed much more strong now. Where had she even gotten them from? Chen Ren couldn’t guess, but there was no time to wonder.

The girl stood firm, her tiny figure seemed taller than before— as though the chaos that surrounded her didn’t affect her, but she was focused, ready for action.

Chen Ren quickly shrugged off his attention from her and turned to the bald man who was now howling with rage and pain.

He wrenched the knife from his leg, the blood staining his fingers while his breath came in jagged gasps. His bloodshot eyes shot at Chen Ren which seemed to boil with passionate hatred.

“Argh!” the bald man brayed and prepared to lunge forward.

At the same time, Chen saw how Zhi staggered upright with a grin that was painful to watch— looking like an absolute maniac. He brushed splinters and dust from his shoulders, and by how his smirk expanded, this scene seemed to only fuel his twisted excitement.

He cracked his knuckles.

Chen Ren’s senses sharpened; his instincts screamed at him that he couldn’t face both at once.

Frantically, his eyes swept through the stalls, searching for an advantage— something, anything. Well, anything except for the woman with knives.

Vegetables, skewers, carts, wares, pineapples, ladles— but then, his gaze landed on a nearby cart bearing a wok of bubbling oil. The liquid was as angry as the bald man. Without hesitation, he lunged towards it.

As if on cue, the bald thug charged.

His arms swung wildly towards Chen Ren, his face twisted in every way possible.

Chen Ren didn’t stop his feet either, and the market seemed to slow.

Almost… there!

The thug was too close now, and there was no time to think. Just as the man drew near, Chen seized the wok of oil, his grip firm despite the weight of the vessel and the searing burning pain that came with it.

He waited no second before flinging the boiling oil, his wrist snapping for its speed.

The liquid arced through thin air and splattered across the bald thug and Zhi. The two men screamed, their cries of agony cutting through the air like a knife. The oil immediately burned their skin, splashing across their faces, clothes, and exposed limbs.

The searing liquid scorched their flesh, sending them into spasms, their hands clawing at their bodies in a pathetic attempt to stop the pain. And the smell of burnt flesh and scorched fabric filled the air immediately, making every other smell of the market disappear.

With that, the market fell into absolute havoc. The onlookers shrieked and scrambled to avoid the splattering oil and the fight overall, but all Chen could focus on were the two men who were squirming in pain before him.

He had no time to linger on their suffering, for his fight was far from over.

The warmth left his eyes, replaced with lightning as he summoned his qi.

His fist crackled with lightning-infused energy, and with a savage roar, he launched into a strike.

“[Thundering Punch]!”

His fist crashed into the bald man’s chest. The thud’s breath left him in a sharp, strangled gasp. He was sent sprawling to the ground. His body went limp, breathless and motionless, a broken heap at his feet.

Turning swiftly, he was ready to send a similar blow to Zhi, but to his surprise, the wiry cultivator was already slumping to his knees.

It was quite the sight to see his malice-filled grin turned to a grimace of agony— just because of the searing hot oil.

No, it was not the oil.

It was then, he saw. Two of the beggar girl’s knives were buried deep in the man’s shoulders, and blood poured down his arm, slick and crimson. He trembled as life drained from his eyes, his body faltering as his will to fight died.

Silence swept through the market.

The stench of smoke, burnt bodies and spilt blood made bile rise in his throat. Chen Ren’s senses clouded with the three. But he forced himself to snap into reality, wanting to deal with the rest of the members, but they seemed to have already scattered, vanished into the maze of alleys, their cowardness outweighing whatever purpose they came for.

Breathing slowly, Chen Ren let the tension in his muscles ease. He stepped toward the fallen bald thug, whose body lay contorted on the ground, twitching with the last remnants of life.

With a swift movement, he retrieved the pouch of coins the man had stolen from the stall owners.

The coins jingled with a cold, metallic sound as he inspected the contents. It wasn't an overly large sum, but it was a day’s worth of all the stalls and he wasn't going to let mere thugs have it.

Chen Ren met the bald man’s dull, pain-glazed eyes, his expression hardening. The thug’s chest heaved with laboured breaths, but he could do little more than look up, unable to move.

With a swift motion, Chen Ren delivered a sharp kick to the man’s ribs, the sound of bone cracking ringing around him.

"This is what you get for being a ruffian," he spat the words.

He looked over at the beggar girl, who stood just beyond the carnage, her eyes still burning with determination.

Her breath came in slow, measured puffs. And though she had just played her part in the battle, there was no hint of satisfaction in her expression— only the same quiet look on her face that had been there when he had given her the noodles.

She met his gaze with a small nod before retreating to her familiar spot, curling up as if nothing had happened. Then, picked up the bowl of noodles he had given her, quietly slurping on it

A flicker of gratitude surged within him, urging him to step forward and thank her for her silent support.

Before he could act on it, a familiar voice cut through his mind like a crisp wind.

“Six and a half out of ten.”

Chen Ren turned to see Yalan, the cat with the knowing eyes, approaching with an air of detached elegance. The shimmer of her fur caught the moonlight as she assessed him with a critical gleam.

Beside her, a worried Tang Xiulan rushed forward.

Yalan continued not giving Xiulan heed. “Better this time. You faced greater numbers and managed to use your environment effectively. But you could have been more ruthless, and you did have some... assistance. Moreover, you are shouting your technique's name seemingly for foolish reasons. Just because the thugs are doing it don't mean you need to emulate them.”

Chen Ren's brow lifted, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re still evaluating me?”

Yalan's eyes narrowed slightly, glistening with an enigmatic glint. “Of course. I’ll evaluate every battle you fight. You’re not above judgement.”

Before he could reply, Xiulan reached him, her soft voice cutting through his thoughts. “Young master, are you okay?”

He let out a breath, rolling his shoulders as the dull ache of bruises reminded him of the struggle. “A few scratches and my back feels like I fought a mountain, but I'll be fine. Nothing to worry about.”

His gaze shifted beyond Xiulan, settling on the bald thug still groaning in agony and the stunned stall owners who were beginning to gather around.

“But the real concern isn't my injuries,” he muttered, eyes sharpening. “These thugs weren't just here for extortion. They wanted the perfume formula. Otherwise, they wouldn't have brought cultivators with them. The Blood Snakes are eyeing my businesses.”

Tang Xiulan's eyes widened. “What are you going to do now?”

Chen Ren thought for a moment before a grimace settled on his face. “We need to check on Heavenly Fragrances. If I'm right, this wasn't the only place they hit.”

***

Chen Ren had expected that their stall wouldn’t be the only one to be affected by the Blood Snake attacks. As they moved closer to the area, the sight before him confirmed his suspicions.

The outside scene of their perfume shop was in disarray. The door seemed to be broken and the board with their stall name was on the ground. Even other shops around them seemed to have taken some damage and a good number of people were out in the open, talking in hushed whispers.

The signs of a violent altercation were unmistakable.

He saw Tang Yuqiu standing outside, flanked by the guards who had been assigned to them by the Tang Clan. They had anticipated something like an attack, though they could never have predicted that a powerful gang would be involved.

The calm resolve on Yuqiu’s face quickly turned into a tense line when she saw Chen Ren approaching.

As he got closer, Chen Ren’s gaze swept the area, taking in the damage. His heart sank as he observed. There was blood on the ground, some still fresh, some beginning to dry on the paved streets. The air was thick with the lingering smell of burnt wood, herbs, and the faint metallic stench of blood.

A few perfume bottles were spilled out on the streets, evidence of the struggle that had taken place. It was clear the attackers had tried to destroy their stock. Fortunately, only a few of them were scattered.

“Did Blood Snakes attack you?” Chen Ren called out, his voice low, scanning Tang Yuqiu’s expression for any signs of distress.

Yuqiu’s gaze met his, hard and focused, and she gave a short nod, her lips pressed into a tight line.

“Yes, they did. A group of half a dozen people.” She hesitated for a moment before continuing. “But the guards handled it. They just threatened us and told us to give up the formula or they’d do more. Though, they flung a part of our stocks out on the streets and broke our board.”

“Were you here when it happened? Did they hurt you?” Chen Ren asked, looking over her body. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to be injured.

Yuqiu took a breath before explaining, “Yes, I was here when they came. And no, the guards protected me, so I was mostly unharmed and I believe they were trying to go past me to harm our stocks. Although they were from Blood Snakes, they didn't seem to be trained. The guards handled them easily, but they shouted that they would be back again. They’re clearly not finished with us. But how do you know the Blood Snakes attacked us? Did they—”

Chen Ren nodded before she could complete her sentence. “They came after me too,” he said, his voice low, eyes flicking to the unconscious forms of the bald thug and Zhi, who were now lying on a cart, being carried by Old Man Tian’s grandson. “They sent cultivators. Barely managed to take them down, but I caught these two.”

He pointed toward the two thugs, both of whom were still breathing but their injuries would take time to heal. The cart rattled softly as Old Man Tian’s grandson moved them to the side of the street.

Yuqiu’s frown deepened as she processed the information. “They sent cultivators? They are clearly not undermining us.”

Chen Ren sighed. “Yeah, and it's clear they were keeping an eye on us. They only sent cultivators to target me knowing I'm one too. And I don't think they are going to just give up. If we sit around doing nothing, they might escalate things. A bigger attack could be coming.”

Yuqiu looked at him, puzzled. “But... why would they want to escalate things? What do they want from us?”

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed, putting the pieces together. He had thought about this before he came here. “It's the Bai Hu Trade association. They can’t do anything alone with our supply lines and staff secured, so they got the gang involved. Why they’re working together is beyond me, but it’s not good for us. Bai Hu’s reach is far, but I never thought they would get someone like Blood Snakes involved.”

Yuqiu’s face flushed with anger as the realisation hit her. She took a step forward, her voice rising with frustration. “I’ll go deal with them myself. They can’t just bully the Tang Clan like this. I’ll—”

Chen Ren stepped in front of her. “If you go now, they’ll just deny everything,” he said, cutting her off. “They’ll say they don’t know anything about it. Without proof, it’ll just be another set of accusations with no way to back them up. That’s why they didn’t send their own men to handle this— they don’t want to leave a trail. If you storm in there, they’ll lie through their teeth and say they were never involved.”

Tang Xiulan stepped forward, her expression one of determination mixed with concern. "So what do we do now?" she asked, glancing between Chen Ren and Yuqiu. "Should we inform the city guards?"

Chen Ren shook his head, his eyes scanning the damage once more before returning his gaze to Xiulan.

"We can, but I don’t think anything will come out of it. The Blood Snakes attacked our shop without any city guards around, and there weren’t any stationed down the market street either." He paused for a moment as if considering the implications of his words. "The truth is, they’re already bought. Remember they were easily bribed by the bun shop owner. If such a person can do so, then a gang would have way more power. We can go and complain, but I don’t expect them to take any action. It’ll just be a formality."

Tang Yuqiu’s face tightened at the suggestion. "So, what, we just let them get away with this? We won’t even try to get them to listen?"

"I don’t doubt that the Tang Clan could force them to give us protection— but it won't stop the Blood Snakes. Gangs like that don’t care about any clan. They only respect power, and I was just talking to Xiulan about this. Do you know why the Blood Snakes can operate in the city without anyone stopping them?"

Yuqiu frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why?"

Chen Ren’s voice dropped slightly, his expression grim. "Their boss, Yu Kuang. The leader of the Blood Snakes is a foundation realm cultivator. I asked around before coming here."

That statement sent everyone into deep thought. Yuqiu couldn’t help but pace back and forth in front of Chen Ren. Finally, she stopped and blinked at him, disbelief in her eyes "A foundation realm cultivator? That’s... that’s insane. Such a person is powerful enough to become an inner sect disciple in the Soaring Sword Sect."

Chen Ren nodded. "He can defeat someone like me— hundreds of times over— without even breaking a sweat. Not only that, they have dozens of body forging realm cultivators. That's why the Blood Snakes can do whatever they want, without fear of reprisal from anyone. No clan, no guard, no one can stand against him without serious consequences."

Yuqiu looked down, her jaw clenched in thought, and then she looked up, meeting Chen Ren’s gaze again.

"Does the Tang Clan have someone like that?" he asked.

Yuqiu shook his head. "No. The Tang Clan doesn’t have anyone on that level. I'm pretty sure my father can hire one, but it's rare to find someone at that level among the rogue cultivators.”

"Then we’re stuck in this situation," he said quietly. "We can’t just force them to leave us alone. Not with someone like that pulling the strings. We need to be careful. We can’t just rush in head first. We need a plan— a way to deal with the Blood Snakes keeping their boss in mind. Because if we go up against him, we’ll be crushed."

A silence fell over them as the gravity of the situation settled in.

It’s almost like everyone knew that something had to be done, but no one knew how to go about it without making the situation worse.

For maybe the first time since coming to this world, Chen Ren felt like he was grasping at straws. A foundation realm cultivator was way beyond his current state. They had a difference of one and a half realm between us. Tang Clan might be able to get more security, but against someone like him, even they needed to be careful.

That only left a few options.

Though, it wasn't as if every door was closed. He still had a trump card in Yalan and going by his estimates of her strength, she could deal against someone like Yu Kuang, but was this worth revealing her identity? He wasn't sure.

The more he had seen of his world, the more he realised that having a trump card like her was bigger than any cheat he might have received.

His mind raced, trying to come up with a solution where he could deal with Blood Snakes without anyone finding out about Yalan.

His gaze shifted from Yuqiu to the two unconscious thugs—Baldy and Zhi— who lay slumped in the cart. Then, his eyes flicked over to Yalan, who had been quietly observing the conversation from the sidelines.

A sudden thought struck him.

"I believe I have an idea," he said, getting the attention of both the women.

***

A/N - I got comments in last chapter of people disappointed about Dao of Money having fights. Although this is a more slice of life book, there will be fights. They won't always be brawls as Chen Ren will scheme his way out of them, but there will be fights other than just buisnesses. Also, the shouting out martial techniques part was more for showing he's still green as you can see in this chapter.

PS - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.

31. Taking out a gang (1)

“My boss will hear of it, and once he does, you won’t be able to get out of the consequences,” the bald thug growled, his spit dripping out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes, small and beady, were filled with hatred. “You dare go against him by beating his subordinate. You will pay with your life. Your life ends here. Your whole family will die—”

A sudden slap cracked through the room like a thunderclap. Chen Ren’s hand recoiled from the strike, his dark eyes narrowing as he stared down at his captive.

“You talk too much for a prisoner, you know,” he said.

The room was small, shrouded in deep shadow with only a wavering lamp. The air hung thick, heavy with the metallic tang of rust and the sour tang of sweat. The bald thug sat hunched, chained tight. His muscles strained against restraints that clinked with every shallow breath. Next to him, Zhi remained motionless, head lolling, still submerged in unconsciousness, the cold iron sigils along the chains pressing deep against their scorched flesh.

Chen Ren’s gaze swept over them. He had made no mistakes. These were cultivators, after all. One lapse would cost him dearly, and so the chains had been tighter.

They had weighed the option of involving the city guards but knew their bureaucratic sluggishness and corruption all too well.

A report had been made of the attack, but they hadn't mentioned the fact that these two were captured by him. True to form, the guards responded with predictable ineptitude, increasing patrols around Market Street and stationing themselves around the perfume shop at the heart of this tangled plot.

But to Chen Ren, it was little more than a sideshow, a pretence to keep up appearances.

His plan was already in motion. And the bald thug before him—sneering, broken-lipped—was an important part that would soon make his plans come true. Or so he hoped.

Chen Ren squinted as he leaned forward. “Can’t you just give me the location of your boss? I just want to meet him. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see me. And maybe you could tell me which of the Bai Hu Association’s dogs decided to meddle with my perfume shop.”

The bald thug’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “I will never say any—”

A sharp slap cut through the dim silence. The thug’s head snapped to the side, his words dissolving into a choked grunt.

“I will slap you every time you say something I don’t want to hear,” Chen Ren said, his eyes narrowing at him.

The prisoner glared back, eyes brimming with hatred, teeth bared. Chen Ren felt the tension between them growing with every second. Without warning, he slapped the latter again, the suddenness jolting the thug out of his snarl.

“Why did you slap me again?” the thug spat.

“I didn’t like your face,” Chen Ren replied, deadpan, before his lips twitched in the ghost of a smirk.

And so it went. Each question was met with silence or rebellion, each resistance with another slap. The oil lamp sputtered as Chen Ren’s hand met the thug’s bruised cheek over and over.

Time crept by, and the minutes turned into half an hour.

The thug’s face, once ruddy, became swollen and mottled with angry welts. It was almost funny.

The temptation to shatter the thug’s annoying arrogance with a show of true power begged him, but he held back.

If he was about to let his inner demon win, this scumbag wouldn’t survive—not in this state.

He needed him alive, for now.

"You’re really loyal." Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed as he studied the man’s face. A small smile crept to his face. "At least your boss knows how to pick up his lackeys."

The bald man spat on the ground, his spit was mixed with blood. His eyes came up to face Chen Ren, the outer corner of his lips curling, "Fuck you."

Chen Ren’s smile never wavered.

“I don't fuck with men and seeing your ugly face, I doubt even woman would,” he said, turning towards the door. “Either way, enjoy your time here in the darkness. I will come to meet you two later and maybe then you will be in the mood to speak."

Moving past the two thugs, he closed the heavy door with a a loud thud, the sound of a final farewell to the captives.

He gave the building one last look before he turned, taking a few steps away. It was one of the warehouses the Tang Clan owned, one that was used for one of their businesses, but once it had failed, the warehouse had been kept empty.

He walked for a minute away from the warehouse and entered an alley, only stopping when a sudden voice pierced the stillness.

"Did he say anything?" It was Yalan. She spoke aloud since it was just the two of them.

Chen Ren didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted toward the shadows where she stood, her feline eyes glowing faintly in the dark. Her lithe form barely made a sound as she moved closer.

"No, he’s pretty tenacious," Chen Ren finally replied.

Yalan’s tail flicked in the air, her whiskers twitching. "Maybe it's a qi oath. I wouldn’t be surprised if it were."

Chen Ren hummed at that. "Maybe. But we’ll get our answers soon enough..." he frowned. Suddenly, his mind started rethinking everything. For what reason? He didn't know. "You’re sure it will work, right?" he asked.

"I have no reason to lie to you," she said while licking her paws. "Your plan has a lot of variables, but it should work— if you can lie as well as you do every time."

Chen Ren feigned offence while touching his chest as if he was hurt. "It’s called stretching the truth."

But before he could continue, Yalan cut him off with a swipe of her tail, her gaze never leaving the warehouse. "Just keep watching the warehouse," she purred, the words like a command. "If we’re lucky, he’ll try to get out in the next hour."

With a knowing smirk, Chen Ren followed her gaze, the cold wind tousling his hair as they both waited. The hours stretched out and the evening sun dipped under the horizon.

***

Guo Jiang didn’t have an easy life. He hadn’t been born into a family of great cultivators, and in his younger years, he had lived an ordinary life. But fate had twisted his path when he had been found to have spirit roots and an emerging sect had taken him in. The sect promised to hone his potential, but all it had truly done was push him toward an existence of hardship.

Rather than rising through the ranks and becoming immortal, Guo Jiang’s talent proved to be insufficient.

His cultivation stagnated, and he found himself trapped in a cycle of disappointment. Determined not to be ordinary, he had sought out obscure techniques and forbidden manuals, hoping that they would give him the edge he needed. But those techniques came at a cost. His hair had fallen out in clumps, leaving him bald.

The teasing started soon after. "Baldy," they called him, and the name stuck, a constant reminder of his failure. He despised it with every fibre of his being, but it also stoked the fires of his fury. One fateful day, after years of torment, he had killed the fellow disciple who dared to mock him. It wasn’t long before he was cast out of his sect, an outcast among outcasts.

Guo Jiang had wandered for a time, unsure of where to go. His plan had been to join the Soaring Sword Sect, to seek out a place where his talents might finally be nurtured. But that plan fell apart when his path crossed with the Blood Snakes in Cloud Mist City.

It wasn’t the righteous path he had once dreamed of. It wasn’t the life of a cultivator. But it was something more—a life where strength, ruthlessness, and ambition ruled. A life where he could thrive without the restrictions of sects or laws.

Soon, he had joined the Blood Snakes, a notorious gang, and quickly rose through the ranks, his status as a cultivator was a useful tool in gaining power. But with power came enemies, and Guo Jiang had made his share. Yet every enemy that had crossed him had eventually tasted his wrath. He was a man driven by vengeance and fury, and no one who crossed him ever got away unscathed.

And as he sat caged in the empty warehouse, he swore that Chen Ren would have the same fate.

Of all the people Guo Jiang had clashed with, this one had been the worst. Chen Ren had burned him with scorching oil, chained him like an animal, and slapped him repeatedly to the point his face had swollen. The humiliation had been unbearable. The fury that had grown inside him burned hotter than ever, and it seemed like no amount of time could cool it.

But he knew he couldn't be hasty.

He bided his time long after Chen Ren had left. The young master had made a mistake. He had failed to trap Guo Jiang in qi chains meant for cultivators. And now he had his chance.

He waited in the dim shadows of the warehouse, listening carefully as he counted the minutes that passed. Chen Ren had moved away, likely thinking that he had left him to rot. But Guo Jiang was no fool. His time would come.

He could feel the pulse of his own qi, still steady despite the weariness of his body.

His wrists ached, and his limbs felt like they might give out, but his determination was stronger. With a swift motion, he focused his energy on his wrists and broke the chains that bound him.

The chains fell with a sharp clang to the floor, their hollow echo ringing through the silence.

Pain shot through him as he slowly stood, but he didn’t falter.

He gritted his teeth and moved forward, the world spinning slightly around him. The rage coursed through his veins, and his mind was set. He would have his revenge on Chen Ren. And when he escaped this place, he would make sure that the young master would regret ever crossing him.

In the depths of the darkness, he made up his mind.

The game was far from over.

And Chen Ren made a dangerous enemy. I will make sure to show him that.

He spat the blood in his mouth on the floor. Guo Jiang’s eyes then went to Zhi, still unconscious and sprawled on the cold, stone floor.

He had nothing against the man, but he had no use of him right now. Perhaps later, he would come back to rescue him.

Guo Jiang's focus shifted quickly as he leaned against a stack of crates, peering cautiously through a crack in the window.

The street outside was empty for the moment. No one in sight. His breath caught in his chest for a brief moment before he used crates to propel himself up before opening the window whole. He took another look outside and then slipped out, moving swiftly but carefully, his steps silent against the ground.

He kept his senses sharp as he moved through the alleyways, keeping to the shadows, his body still aching from the earlier treatment.

The faint twitch of his muscles throbbed within him, keeping him on his feet, though every movement felt like a weight he was pushing against. But there was no time for weakness.

He had a plan, and his goal was clear—revenge.

As he neared the crowded street, Guo Jiang blended into the chaos.

The noise of vendors hawking their wares, the raucous laughter of drunks, and the chatter of people moving about all enveloped him. He was no longer just a bald man on the run; he was part of the pulse of the city, a shadow among many.

His presence melted into the crowd, though his pace was the same. His eyes flicked left and right, knowing he should always be on alert.

After weaving through several winding streets, he reached the slums of the city, a place no one dared tread unless they had business there. Its alleys were mostly empty and the few passerby only gave him a glance before continuing on their way.

After a few minutes, he reached the middle of the slums and approached a restaurant, its sign barely hanging above the entrance.

Two guards stood in front of it, their bored expressions turning to suspicion as they eyed him.

"Beggars aren't allowed here," one of the guards said dismissively.

Guo Jiang’s lips curled into a dark smile, his eyes glinting with malice. "Stupid bastards," he spat. "I’m Guo Jiang. Now let me in." He paused and spat on the floor. "If you don’t want to die quickly, you’d better let me meet the boss."

The guards froze at the mention of his name, their eyes widening with recognition. They both paled, realising just who they were dealing with.

"S-Sorry, we didn’t recognize you," one of them stammered, stepping aside.

Guo Jiang gave them no more attention than they deserved, striding past them without a second glance. He muttered under his breath, the rage bubbling up inside him again. Chen Ren… once I get better, I’m going to kill you for this humiliation.

He walked through the door, the calm interior of the restaurant offering little warmth.

But he didn’t care. He was already planning his next move.

What Guo Jiang didn’t realise, though, was that a pair of eyes had never stopped watching him. He’d been so focused on his escape, so consumed by his thirst for revenge, that he hadn’t noticed the shadow slipping in behind him, trailing his every move.

The door closed behind him.

***

Tang Yuqiu glanced at Chen Ren, her brow furrowed in concern. "Do you really think it would work? Just you going and having a talk with him?" she asked.

Chen Ren met her gaze, knowing she was worried about what was about to happen. "Well, we would also be creating a scene, making sure they take me seriously," he replied as a matter of fact. "But from what I know, there are very few cultivators in there— other than Yu Kuang. The others, I can handle."

He turned his attention briefly toward the restaurant building where Yalan had trailed Guo Jiang, the faint glint of the cat's form vanishing into the shadows outside.

His eyes flicked back to the concerned faces of Yuqiu and Xiulan, the former’s brows knit in worry. Chen Ren hadn't shared the full scope of his plan with them. Yalan was hidden from their sight for a reason—some trump cards were best kept close to the chest, even among allies.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them, but certain moves required discretion. They were obviously concerned about him due to thinking that he would be risking his life against a foundation establishment realm cultivator, but he kept his mouth shut.

Around them, a half-dozen guards from the Tang Clan stood straight. They were mortal men, but their purpose was clear: to ensure Chen Ren had room to move toward the inner sanctum of the restaurant, where the boss—Yu Kuang waited. If anything went wrong, these men would keep the path clear long enough for Chen Ren to act.

But for now, he needed to deal with the guards at the front of the restaurant.

Chen Ren nodded at the men, then turned to his female companions. “Just stay here. I’ll be out of the place in an hour. Don’t worry too much—I’ll handle it all. Not like I'm going and don't forget I'm from the Chen Clan. A mere gang can't stand against them, so if Yu Kuang tries to do anything, I will throw my clan name around.”

The guards nodded in unison, while Yuqiu and Xiulan exchanged a brief glance. Despite their concern, they trusted him. They had no choice but to. And so, Chen Ren stepped forward, moving toward the restaurant entrance with light steps.

The moment he approached, the guards at the door stepped in his way, their faces tense. “The restaurant is closed,” one of them said curtly, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.

Chen Ren didn’t break his stride. His eyes narrowed as he stared them down. “I saw people entering here a while back,” he said, his voice cold.

“They are authorised to enter. You aren’t.”

Chen Ren’s lips curled into a faint smirk as he spoke again, this time more forcefully. “I believe I need to change that, then.”

Before the guards could react, a surge of lightning crackled to life around him, arcing through the air in a flash of bright energy. The guards flinched back instinctively, their eyes wide with fear. But Chen Ren didn’t give them time to recover.

The final part of his plan began like that.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.

32. Taking out a gang (2)

Yu Kuang’s dark eyes narrowed as he glared at the man before him. The tension crackled between them, the air thick with unsaid threats. “What did you just say?”

The man who was on the opposite end flinched visibly. Baldy’s lips trembled as he swallowed hard.

“We got beaten up and captured while trying to take down Chen Ren,” he repeated, eyes darting between Yu Kuang’s piercing stare and the ground beneath him. “The plan failed. He tried to interrogate me, but I refused to talk. I only managed to sneak out after he left.” He shifted uneasily, revealing bruises and cuts that spoke of a recent struggle. “My current condition—it’s all because of that bastard.”

Yu Kuang’s neutral mask fractured, his gaze turning icy. Baldy shivered involuntarily. “You were given one simple job: beat him up and make sure he remembers the warning,” Yu Kuang said. “Chen Ren is a no-name rogue cultivator who lost miserably to Li Xuan. You have a more advanced cultivation than his, and you had numbers on your side. How did you fail?”

Baldy’s eyes flared with desperation as he stammered, “Boss, he’s tricky—a real slippery bastard. He threw hot oil at us, so we couldn’t keep our footing. Some of the guys ran as soon as they saw the tide turn.”

“Of course they did!” Yu Kuang snapped. “Of course, they fucking did!” he repeated. “You brought the low-level trash from our ranks. Do you even know why we keep them around? For numbers, Baldy, only for numbers!” He huffed, anger rolling off him in waves. “Now, because of your incompetence, the whole plan is in tatters. Chen Ren and that Tang Clan girl should have been terrified of us, ready to bend to our will so we could take their precious perfume formula.”

Baldy lowered his head, his face going pale.

Yu Kuang’s fists clenched, veins straining against his skin. “But now? Because of your stupid ass, it’s all down the drain. What exactly do you expect me to do now?”

Baldy’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. The only answer was the suffocating silence that filled the room. He opened his mouth twice more before his voice finally cracked as he stammered, eyes darting nervously to the floor.

“Boss, just one more chance. I’ll heal up and handle it myself—smash his stall, wreck that perfume shop—”

Yu Kuang’s expression hardened, the room seeming to chill under his glare. The silence stretched, suffocating, before he spoke, emphasizing every word as if even the idea was a joke. “Trust you? They’ll be watching now. You think they’d fall for the same trick twice? Their morale will be high, and the guards won’t look away as easily. Even that old, sickly bastard Tang Jihao will be aware now and he's far worse to deal with due to his connections with the City Lord.” He exhaled sharply, muscles taut as he flexed his fists. “No. If anyone’s going to crush that upstart, it’ll be me.”

Before the threat could linger, a sharp knock shattered the tense silence.

The door creaked open, and a Blood Snake member burst in, his face pale and eyes wild. His hair was all over the place as if he had raked through it over and over.

Signs of distress— Before Yu Kuang could conclude, the man spoke.

“Boss, we’ve got trouble. There’s a group storming the building—took out the men on the ground floor and are coming up fast.”

Yu Kuang’s eyes widened, his jaw tightening. “Who?” His voice was a dangerous growl. “Is it those Earthen Toad bastards again?”

The man shook his head, sweat glistening on his brow. “No, boss. It’s not a gang. The man calls himself Chen Ren. He’s here, demanding to talk, and he’s taken down everyone in his way. He’s a cultivator.”

Yu Kuang glared at Baldy, whose face had turned ashen, the blood draining away as if he’d seen a ghost.

***

Since arriving in this world, Chen Ren had seen many changes in himself—his muscles stronger, his reflexes quicker, and an energy inside him that made him feel alive in a way he never had before. But out of all these changes, what he liked most was how powerful he felt compared to an ordinary man.

A fist whistled past his ear, the rush of air sharp and close enough to stir the loose strands of his hair, but Chen Ren was already moving.

He ducked low, muscles coiling like springs ready to snap, and drove his foot into the attacker's chest with a force that made bones creak. The Blood Snakes thug was thrown back, gasping as he crashed into the wall and slumped. Before the man even hit the ground, Chen Ren twisted sharply, pivoting off his back foot and slamming his elbow into another opponent’s jaw with a crack.

Sparks of lightning crackled between his clenched fists, the sharp, unpleasant bloody scent of ozone filling the narrow stairwell. The men around him halted, their eyes wide and darting, a flicker of doubt in their expressions as they took in the electric energy that now danced across his knuckles.

“Now!” The single word ripped through the clamour, sharp and commanding. Chen Ren’s voice sliced through the chaos like a blade, snapping the Tang Clan guards into motion. Their eyes, wide with tension moments before, now hardened.

Staves whipped through the air, striking with thuds that resonated against flesh and bone. Short blades flashed, catching the dim light as they struck precisely, forcing the Blood Snakes men to retreat or double over with stunned grunts.

The thugs, who moments ago wore smirks of confidence, now stumbled back, eyes darting between Chen Ren and the advancing line of Tang Clan guards. Panic rippled through them, their once-brazen attacks now faltering as they hesitated at the sight of the cultivator’s aura, crackling with restrained power.

Chen Ren’s body was a blur as he wove through the fray. A pivot here, a sidestep there—each shift put him in the perfect position to disrupt an enemy’s balance or open a path for the advancing guards. He gripped an attacker by the wrist, twisting until a sharp yelp escaped the man’s lips, and shoved him into another oncoming foe. The two stumbled back, colliding against the rough stone wall with a thud that jarred their weapons loose.

A gap widened in the chaotic press of bodies, and Chen Ren seized it.

He hadn't anticipated so many of them packed into one place. The stairwell was narrow, cramped, and filled with shouts and the thud of bodies hitting stone. But with his lightning arts crackling around him, the Blood Snake men were hesitant, their attacks sloppy and unfocused.

Chen Ren took full advantage, gripping the rail and swinging himself upward, kicking one thug into the wall where he slumped, dazed.

More men barreled down the steps, their momentum used against them as Chen Ren sidestepped again, letting them crash into one another. Hah! A sweep of his leg tripped another, who tumbled down with a yelp. The clang of weapons dropping echoed through the stairwell, but Chen Ren didn’t pause.

The climb was relentless. Every step was filled with flashes of lightning and gasps of shock. Chen Ren’s heart pounded in his chest, not from exhaustion but exhilaration, the rush of battle reminding him of just how different—how superior—his body had become. One more kick, one more punch, and the path upward was finally clear.

He pressed onward, muscles tensed as he climbed the narrow staircase toward the first floor. He found it mostly empty, only the occasional groan of the fallen echoing behind him. The sounds of skirmishes below reassured him that the Tang Clan guards were holding their own. Without pausing, he set his sights on the second floor.

The air shifted as he reached the landing, heavier with tension. Three men stood waiting, eyes narrowed, bodies coiled like springs. Their auras thrummed with energy, and the fierce glint in their eyes revealed their status as cultivators.

Before Chen Ren could make a move, Yalan's voice hummed in his mind.

“They’re in the body forging realm,” she warned. “Two are at the first star, the other one at the second. You can handle them.”

Chen Ren's lips tightened into a thin smile. “Understood.”

A moment later, the three cultivators burst into motion.

Their feet barely touched the ground as they glided forward, bodies shifting with grace as their movement techniques left afterimages in their wake.

The strongest of them held a sword that gleamed ominously under the dim lantern light, its edge whispering promises of lethal intent. The other two, with their heavy clubs, approached like storm clouds rolling in, threatening blunt devastation.

Chen Ren didn’t give them a chance to close in. With a swift stomp, he drove his foot into the wooden floor, the boards cracking apart beneath him. Splinters shot up in jagged arcs, like tiny daggers catching the light. The advancing men faltered, eyes darting as the sharp fragments pelted them.

He seized the moment. His body moved like a coiled spring, launching forward with explosive energy. His foot lashed out, catching the nearest club-wielder in the chest and sending him staggering backward, breath leaving him in a rush.

The second man grinned, showing all of his teeth at once, swung his club in a brutal arc, the force behind it enough to break bones. Chen Ren shifted just enough to let the blow glance off his shoulder, a flash of pain registering before it was pushed aside by adrenaline. The impact brought him close, close enough to grasp the man’s arm and pivot sharply, twisting the limb with a crack that sent the club-wielder reeling. In a fluid motion, Chen Ren hurled him into the path of the sword-wielder.

The sharp clash of bodies echoed in the confined space, the sword-man’s eyes widening as he struggled to avoid impaling his comrade. The momentary distraction was all Chen Ren needed. His fingers crackled with energy, the air around him heavy with the scent of blood. A thin grin tugged at his lips as he whispered, “[Lightning Frenzy].”

Arcs of blue-white electricity burst from his fingertips, leaping towards the three men. He moved forward and his fist moved forward in a blur and threw punches continuously.

The sword-wielder’s eyes rolled back as the current coursed through him, muscles twitching before he collapsed. The others crumpled beside him, twitching once before falling still.

Silence descended, broken only by the creak of damaged floorboards and the muffled shouts from battles below. Chen Ren took a steadying breath, the electric buzz in his veins slowly fading.

He stepped over the fallen, boots whispering against the wood as he moved to the staircase leading up.

Yalan’s voice murmured in his mind, this time lower, edged with unease. “I feel a stronger aura from the next floor. Yu Kuang is there.”

Chen Ren nodded, briefly halting and taking out a pendant from his pocket.

Its surface glowed faintly as he put it on. He took a moment to catch Yalan’s spirit energy swirling with intent as she walked past him with a lazy flicker of her tale. “Are you ready?” he whispered.

A soft chuckle resonated within him as she replied nonchalantly, “I’m always ready,” Yalan replied. “Just make sure you can hold up the act.”

Chen Ren’s lips twitched into a smirk. “I’ll be damned if I can't.”

***

Chen Ren didn't encounter any more men on the third floor, allowing him a swift entry. He guessed most of them had run downstairs to confront the commotion, leaving it unguarded. Without hesitation, he moved past several doors and halted in front of a massive double door.

Although he didn't have Yalan's senses, even he could feel the prickle of insurmountable energy coming from behind the door.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself before he stepped into Yu Kuang's office.

The room spoke of power and luxury.

Velvet drapes in deep crimson framed large windows that overlooked the dark alleys of the city. A mahogany desk sat in the center, polished to a mirror sheen, adorned with a small white tiger statue that seemed to glare at any who approached. Gold-accented furniture added to the opulence. The scent of rare incense lingered in the air.

The man Chen Ren assumed to be Yu Kuang stood behind the desk. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, with short, jet-black hair and a sharp, angular face that exuded a mix of cunning and malice. It was his eyes—his eyes that were sharper, holding so much more than met the eye.

Along with depth of experiences, there was a sense of youthfulness to them. Yet, Chen Ren knew better; this man was much older—much, much older than thirties.

His eyes didn’t linger on him for long as he scanned the room, noting the Baldy standing near another unfamiliar man. His face had gone deathly pale, eyes wide with recognition and dread.

Chen Ren’s lips curled into a mocking smile as he spoke, “Thank you for showing me your boss’s location. I couldn’t have found it without your help.”

“You bastard!” Baldy spat, fists clenched at his sides.

“You should shut up. I’m not here to talk to you,” Chen Ren replied smoothly, turning his attention back to Yu Kuang. “But your boss? Now that’s a different story.”

Yu Kuang’s dark eyes narrowed slightly. Chen Ren strolled over to a chair in front of the desk and sat without waiting for permission.

“I guessed you won't ask me to sit. So, I'm just making myself comfortable,” he said.

An oppressive force suddenly began to weigh down on him, rolling off Yu Kuang like a tide. Chen Ren’s muscles tensed, a faint twitch in his jaw the only sign of discomfort. He forced himself to maintain a calm expression, meeting the gang leader’s gaze without a trace of fear.

“If I were in your place, I wouldn’t do that,” Chen Ren said, voice steady despite the pressure threatening to crush him.

Yu Kuang’s eyes gleamed with amusement as the aura intensified, pressing harder against Chen Ren’s body. The air grew thick, almost suffocating, but Chen Ren willed himself not to flinch.

Finally, Yu Kuang broke the silence. “Good to finally meet you, Chen Ren. I was thinking about how to deal with you. But I wouldn’t have guessed you were foolish enough to come here on your own. Now, let me propose a deal I often extend to those in your position.”

His lips curled into a cold smile. “Five thousand silver wen, your perfume formula, and crippling your cultivation. In exchange, I’ll let you live. Isn’t that generous?”

Chen Ren’s smile widened as Baldy’s lips twitched into a forced grin, but he ignored him, eyes fixed on Yu Kuang.

“Sounds like a terrible deal to me,” Chen Ren said calmly. “Let me propose one to you instead. I will spare your life if you write down who exactly asked you to destroy my businesses and steal my formula. I won’t even go as far as to cripple your cultivation. Just give me the name.”

As soon as he completed his sentence, the air in the room thickened and the oppressive aura bore down on Chen Ren once again. His muscles tensed, and he gritted his teeth, feeling every ounce of pressure pushing him down. He did his best to not show it.

Yu Kuang’s smirk grew into a cold smile.

“So much boldness, yet so little strength,” Yu Kuang mocked. “What gives you the confidence to stand against me when you know I could crush you with a single blow?”

Chen Ren managed a strained smile, defiance flickering in his eyes. “Good question,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Why do you think I have the confidence to barge in here and face you when we have realms between us? I believe you know the answer—why don’t you say it?”

Yu Kuang’s brow furrowed as suspicion clouded his features. “I’ve heard of your clan, but they haven’t paid your debts. They won’t come to your rescue.”

“It’s not that,” Chen Ren replied while reaching into his robes. With a deliberate motion, he pulled out a small coin, its surface gleaming with a dragon emblem intricately engraved on the top. He placed it on the table, and the sharp clink of the metal echoed in the stillness, cutting through the tension in the room.

Yu Kuang’s eyes widened, recognition flashing across his features. “A sect crest,” he muttered, as if unable to believe what he was seeing “You’re under a sect.”

Chen Ren gave a simple nod. “Yes. And right now, you’re threatening the core disciple of my master.”

At his words, the air in the room seemed to shift. A subtle glow began to emanate from the pendant hidden beneath his robes, giving off a soft, eerie light. The pressure in the room grew.

Without warning, the pressure intensified—an invisible force far stronger than Yu Kuang’s aura began to bear down on every person in the room. Baldy’s eyes bulged in fear as his knees buckled. His body crumpled to the floor with a heavy thud, his face drained of colour, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

Yu Kuang wasn’t much better off. His own form swayed, his skin growing pale as his strength faltered under the pressure. His legs gave out from beneath him, and he too collapsed to the ground, hands scrambling to hold onto the table for support. His sharp features twisted in horror, the fear now unmistakable in his wide eyes.

Chen Ren’s smile remained, cool and unshaken as Yu Kuang's aura disappeared.

With just one move of his, the balance of power shifted and the tides turned.

“So, how do you like my deal now?” Chen Ren asked, liking the panicked gaze in front of him.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.

33. Scheming

Yu Kuang’s expression was a sight to behold, something Chen Ren could appreciate and wouldn’t forget for as long as he lived. The suffocating aura that had once been so thick in the air, almost crushing him under its weight, had dissipated. It wasn’t just gone; it was replaced by something far colder, far more menacing—an aura that seemed to bleed directly from the necklace around Chen Ren’s neck.

The pendant looked small but it glowed as if there was a power that was trapped in it; pulsing with an energy that seemed to rise and fall like the heartbeat of some ancient beast.

The temperature in the air dropped by several degrees, and for a moment, it all felt too still. Yu Kuang’s eyes instinctively flicked toward the source of that chilling presence, the glimmer of the necklace catching his gaze.

His lips parted, but no words emerged.

His mouth opened and closed again as if he were trying to force out some coherent thought, but it was as though the very air had stolen his voice.

The confidence that had once been so prominent in his eyes shifted to a stunned bewilderment. Behind him, the baldy—who had been so brash moments before—was now kneeling, his face drained of colour, eyes wide with terror. His hands trembled on the ground as though he was too afraid to rise.

The third man was now sprawled unconscious on the ground, his body unable to withstand the pressure of the presence that surged through the air.

Chen Ren let the silence linger for a moment longer, allowing them to feel the full weight of the aura that radiated from him. With just one move, he had made a silent declaration that he was in control and he revelled in the feeling of it.

After a long moment, Chen Ren broke the silence.

“Now, I believe you understand why I was so confident coming here.”

Yu Kuang’s voice was shaky when he spoke, still struggling to compose himself, his words barely a whisper of their usual certainty. “You... you’re a disciple of a Meridian Expansion realm master… one who gave you a spirit artifact with their aura locked inside it…”

Chen Ren’s smile widened slightly, but he made no effort to confirm or deny the claim. “She gave me more than that,” he said lightly, a playful tone dancing in his words. “But I’m not here to reveal all my secrets, and frankly, I’d prefer not to use this artifact on you either. You just left me no choice. Now, let’s move on to the matter at hand—our deal.”

He paused, letting his gaze shift to the kneeling baldy for a second before turning to Yu Kuang, who seemed to be still struggling with the shock. “You know what? I have to say, I respect you a bit. We both are businessmen,” he continued, “Though your business methods are something I would never replicate—honestly, I can’t bring myself to do it—I can’t deny that you’ve got skill to make such a gang. But even the best make mistakes, and this one? This was a wrong deal. And like any good businessman, I’m sure you’ll understand the need to take responsibility for it.”

The words hung in the air, as if to allow them to sink in fully. The temperature around them felt like it had dropped another degree, though it wasn’t from the necklace now, but from the expectation that Chen Ren threw at Yu Kuang. There was no hostility, no more attempts at intimidation. Just the quiet tension of two businessmen, each aware that a line had been crossed.

Yu Kuang’s expression shifted, his arrogance fractured, but his pride remained. His eyes flickered to the baldy and then to the collapsed figure of his other companion, before narrowing on Chen Ren. He opened his mouth again, but this time, he seemed to realise that whatever he said next would matter more than it ever had before. The game had shifted—no longer was it about threats, but about understanding. Chen Ren knew what would come next—a deal.

He gritted his teeth and with narrowed eyes, he visibly clenched and unclenched his wrist. His pride had been shredded, but there was no escaping the reality now. Yu Kuang finally spoke. “I’ll tell you everything.”

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed slightly, sensing the shift in Yu Kuang. “It’s Bai Hu Trade Association’s doing, right?” he asked.

Yu Kuang gave a reluctant nod, his voice tight as he spoke the name that now bound him in this web of deceit. “It’s the chairman’s son, Bai Shen. He agreed to give us a thirty percent cut if we managed to get the formula from you and destroy your business.”

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow, the surprise flickering across his face, but he quickly masked it with a knowing smile. “That’s a lot.”

Yu Kuang’s expression darkened, his voice barely above a whisper. “I got caught in greed. I did everything because of that. Like you said, I made a bad business deal, and now I’m paying for it.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly, his gaze calculating as he processed the information. Bai Shen’s desperation was more than obvious. Offering such a significant cut to an organisation like the Blood Snakes showed just how much was at stake for him. But something about this struck a deeper chord. His thoughts flickered, but he kept his focus sharp, unwilling to let his mind wander too far.

What did catch his attention more than anything was the complete shift in Yu Kuang’s demeanour. The arrogance had crumbled, replaced by something far more grounded—a man faced with the consequences of his actions. But it wasn’t just the sudden shift that intrigued Chen Ren. It was the power behind it, the very same power that was now asserting itself in this space. It wasn’t him that Yu Kuang feared, but the aura of influence that hung over him. That has always been the key in this world—power. Cultivation realms weren’t just a pursuit; they were the bedrock of everything.

Still, Chen Ren didn’t let his musings take hold of him. Instead, he kept his focus steady as he looked directly into Yu Kuang’s eyes. “I need your word. After this, you won’t go after my business, or the Tang Clan’s business.”

Yu Kuang’s mouth opened slightly with hesitation before he nodded, his voice almost hollow. “With your master behind you, I’d be a fool to go after you.”

Chen Ren’s lips twitched in satisfaction, but he didn’t let the matter rest. “Okay, I’ll take your word on it.” Then his expression shifted to something more amused, the corners of his mouth curling in a smirk. “But I’d like it in writing.”

Yu Kuang blinked in confusion. “What?”

Chen Ren’s smirk deepened. “Not just your word that you won’t harm me or my businesses anymore. I want you to put down on paper that Bai Shen was behind all this. That he made this deal with you."

Yu Kuang’s face contorted in discomfort, his eyes darting around the room, as though seeking an escape from the situation. “My reputation will be ruined,” he protested, his voice tight.

Chen Ren shrugged nonchalantly, as if the matter wasn’t worth arguing. “A gang shouldn’t care about that. And you’re getting off easy here, trust me. I’m not using it to go after you or your people. I just need it to take down Bai Shen. Nothing more, nothing less. So just do it.”

He watched Yu Kuang hesitate, his pride clearly battling against the harsh reality of his situation. After a long pause, it seemed like the truth finally sank in. He exhaled sharply, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of his choice pressed down on him. "Fine," he muttered, and Chen Ren could see the bitterness in his expression as the words left his mouth.

Chen Ren gave a single, approving nod, his expression turning satisfied.

The light from the pendant flickered, its power undisturbed by the exchange, yet it had served its purpose—letting Yu Kuang know that any further resistance would be futile. The balance of power had irrevocably changed, and Yu Kuang understood this now more than ever.

He gave a final glance at Chen Ren before moving to a nearby table, where a piece of parchment and a quill were neatly placed.

He sat down, the motions slow, almost looking painful, and began to write. The scratch of the quill against the paper was the only sound in the room, and Chen Ren watched with a quiet sense of satisfaction.

“Sign it, too,” Chen Ren said, his voice calm, but there was an edge to it that left no room for argument. Yu Kuang paused, looking up at him with a slight narrow in his eyes before nodding and continuing. He scrawled his signature at the bottom of the paper, his hand shaking ever so slightly as he pushed it toward Chen Ren.

Chen Ren took the paper, his fingers brushing over it as he read the content. The words were exactly what he had asked for—Yu Kuang’s admission that Bai Shen had orchestrated the entire plot, using the Blood Snakes to destroy his business. There was no mistaking it now. Chen Ren nodded once, satisfied with the document.

He stood up, intending to leave, but as he moved toward the door, he paused. Something caught his eye. To the side, in a chest, he saw a sack filled with silver wen—heavy and full. It gleamed under the dim light, and Chen Ren could sense the amount of wealth it contained.

“What’s that?” he asked, his voice casual, though his eyes were sharp.

Yu Kuang, though clearly unwilling to part with it, didn’t hesitate this time. “One thousand silver wen,” he muttered, almost apologetically.

Chen Ren’s lips curled into a small, satisfied smile. “I’ll take it as compensation for the injuries your men caused on Market Street,” he said, his tone indifferent but firm. “Also, consider it for the mental strain I’ve gone through.” He paused, watching Yu Kuang’s face for any sign of objection. “Oh, and one more thing—try not to send your men into Market Street again. I wouldn’t want to see more of this happening.”

Yu Kuang said nothing, his gaze falling to the ground as though ashamed. He knew better than to argue now. With a reluctant nod, he pushed the pouch over toward Chen Ren.

Without another word, Chen Ren grabbed the sack of silver and moved toward the door. He slid it open and stepped out, heading downstairs.

As he descended to the ground floor, the sounds of the chaos from earlier became clearer. There, in the dim light of the lower hall, the Blood Snakes were scattered across the floor. Bodies were sprawled in every direction, some groaning, others unconscious, their blood staining the wooden floor in pools. The air was thick with the scent of it. Yet, what struck Chen Ren most was the absence of Tang Clan members.

He had instructed them to leave, to retreat after the battle had reached its peak and avoid unnecessary casualties. It seemed they had followed his orders well, as none of them were seen among the fallen.

The Blood Snakes, however, had not fared nearly as well. Their members were bruised, battered, and broken. Though the fight had been brief, the result was decisive.

Chen Ren gave a brief glance over his shoulder as he exited the building, his eyes scanning the area one last time to ensure no one was following. The last thing he needed now was a loose end to tie up. The heavy tension from earlier seemed to dissipate, replaced by a calmness he liked. He felt the weight of the situation easing as the cool night air brushed against his face.

It was then that he felt a sudden movement from his back, a light squirming sensation. Before he could react, a small form popped out, emerging from his clothing. A tiny kitten the size of his palm landed gracefully on his shoulder, its soft fur brushing against his skin. It was Yalan, but in a form far more fragile and small than he had ever seen before— a kitten.

Yalan’s expression was one of clear discomfort, her brow furrowed in frustration. "This form takes too much of my energy," she muttered, her voice sounding almost strained. It was a squeaky, small sound that came from her. "Especially with trying to oppress that unsightly man."

Chen Ren glanced at her, his lips twitching as he resisted the urge to reach out and pet her. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to; he could feel the urge rising within him. The sight of her, so small and cute, was enough to melt anyone’s hard front. But he knew better. This entire plan had succeeded because of Yalan's techniques and the energy she had poured into their success. The last thing he could afford was angering her by treating her like a mere pet.

He kept his gaze steady as he continued walking, allowing her to rest on his shoulder. Yalan, for her part, didn’t seem to mind the perch, though her feline eyes glinted with annoyance at the situation.

Chen Ren spoke softly in his mind, his tone reflective. "That worked pretty well, I think. Yu Kuang totally bought my story."

Yalan’s voice, calm yet laced with a tinge of weariness, echoed in his thoughts. "It’s the truth, either way. Although not a formal disciple, I do teach you."

Chen Ren couldn’t help but smile slightly at her words, but there was no time to linger on that. His attention returned to the task at hand, and he slowed his pace for a moment, speaking aloud this time. "The only lie we told was about the trinket. I wonder how many people would believe that thing is more than just a dim light source."

Yalan’s voice responded with a faint, exasperated sigh. "The trinket... It’s useless. Nothing more than a faint glow. But it served its purpose today."

Chen Ren nodded, his lips curling into a small smirk.

"Yeah, it’s funny how that trinket turned out to be one of the few things the previous Chen Ren actually got right. He bought it from a random merchant, thinking it was some sort of treasure. It was too late before he realised he had been scammed." A chuckle escaped his lips, though it was quiet. "I suppose it’s coming to our rescue now, in a way. Who would have thought?"

Yalan didn’t respond immediately, perhaps contemplating the odd series of events. After a moment, she purred softly, as though giving him silent approval. "It may be useless, but in the right hands... even the most invaluable trinket can have its value."

Chen Ren considered that for a moment, letting her words sink in. It was true, after all. Sometimes, even the most insignificant things could be useful when used correctly.

His thoughts were interrupted as he finally reached the main street, stepping lightly through the dim light cast by lanterns. His mind sharpened as he glanced around, aware that his actions earlier might have left traces. But everything was in place. The plan had gone off without a hitch, and now, it was time to take the next step.

"Alright, let’s keep moving," he muttered, pushing forward into the night. The game was far from over, but it helped that he let himself enjoy the quiet after a hell lot of chaos and blood.

***

Chen Ren walked through the streets, the cool night air brushing against his face, Yalan still perched on his shoulder. The sound of his footsteps echoed softly in the narrow alley, and his mind was already preparing for the next phase. The plan had gone off without a hitch, but there was more to do, more to achieve. The feeling of victory was fleeting—there was always something else to move towards.

As they reached the familiar alley where Tang Xiulan and Yuqiu waited, the two of them immediately relaxed when seeing Chen Ren’s face. Their tense postures softened, the worry they had carried on their shoulders melting away in an instant.

Yuqiu was the first to speak. “How did it go?”

Chen Ren gave a small, satisfied smile. “As good as I could have hoped for.” He reached into his cloak, pulling out the signed document. He handed it over to them, watching their expressions as they unfolded it.

Their eyes widened, brows furrowing in disbelief. Yuqiu, in particular, seemed ready to burst into flames. Her eyes narrowed, a deep frustration flashing across her face as she muttered, “Bai Shen, that bastard…”

Chen Ren chuckled softly, but his voice carried a hint of amusement. “That sort of language doesn’t suit you.” Yuqiu shot him a glare, still bristling with anger. "You seem to know him. Tell me more."

She took a deep breath, her voice steadying, though it was clear she still had unresolved tension. "Bai Shen... he’s the son of the chairman of the Bai Hu Trade Association. Spoiled. Arrogant. Far too confident for someone who’s barely a cultivator. He only has seven spirit roots, but he’s as stubborn as a genius blessed by heavens. Even after taking pills for his cultivation, he's only at second star body forging realm. Last winter, I rejected his marriage proposal, and ever since then, he’s been sending me a letter every week asking me to reconsider. He’s convinced that I’m making a mistake."

Chen Ren smirked, letting out a quiet chuckle. "A love-sick young master. Sounds easy enough to deal with." His thoughts drifted for a moment, considering how he could use this to his advantage. Those obsessed with their pride, were often the most vulnerable to manipulation.

Xiulan, who had been listening closely, looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "But how did you manage to deal with Yu Kuang, young master? A Foundation Realm cultivator would never have written something like that."

Chen Ren's grin widened as he turned his eyes toward her. "I told you I have my ways, but I like to keep my secrets," he said and almost threw her a wink, but stopped himself from doing so. "You’ll find them out one day, if I feel like it." His gaze softened slightly. "For now, we should focus on Bai Shen. I’m itching for a nice face-slapping."

Tang Xiulan blinked at him, clearly taken aback. "Face-slapping?"

Chen Ren’s grin grew wider, the anticipation clear in his eyes.

"You’ll find out. Soon enough."

***

Bai Shen sat across from his father, Bai Hu, in the lavishly decorated office of the Bai Hu Trade Association.

His father’s piercing gaze was fixed on him, scrutinising every detail of his posture. Bai Shen clenched his fists under the table, but he knew better than to show any weakness in front of his father.

"Father," Bai Shen began, his voice brimming with self-assurance, "I’ve tried everything to get their formula and ruin their business. My methods haven’t worked, but don’t worry—soon enough, their formula will be ours. I’ve already made the arrangements. By any day now, I will present it to you. I’ve ensured that the deal is all but done."

Bai Hu remained silent for a moment, his sharp eyes never leaving his son. The older man’s hands were folded neatly in front of him, his face unreadable as he processed the words. Finally, he spoke, his voice low but carrying an undeniable weight. "Are you sure?"

Bai Shen’s chest puffed out as he stood a little straighter, meeting his father's gaze with a defiant grin. "Obviously, Father. You don’t have to worry. You’ll see it for yourself. As your son, I can never lose face." The words left his mouth with a smug assurance, as if he was already victorious.

But before he could continue, a loud voice suddenly boomed from outside the office, cutting through the tension in the room like a blade.

"Bai Hu! Bai Shen! Come out! I, Chen Ren, have come to deal with your unsightly tactics and put an end to them!"

Both father and son froze, their faces turning towards the door at the same time. Bai Shen’s smirk faltered, replaced by confusion. He shot a quick glance at his father, who was already rising from his seat, his expression darkening.

He immediately took a step back due to instincts as he felt the anger coursing through him.

"Let’s go and see what this is about," Bai Hu muttered, his voice barely audible, though the command was clear. Without another word, both of them moved swiftly toward the door.

As they stepped outside, the sight that greeted them made Bai Shen’s blood run cold. Standing before them were Tang Yuqiu, a maid named Tang Xiulan who he had looked into, and Chen Ren—his eyes narrowed.

They radiated an unsettling aura, their expressions calm yet determined.

Bai Shen's mind raced, trying to piece together what had happened. What was this boldness? Who did Chen Ren think he was to speak to them like this? His gaze flicked over to his father, only to find Bai Hu’s face a mask of unreadable calm.

"What’s going on?" Bai Shen asked, his voice tinged with annoyance as he looked down at Chen Ren with a glare.

Chen Ren, standing in the front, did not flinch at the question.

His eyes were locked onto Bai Shen with a dead stare that held something deeper—something cold, calculating.

"Bai Shen," he said, his voice sharp and clear, "pleasure to make your acquaintance. But perhaps in a different situation, I would have treated you better. Today, I have come to teach you a lesson. For your unsightly tactics, for hiring the Blood Snakes to harm my businesses, I challenge you to a trial by might."

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.

Merry Christmas everyone! Love you all! No homo!

34. Faceslapping

In any place, traditions and cultures were paramount, woven into the very core of life. One could not easily mend or break them.

Even on Earth, countless customs bound societies together; this Xianxia world was no different. Here, traditions were upheld with a similar if not higher regard, especially those surrounding conflict resolution. The most notable of these was the Trial by Might—a duel sanctioned by the empire, allowing cultivators to resolve disputes through combat, bound by strict rules to ensure fairness and safety. It was a custom respected by all and carried significant importance among cultivators.

Yet, it was rare to see such a trial between mismatched power levels. To challenge someone weaker was to court dishonour; only equals met in such an arena. Perhaps that explained why, when Chen Ren uttered the words “Trial by Might,” an unnatural silence gripped the courtyard. The father and son duo, Bai Hu and Bai Shen, turned to him with expressions torn between disbelief and suppressed amusement, as though he had just declared the most ridiculous jest.

The servants, who had gathered at the fringes of the courtyard, exchanged bewildered glances. A few gasped while others muttered nervously, unable to fathom that the young man before them would dare invoke such an audacious challenge.

“Trial by Might?” Bai Hu’s deep voice cut through the silence, laced with incredulity. His eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, the golden embroidery of his robe shimmering in the late afternoon sun. “Do you even realise what you are saying, boy?”

Chen Ren met his gaze without wavering. The feeling of the stares, the scepticism, and the murmurs of disbelief pressed down on him like a storm, but he held firm. He was certain of his decision, and nothing could make him change that now.

“I do,” he said with a sturdy voice. “And I have more than enough reason to challenge your son to a Trial by Might.”

A hushed tension fell over the courtyard at his words.

“Preposterous,” Bai Shen muttered, though a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face.

Chen Ren ignored the whispering servants and the stunned expressions around him. He took a deliberate step forward, lifting a scroll in one hand. “To ensure the legitimacy of this challenge,” he continued, “I have already requested the presence of an official from the City Lord’s office.”

As Chen Ren spoke, he gestured to the back where Liu Wen stood alongside an older gentleman, an official from the City Lord’s office. The man’s role was unmistakable: he was a special official tasked with overseeing Trials by Might, a position that ensured such matches adhered to the laws and traditions of Cloud Mist City and Kalian Empire. Given the city’s proximity to a sect, these trials were not uncommon.

Bai Shen’s eyes widened with shock, darting between Liu Wen, the official, and Chen Ren.

“You’re claiming I’ve done something deserving of a Trial by Might? Where’s your proof?” Bai Shen yelled, his voice strained with disbelief. “And aren’t you ashamed of yourself, challenging me? I'm only a second-star body forging realm cultivator, while you’re a fourth-star one.”

Chen Ren shrugged at that, acting nonchalant at his words as if they meant nothing.

“No, I’m not ashamed. I believe it’s you who should be.” He held up a note, the parchment swayed gently with the wind passing by as he spoke. “Not only did you try to seize our supply lines—which, while legal, is underhanded—but you didn’t stop there. You sent the Blood Snakes to destroy my businesses and even threatened the lives of my employees and business partner Tang Yuqiu, the daughter of the Tang Clan’s head Tang Jihao. I have it here in writing, evidence that implicates you in these acts. And I believe it’s sufficient grounds for this challenge, unless you’d prefer I take this matter to the city guards.”

Both Bai Hu and Bai Shen paled visibly at Chen Ren’s declaration. Bai Hu’s composure cracked as he rushed to descend the stairs, snatching the note from Chen Ren’s grasp and scanning its contents with frantic eyes.

Chen Ren couldn’t help but notice the slight shakiness of the old man’s hands.

“Don’t try to destroy it,” Chen Ren warned. “The official has already reviewed it. You’ll only make things worse if you do.”

“This… this is fake,” Bai Hu sputtered, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his doubt.

“Ask Yu Kuang if you think it’s fabricated,” Chen Ren retorted. “Your son is well-acquainted with him, after all.”

Bai Hu’s gaze shifted to Bai Shen, who stood frozen in place, eyes wide and face ashen as the weight of the accusations crashed down upon him.

At that moment, the official stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension. “Bai Hu, Bai Shen, the letter is authentic. We have Yu Kuang’s signature in our records, and it matches those from his time in our custody decades ago, well before he formed his gang. Everything Chen Ren has claimed has been verified. There are indeed enough incidents to justify a Trial by Might, even with a disparity in star levels. Both are in the same realm, so it stands.”

Chen Ren’s lips curled into a subtle smile. “If you don’t want a Trial by Might, I can take this proof straight to the city guard. I’m sure Tang Jihao will also pursue the matter, considering his daughter’s life was nearly threatened.

“That’s not true!” Bai Shen blurted out, “It was never meant to harm Yuqiu.”

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow. Before he could respond, Tang Yuqiu stepped forward, her eyes fierce. “Oh really? Then what was it? Do you think I’m unaware of how you despise me and wish me gone because I rejected your proposal? And don't you dare call me Yuqiu!”

Bai Shen’s face flushed, and he stammered, “It’s not like that. My intentions for you are—”

“You can try to persuade her again later,” Chen Ren interrupted sharply. He heard some snickers from behind, coming from the crowd who were now gathered around. “Right now, we’re discussing the terms of the Trial by Might.” He turned to Bai Hu, who seemed deep in thought as he weighed his options.

His eyes scanned the parchment again and again as if he was trying to find something to get out of this mess. But it was foolproof. He could do anything, but accept Chen Ren's terms.

Finally, Bai Hu looked up, his expression guarded. “What do you want in exchange for sparing my son?”

Chen Ren’s eyes hardened. “I won’t kill him—that’s not my way. I only want him to fight. The prize will be five thousand silver wen.”

“Five thousand?” Bai Hu’s voice rose, incredulous. “You must be joking.”

Before he could protest further, Tang Yuqiu stepped in, her voice resolute. “Originally, I wanted to claim your businesses, but since Bai Shen doesn’t truly own them, that’s not possible. If you value his life, put up the five thousand silver wen as the prize. It’s simple: if you don’t want to lose your money, ensure your son wins.”

The official cleared his throat, glancing between the parties. “Is this acceptable to both sides?”

The tense air in the courtyard was thick. Chen Ren could feel it, and he was sure the father and son duo too knew what was coming.

It was evident by how Bai Hu’s clenched jaw and white knuckles betrayed the turmoil swirling in his chest as he turned sharply towards his son, Bai Shen. His eyes burned with a ferocious mixture of frustration and helplessness. Bai Shen, standing at the edge of the stairs, trembled under his father’s glare, his voice a weak whisper.

“Father... you’re not really going to agree, are you? Do you understand what will happen to me?”

Bai Hu’s fists tightened, his face a storm of fury and defeat. “You idiot,” he growled, the words dripping with venom. “They have actual proof, Bai Shen. Do you think I could stop this once it reaches the City Lord’s ears? My reputation will be shattered, no matter what. All of this... all of it because of you.” He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a long shadow over his son. “I can’t afford to make an enemy of the law. Do you understand that?” He paused for a moment and scanned his son’s face. “He said he won’t kill you. So just, get it over with.”

His son’s expression faltered, and the fear deepened in his eyes. “But what if he cripples me, Father?” Bai Shen’s voice wavered, as though speaking louder might make the threat more real.

Bai Hu’s gaze softened, before he could reply, Chen Ren spoke up.. “I won’t kill you, but I will make sure you can’t get up from your bed for the next few months.”

Bai Shen paled, the blood draining from his face. “Please... no. Please, I beg you.” His hands shook violently, his knees visibly threatening to give way beneath him.

Bai Hu’s patience seemed to have worn thin as he huffed at his son. With a sharp motion, he gestured to the servant standing nearby. “Get me a spear. The best quality one you can find.”

The servant, without any question or hesitation, hurried off, returning moments later with a gleaming spear, its blade polished and sharp enough to draw blood with the lightest of touches.

Bai Shen gasped loudly as his gaze fell upon the weapon, his face turning pale.

“Take it,” Bai Hu commanded, pushing the spear into his son’s trembling hands. “Get it over with.”

Bai Shen barely held the spear, his fingers seemingly numb with fear.

“Get the best healer. We’ll need him afterward,” Bai Hu ordered loudly.

With that, the trial was set to begin. The crowd around them parted, giving space for the trial to begin. The official, standing tall in the centre, raised his hand, announcing the trial by might.

"The allegations against Bai Shen will be settled here today. Bai Hu, in his wisdom and to save his son from further disgrace, has taken full responsibility in his son's place." His gaze swept across the spectators, ensuring every ear caught the gravity of the moment. "This trial, unlike others, will not result in death or permanent crippling. The only outcome will be one of victory or defeat, based on the ability to continue. The victor will be awarded five thousand silver wen, a sum that should not be taken lightly."

He paused, his eyes flickering toward Bai Hu and his son, both standing on opposite sides, tension thick in the air. "The fight will end when one combatant can no longer continue. Whether through submission or incapacity, when one fighter is unable to stand, the contest is over."

Bai Shen’s gaze locked with the figure standing before him, Chen Ren. There was no warmth in his eyes, only cold calculation. He swallowed hard, his throat tight as he made one last desperate attempt to sway his opponent.

“I have no intention of harming you, Chen Ren,” Bai Shen called out, his voice trembling, but still trying to sound dignified. “You must understand—if you hurt me, you will never recover from the humiliation you’ve brought upon us. No relationship will ever be formed between the Bai Hu Trade Association and you.”

Chen Ren remained calm at his words, but his lips curved into a smirk. “I don’t care about your association,” he replied flatly, his tone devoid of empathy. “I’ve already made my decision.”

Bai Shen’s face twisted with frustration, but desperation clawed at him. “Then take the prize money, spare me, and walk away. That’s all I ask.”

Chen Ren’s eyes darkened, and he stepped forward. “I won’t. You tried to harm me first and I need to give it back. That's the way of the world.”

Bai Shen’s face twisted with rage, his nostrils flaring up. “In that case...” His grip on the spear tightened, his knuckles turning white. “I will show you the might of the future leader of the Bai Hu Trade Association!”

With a loud noise, he surged forward, the spear aimed at Chen Ren’s chest, his movements fueled by desperation and the last remnants of his pride.

But Chen Ren had already seen the strike coming. It was too slow, too predictable. With a casual sidestep, he evaded the spear’s thrust effortlessly.

Bai Shen let out a squeal like a little girl as the spear sliced through empty air.

Before he could react further, Chen Ren’s hand flashed out.

A sharp slap echoed through the courtyard, ringing like a clap of thunder. Chen Ren watched as Bai Shen’s head snapped to the side, the force of the strike leaving a deep red mark across his cheek.

The man glared at him, his eyes burning with anger, but it was clear from the tremor in his stance that he wasn’t prepared for the level of humiliation he was about to endure.

The crowd gasped collectively, murmurs rippling through the onlookers, but Chen Ren didn’t pay them any mind.

His focus was solely on the man lying before him. Bai Shen’s face twisted in shock as his body flew backward, crashing into the stone with a sickening thud. The impact knocked the breath out of him, and Chen Ren could see the disbelief written across his face.

For a brief moment, Bai Shen struggled on the ground, his fingers twitching as he reached for his spear. Chen Ren could see the panic begin to settle into Bai Shen’s chest, his desperation making his fingers tremble as they brushed against the shaft of his weapon.

Chen Ren moved with an inhuman speed, his voice cold and cutting. "No."

With a quick motion, he stomped down hard on the shaft of the spear, pinning it to the ground with a sharp crack. Bai Shen’s weapon was useless now, and the man was completely at his mercy. Chen Ren stepped closer, watching as Bai Shen’s shallow breaths came in quick, panicked bursts.

“Please… don’t,” Bai Shen’s voice was barely a whisper, a mix of fear and desperation, but it held no power. Chen Ren saw the way the words faltered in his mouth, his plea hanging in the air and falling uselessly at his feet.

"I'm just teaching you the meaning of face slapping." Chen Ren said.

As he spoke, his hand lashed out once more. Whap! Another sharp slap echoed across the courtyard, Bai Shen’s head snapping to the side with the force of it. Chen Ren watched the man’s face redden, his eyes widening as the sting of the strike hit him once again.

Slap!

Before Bai Shen could recover, Chen Ren slapped him again, his palm connecting with the other side of his face. Each slap landed with a sickening force, and Bai Shen’s body jerked with every blow. The crowd’s stunned silence was only broken by the sound of slaps, each one making the man’s face swell more, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Chen Ren could see the fear now, the trembling in Bai Shen’s hands as he tried to shield his face, but it was futile. Every time Bai Shen tried to move, tried to beg, another slap came.

Each one was more brutal than the last, and Bai Shen’s pleas for mercy were drowned out by the sharp cracks of Chen Ren’s hand against his skin.

Thwack!

The man’s body jerked again as Chen Ren slapped him for the final time, his movements deliberate, his expression hard and unwavering. Bai Shen had completely given up now, his face swollen, his body slack and defeated.

Bai Hu, his father, watched helplessly, the anger in his eyes turning to a bitter resignation. His voice broke through the chaos, desperate and hoarse. “Spare him, Chen Ren! Please!”

But Chen Ren’s gaze never wavered from Bai Shen. He kicked him once, sending him stumbling backwards toward the stairs, the force of the blow sending him crashing against the stone steps.

Bai Hu stepped forward, his expression torn between anger and helplessness, but Chen Ren’s voice rang out.

“I am already sparing him enough.” He turned his back on Bai Hu, his focus returning to Bai Shen, who was now sprawled unconscious on the ground, his face a complete mess of blood and drool hanging from the corners of his lips. His face—it was an ugly crimson.

The official, still standing off to the side, quickly declared, “The match ends! Chen Ren wins!”

Bai Hu’s face twisted with a barely contained rage, but he swallowed it down. "Get him to the healer now, quick!" he barked at his servants, the desperation evident in his voice. “Get him a bed, get him anything—just make sure he’s alive!”

But before Bai Hu could turn to leave, Chen Ren’s voice stopped him. “Consider this a warning, Bai Hu,” he said, his tone calm, yet icy. "I’ll always have the letter, and if you try anything... I’ll remember my grudges. The next Trial by Might will not have the rule of no killing." His eyes bore into Bai Hu with an unspoken promise. It came out exactly how he wanted—cold and ruthless. “Now, why don’t you give me my money?”

Bai Hu’s teeth ground together, his mouth opening as if to retort, but then his gaze shifted to his son, who was still lying unconscious on the stone floor. With a deep, reluctant sigh, he turned to his servant. "Get me a bag with the money," he ordered.

As Bai Hu personally helped lift his son onto a stretcher, the servants quickly moved to push it up the stairs, their faces drawn with worry. Bai Hu sighed defeatedly and walked slowly behind the son, his eyes never leaving the latter’s battered form.

A few moments later, one of the servants returned, a heavy bag of coins in hand. She handed it over to Chen Ren, and bowed subtly before running back.

Chen Ren took the bag, his fingers feeling the weight of it, the sound of coins clinking inside almost mocking Bai Hu’s defeat.

“Good job with that bastard,” Tang Yuqiu’s voice broke through the silence, her footsteps approaching from behind. Chen Ren turned to see her and Xiulan walking toward him, both of them wearing expressions of approval. "I doubt Bai Shen will try anything now."

Chen Ren’s lips curled slightly, the satisfaction of the victory lingering in his eyes. “Probably not. His face will take time to recover. And every time he looks in the mirror, he’ll remember this. Either way, Bai Hu won’t bother us anymore.” His gaze drifted toward the retreating figure of Bai Hu, then back at the bag of coins in his hands. A wide smile plastered itself on his face. “I thought businesses will help me pay back my debt, but I should have just challenged an idiotic young master. With this, our perfume shop will thrive more and my major worry is gone. I'm debt free!”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.

35. Chosen

Chen Ren had known relief before. It was the kind of thing that moved through your very soul, unshackling burdens you didn’t realise you carried. He had felt it when he pocketed his first paycheck from a part-time job, a small wad of bills that carried the scent of hard-earned freedom. He had felt it when the girl he had nervously asked to prom said yes, that too, with a broad smile on her face. He had even felt it after the merciful end to a week-long battle with loose motions that had left him clutching his stomach.

But none of those moments came close to what he felt now. The suffocating heaviness of debt that had started to eat him had been swept away.

The debt hadn’t even been his to begin with, yet he had never imagined he could repay it so quickly. The perfume shop had proven to be a gold mine, its success bolstered unexpectedly by the blunders of others. Between Yu Kuang’s greed and Bai Shen’s idiocy, Chen Ren had managed to secure six thousand silver wen in just two days—more than enough to settle his history to Feng Ming and the other creditors.

For the first time in what felt like ages, he was truly free.

With that freedom came opportunity. His perfume business was thriving, selling an average of a hundred bottles a week. Each one, priced between 5 and 8 silver wen, brought in a weekly income of five hundred to eight hundred silver wen. Even after deducting expenses for employees and herbs, the profits were staggering. His purse, once perpetually empty, was now steadily filling.

But freedom wasn’t just about money.

For him, it meant finally being able to turn his attention to something he had been putting off—his cultivation. He wanted to push through his breakthrough and get stronger.

In his quiet room, Yalan sat perched on his desk. The ambers in her eyes dragged his attention like usual.

“I believe you’ve practised enough now,” she said with a purr, gaining his full attention. “You’ve been in enough fights to temper your foundation. It’s time to connect to your star space and reflect on your dao. Unlike martial cultivators, who train their bodies and absorb qi, your path relies on simply gaining more and more wealth and reward you for it. Your recent gains should make it possible for you to push forward. I’m curious to see if you’ll skip any stages this time.”

Chen Ren moved to the centre of the room and settled into a meditative position. He looked up at her and tilted his head.

“Do you think I can?” he asked simply.

Yalan nodded and continued to lick her paw gracefully. That was the thing about this cat—even the most boring, usual-cat actions were performed with an air of superiority. She’s not just a cat, after all… But– Focus. Back to my cultivation.

“Yes. The success of the perfume business is a breakthrough in itself. It’s evidence of your growth, both as a cultivator and a merchant. From what I recall, the farmer cultivator I spoke of gained advancements by achieving milestones—whether it was cultivating special plants or acquiring rare farm animals. Your system is similar, though how it manifests will be unique to you.”

Chen Ren chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Alright, let’s see what comes of it. The last time I entered the star space, it was… weird.”

He closed his eyes and took a steady breath.

The star space was where he had first glimpsed the dragon, its majestic form entwined with the essence of the stars. He had wondered if it was something unique to him, but apparently every cultivator had it; a mind space of sorts that they found themselves in while cultivating.

And now, it was his turn.

Chen Ren closed his eyes, all his thoughts fading away as he drew in a long, steady breath. The qi in his dantian began to swirl, a gentle current that gradually built into a flowing river, carrying warmth through his meridians. Each inhale deepened his focus, grounding him in the hum of life coursing through him. His heartbeat slowed, his thoughts quieted, and soon the world dissolved into stillness.

When he opened his eyes again, he stood within his star space. The sheer vastness of it struck him once again, as it always did. The space stretched endlessly, a boundless void filled with floating stars that twinkle and danced like fireflies in the night. The qi here was thick, tangible, and alive, moving like a threat through the air.

Chen Ren tilted his head back, gazing at the stars that filled the sky above him. They were luminous, their glow-like steady beacons that pulsed in harmony with the energy within him. For a moment, he stood there, watching and wondering at the mysterious realm born from his own mind.

The beauty of it was humbling.

Then, as he continued to watch, the stars began to dim one by one. Their glow ebbed, their light faded. A quiet unease settled over him as he looked on, but it didn’t last. Two stars remained, their lights still twinkling.

Chen Ren’s breath hitched as understanding dawned upon him, clear and instinctive. These two stars represented his businesses—the noodle stall and the perfume shop. They were the milestones that had propelled him along his dao.

His gaze lingered on them, remembering his journey. He closed his eyes, focusing first on the noodle stall and how he had done it. It had been easy; making use of a delicacy that wasn’t in this world, improving ways he’d made the noodles and selling it till it stuck.

He’d spun the story, explaining that the noodles were an exotic eastern delicacy–which was half the truth, but it had worked great as his marketing and rumours had spread, propelling more people towards his stall.

Was it morally right? Maybe. Maybe not. His words hadn’t harmed anyone. So, while it might not have been entirely right, it wasn’t wrong either. It was cleverness, and it had made the stall a success.

His dao’s response made one thing clear; he shouldn’t blindly follow a path of righteousness. Instead, he needed to be shrewd—not in a way that harmed others, but in a way that allowed him to make things work more efficiently.

That was the lesson the noodle stall had given him— foreign knowledge and innovation weren’t enough. To make something flourish, it had to be marketed, positioned, and delivered smartly. Without a story, even the best products would languish in obscurity.

He didn’t want that for his products. So, he took the best out of what he learnt.

The more he thought about it, the larger amount of qi he felt entering him and boosting his strength. With open arms, he absorbed it before his focus shifted to the other star, the perfume shop.

Unlike the noodle stall, this business had been a gamble in a saturated market, where competition was fierce and innovation was rare. Yet Chen Ren had seen what others overlooked. His mind rewound to the moment he had first spotted the gap in the market—a yearning from the middle class, those caught between luxury and necessity, for a taste of refinement that didn’t demand a king’s ransom.

He’d acted swiftly, applying principles that vibrated deeply within his dao. Utility maximisation.

It was a study that talked about how customers looked for the highest amount of satisfaction while buying a product. And he had placed the price of the perfume at that point where it gave the most benefits while giving him a good profit.

The perfumes were bridges between aspiration and affordability, the scents were made to offer a hint of elegance without the suffocating price tag. It was an untapped demand, and he had delivered.

The market responded, filling his coffers faster than he’d dared to dream. But it wasn’t without its trials. And he had learned another lesson— wealth, like power, needed protection. A true businessman was a guardian, who should be prepared to defend what he built.

As his thoughts solidified, the star seemed to shimmer in approval.

Another rush of qi entered him, this time sharper, more concentrated. It filled him to the brim.

And yet, his eyes couldn’t help but wander. Beyond the two glowing stars were countless others, faint and distant, like unlit candles waiting for a spark. They hovered in the darkness, dormant yet brimming with potential. Each represented a business, an opportunity yet to be seized, waiting for him to master and integrate them into his dao.

This was the essence of his path— to conquer the stars, one by one, forging a constellation of wealth, ingenuity, and ambition. But it wasn’t just about gathering riches—it was about the journey, the challenges, and the mastery required to shape these stars into something greater.

As he gazed deeper into the void, something shifted. The stars, once scattered and unassuming, began to align. Slowly, they formed a shape—a massive, coiled dragon, its body stretching to fit the image.

The two glowing stars became its eyes, gazing down upon him with an intensity that sent shivers racing down his spine.

The pressure that followed was indescribable, not just physical but pressed against his very soul. Chen Ren’s knees buckled, and for a moment, he struggled to breathe, yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the dragon’s eyes. They held something, he felt both small and significant, as though his entire existence had been laid bare.

Then, a voice echoed—not in the air, but in his mind.

"Child, you are... chosen."

The words shook his very mind. Chosen? For what? The dragon’s gaze bore into him, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he saw the stars behind it begin to flicker, their light about to vanish.

But before he could comprehend what it meant, the star space began to dissolve. Everything including the stars, the dragon and the voice started getting sucked into a void—or was the void always there?

When Chen Ren opened his eyes, he was back in the quiet of his room, his breaths ragged and his body drenched in sweat. The qi within him felt denser, yet his mind raced with questions.

He clenched his fists and blinked, disoriented, as his senses reoriented to the physical world.

But what hit him first wasn’t the light—it was the smell. A pungent, acrid stench assaulted his nose, making him grimace.

His eyes darted down, and to his horror, he saw a viscous black liquid pooling beneath him, ticky and foul. He scrambled to his feet, slipping slightly in the mess, and turned to Yalan, who stood nearby, licking her paws like nothing had happened, but her nose moved as if she was disgusted by him.

“What… what is this?” Chen Ren stammered, gesturing to the puddle.

Yalan raised an eyebrow and leaned slightly away from the smell. “Your extremities,” she said matter-of-factly, her tail flicking in the air as if to dispel the odour. “Advancement purges impurities from your body. These are the toxins you've accumulated over the years. Your body is refining itself, becoming more efficient, more… powerful.”

Chen Ren frowned, still staring at the dark muck. “How does that even work? I mean, all the science I know doesn’t—”

She cut him off with an exasperated meow. “I don’t know your ‘science,’ and frankly, I don’t care. Be glad you’ve skipped three stars and now you’re at the seventh. And,” she added, wrinkling her nose, “go take a bath. You stink.”

She looked cute with that little nose, but God, the smell. It could kill someone.

Before he could get up and move towards the shower, one of her sentences replayed in his mind. His brow furrowed as he turned back to her. “Wait… did you say three stars? I skipped three stars?”

Yalan nodded, her expression softening slightly as she observed him. “Yes. You’ve surpassed three stages and are now at the seventh star body forging realm. You’re rapidly approaching the threshold of the next realm.” Her voice carried a note of genuine admiration. “Congratulations. I haven’t seen someone with your talent advance so quickly before. It’s… remarkable.”

He sank back onto the floor, the realisation hitting him like a tidal wave. Three stars. Skipping stages. The seventh. He glanced down at his body, even through the layer of grime, noticing subtle changes. His muscles felt denser, his movements lighter, his senses sharper. Even his skin seemed to glow faintly. And underneath the filth, there was a strength that hadn’t been there before.

He clenched his fists, relishing the energy coursing through him. The desire to test his strength burned within him, but before that, a lingering question nagged at the back of his mind.

“Yalan,” he said, looking up at her. “After I bathe, I need your opinion on something.”

“What is it?”

He hesitated, then asked, “Do people normally… see dragons in their star spaces?”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she seemed out of a response. “A what?” she demanded, leaning closer, but trying not to get herself onto the pool of blackness.

“A dragon,” Chen Ren repeated, watching her reaction closely. “I saw one. It spoke to me.”

Yalan stared at him, her lips parting as if to say something, then closing again. Finally, she muttered, “You… you’re serious.”

“As serious as I smell right now,” Chen Ren said dryly, gesturing at the puddle beneath him.

Yalan didn't say anything for a while, stepping back away from him, but her eyes glued to him. Questions seemed to swirl on her face.

Finally, she spoke. “Go take a bath. We will talk after.”

Chen Ren sighed but didn’t argue. He wasn’t about to spend another second covered in whatever this gunk was.

***

On a late afternoon, Gu Tian strolled leisurely through Cloud Mist City, his dark robe brushing the dusty ground as his sword glinted faintly against his back. The crowd parted subtly as he passed, more out of instinct than recognition, their eyes catching the strange, quiet aura he exuded.

He stopped at a roadside stall displaying countless bulbous fruits, their golden skins speckled with red and green streaks. He smelled the sweet aroma from the fruits and a temptation born in his heart. One hard to resist.

And sometimes, the only way to get over a temptation, is to give in to that.

As his pitch-black eyes settled on the shopkeeper, the man froze mid-gesture, his usual sales patter dying in his throat. The intensity of Gu Tian’s gaze was heavy, like staring into an abyss that gazed back.

The shopkeeper’s hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his grip on a basket, sweat beading at his temple.

Then Gu Tian smiled—just a small, relaxed curve of his lips—and the tension eased like a breeze.

“How much for one of these?” Gu Tian asked.

The shopkeeper quickly recovered, clearing his throat and picking up one of the fruits, which shimmered in the sunlight. “Honourable Cultivator, this is a Heavenly Dew Fruit, brought all the way from the famed Xuanshan Valley. It’s ten copper wen. It’s said to enhance one’s focus and stabilise—”

“Just give me one,” Gu Tian interrupted with a wave of his hand. “Your sweet talk just sickens me.”

The shopkeeper paled slightly but hurried to comply, plucking the finest fruit from the pile and placing it in Gu Tian’s hand.

Gu Tian knew that the man barely noticed the smooth weight of a coin dropped into his palm, his eyes flicking back to the sword strapped to Gu Tian’s back.

He bit into the fruit without ceremony, the juice bursting in his mouth with a mix of sweetness and tartness. He chewed slowly, savouring the unexpected sweetness, before glancing back at the shopkeeper.

“So,” Gu Tian said between bites, “how’s the city doing these days? Heard anything interesting? Something that might excite a young cultivator like me?”

The shopkeeper hesitated, his eyes darting around as if searching for eavesdroppers. His hands fidgeted nervously as he leaned slightly closer. “Well…” he began in a whisper, “there are a few things people have been talking about.”

Gu Tian nodded, but waited patiently, allowing the shopkeeper to respond.

“The city tournament—it’s happening in three weeks,” the shopkeeper said. “A lot of promising young cultivators are expected to join. Always draws a crowd, and the rewards are said to be extraordinary this year.”

“Hmm.” Gu Tian’s tone was noncommittal, but his chewing slowed slightly as he considered this.

“And…” the shopkeeper continued, his voice dropping even lower, “there’s trouble with the Bai Hu Association. Apparently, their young master hired a gang to damage someone’s business. But… he lost a Trial by Might after angering the cultivator who owned it. Big scandal, they say. People are still whispering about it.”

Gu Tian smirked faintly, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “Always entertaining to see arrogance backfire.”

The shopkeeper nodded nervously, then hesitated before sharing the last piece of news. “And…” He swallowed hard, his voice barely audible. “There’s… been a killer in the upper city. They’re targeting the wealthy—nobles, merchants. Three victims so far. The city guard’s investigating, but no one’s been caught yet. People are scared.”

Gu Tian took another bite of the fruit. The sweetness now tasted sharper, almost metallic.

His eyes glinted with interest, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. “A serial killer?” he asked, taking interest in the last piece of information.

The shopkeeper leaned closer, his nose almost touching his. Gu Tian wanted to move, but he held himself back, listening to the man's words.

“Yes, honourable cultivator. There have been reports of similar types of bodies being found—ripped apart and sucked dry, like something unnatural killed it. They’re saying a demonic cultivator is loose in the city.” He glanced nervously around. “Some even say the city lord is considering delaying the tournament because of it. But he’s resisting—doesn’t want to show weakness.”

Gu Tian chuckled softly, the sound more amused than concerned. “Certainly interesting times ahead,” he said, brushing the shopkeeper’s tension aside. His eyes gleamed again as he continued, “Tell me about this tournament. Where can I register?”

The shopkeeper straightened slightly, clearly more comfortable with this topic.

“You’ll need to visit the city lord’s office to sign up. It’s mostly for body-forging realm cultivators and lower-star qi-gathering realm ones. It’s a competition meant for the young—no high-star qi-gathering cultivators join in, to avoid losing face. The Soaring Sword Sect is sponsoring it, handing out prizes. The city lord’s throwing in a big plot of land outside the city, too. There is similar stuff to win, some artefacts and lots of spirit stones.”

Gu Tian nodded thoughtfully, flipping the shopkeeper a one copper wen. “Thanks for the information.”

The shopkeeper bowed his head slightly, relief visible on his face as Gu Tian turned to leave. Strolling down the busy street, Gu Tian bit into the fruit again, the juices running down his hand. He savoured the sweetness, his steps light as he reached into his robe and pulled out another fruit—one that hadn’t been paid for, but sneaked from the stall. He bit into it without breaking stride, a carefree grin spreading across his face.

As he walked, a faint whisper slithered into his ear, cold and sharp. “Don’t you dare enter the tournament.”

Gu Tian didn’t break his stride, addressing the voice in a low tone. “And why not?”

The whisper turned into a low hiss. “There will be many cultivators there, even the high-level ones will be watching. If we’re caught, it won’t end well for either of us.”

Gu Tian chuckled. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here to mask my demonic qi, aren’t you? Besides…” His eyes flicked up, his voice taking on a playful lilt. “Didn’t you hear? The Soaring Sword Sect and the city lord are offering rewards. It could be that what we’re looking for would appear in the tournament.”

The ghostly voice fell silent, its reluctance hanging in the air. After a moment, it spoke again, resigned. “Fine. But if tonight’s raid is successful, we leave the city afterward. Agreed?”

Gu Tian’s smirk widened. “We’re raiding another clan tonight, then?”

The ghost’s voice hummed in the thrill. “Yes. I overheard a conversation at the inn while you were asleep. There’s a clan in the city—the Feng Clan. Their young lord deals in artefacts. We might find what we’re looking for there.”

Gu Tian licked the juice from his lips and then moved to his hands, doing the same motion shamelessly, his excitement barely contained. “Sweet. Let’s hope that the young lord puts up a decent fight. I could use a warm-up before the tournament.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.

36. Spirit Manifestation

Yalan gazed over Chen Ren, her amber eyes narrowing as she watched him move through the bustling market.

Chen Ren walked between the crowd as if he was used to the chaos that it brought, and his steps were mindful to match his calm exterior amidst the noises. A faint smirk tugged at her lips—he didn’t belong here, not in this world, not in this life, and yet he carried himself as though he had mastered it.

A strange human, she mused, flicking her tail. Even for a man from another world, he was peculiar. Whispers of lost souls, like leaves caught in the wind, had reached her over the centuries—otherworldly beings stumbling into this realm, often chasing grand dreams of martial supremacy.

Most were snuffed out before their stories could be written, their fragile ambitions shattered by the sheer challenge of the path they sought. Yet, Chen Ren had defied expectation.

Just days after his arrival, he had tethered himself to a dao so foreign, so unorthodox, that she—an ancient spirit beast with lifetimes of knowledge—could scarcely comprehend it. It wasn’t as if she was used to understanding outsiders, but this one walked a path utterly unlike any she had seen. A dao rooted in mundane simplicity yet profound in its execution, one that didn’t shimmer with celestial glory.

Despite his mediocre spirit roots—laughably weak by the standards of heavenly geniuses—his progress was nothing short of extraordinary.

She could only attribute it to his sharp mind and the unusual knowledge of the world he called Earth, a place she could only imagine as chaotic and incomprehensible. Where others spent decades refining techniques and seeking enlightenment, Chen Ren’s growth seemed effortless, as if the very heavens dared not obstruct his way. Or perhaps it was because no one else dared to walk the path he had chosen, leaving him unchallenged in a field that defied traditional cultivation.

Yalan’s whiskers twitched. The surprises never ceased. For all her airs of superiority and her role as his so-called master, she couldn’t help but feel like the one being taught.

Watching him shape his strange dao, his every step a quiet revelation, left her questioning centuries of knowledge she’d once thought infallible. But of course, her pride as a celestial cat would never allow her to admit such thoughts—not even to herself.

Instead, she lifted her head high, feigning indifference as the human continued forward, his stride strong and unbothered, even though he clearly knew she was watching his every step.

She had tried to rationalise her astonishment, pinning it on the circumstances surrounding him. Perhaps it was his otherworldly origins, or the unorthodox nature of his dao. But then, he had mentioned the dragon—a dragon—in his star space. A spirit manifestation this early was something entirely unheard of.

A part of her, ever wary, wondered if he might have lied. Humans, after all, were prone to embellishments, and she had encountered countless who puffed up their pride with falsehoods. But no—Chen Ren wouldn’t do that to her. He had always been honest to her. If he said he had seen the dragon, then it was real.

But how? Why Chen Ren?

These questions raged in her mind, tightening with every thought. She had heard of cultivators manifesting spiritual projections, their daos taking form in the astral plane. Yet this was a feat reserved for those who had transcended boundaries of the lower realms, their foundations honed over decades or even centuries. For him to achieve it now, so soon after stepping into cultivation, defied all logic.

Her tail twitched as she turned her gaze inward, her eyes gleaming faintly as she peered into the depths of his being.

His soul sat steady and unassuming within his dantian, surrounded by spirit roots so pitifully weak that any sect worth its name would have dismissed him without a second glance. And yet… her sharp eyes detected the faint hum of something more. It wasn’t that his roots had improved—no, they were as mundane as ever. But his dao... the path he carved out for himself seemed to bridge the gap, compensating for what nature had denied him.

She flicked her tail in thought, her steps light and unhurried as she walked beside him. The wind danced through her fur, but her mind remained tethered to the mystery that was Chen Ren. Just what had the heavens seen in him to gift him such an absurdly early revelation?

Before her thoughts could spiral further, Chen Ren’s voice broke the silence. He spoke to her through his mind, knowing that if he spoke alone he might as well appear as a madman. “So… what exactly is spirit manifestation?”

Yalan’s ear twitched, her feline features betraying a brief flash of irritation. She had known he would ask. Of course he would—he always asked questions.

With a sigh, she cast him the sternest look she could muster, one perfected over centuries. It was the same look she had honed when raising a litter of spirit kittens, training them before releasing them into the world.

Her amber eyes narrowed. “Spirit manifestation,” she began in a clipped tone, “As its name implies, spirit manifestation is the appearance of a spirit within you. When a cultivator walks their dao, they occasionally connect to spirits that align with their path. That’s why high-realm cultivators often summon spirits when they execute their techniques—but it’s rare. Exceptionally rare. Certainly not something someone like you should be able to achieve.”

She glanced at him pointedly, her amber eyes glinting with disbelief. “And a dragon, no less? The last dragon died three centuries ago. Even then, it was only a wyvern—not a true dragon. Do you have any idea how absurd this sounds?”

Chen Ren scratched his head, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Wait, so dragons are real?” Then, as if realising the answer himself, he smacked his forehead with enough force to draw curious looks from passersby. He looked stupid doing that, but she had gotten used to his eccentricities by now. “Of course they are. This world has everything.”

Yalan rolled her eyes but refrained from commenting. He turned back to her, his expression brightening. This man was like a curious cub, almost trying to get to the bottom of every question he had. “So the dragon in my star space… that’s my spirit manifestation?”

“Maybe,” Yalan said slowly, her tone unusually serious. “But this is well beyond anything I know. If it truly is a dragon, that’s… significant. A dragon being alive is already monumental news. But one that shares your dao?” She shook her head. “That’s nearly impossible. Dragons are mystical creatures, one of the Four Heavenly Beasts of legend.”

Chen Ren’s curiosity only deepened. “Four Heavenly Beasts? Who are they?”

Yalan sighed, flicking her ears in irritation but answered anyway. “The White Tiger, the Black Turtle, the Crimson Phoenix, and, of course, the Golden Dragon. They represent the pinnacle of existence, embodying unmatched daos.” Her tone softened as she began listing them. “The White Tiger stands at the peak of the martial dao, its strength and ferocity unrivaled. The Black Turtle follows the dao of healing, embodying resilience and restoration. The Crimson Phoenix pursues the dao of creation, revered by alchemists and craftsman cultivators alike.”

“And the dragon?” Chen Ren asked, looking down with widened eyes.

“The dragon…” Yalan paused, her gaze drifting as though searching for answers in the distant horizon. “It’s unknown. Despite being one of the Four Heavenly Beasts, its power remains shrouded in mystery. It hasn’t revealed itself in centuries, and no records describe its true dao. It’s as if the heavens themselves concealed its path.”

“So… if the dao of the dragon is lost, could it be… that it rules over money?”

Yalan froze mid-step, her ears flattening as silence wrapped around her. The weight of his words sank in like a stone, sending ripples through her mind. It was ridiculous. Impossible. And yet… Her silence betrayed her uncertainty. What if he was right? What if this absurd notion was true?

If the dragon’s dao truly aligned with wealth, then Chen Ren was no ordinary cultivator. He wasn’t just treading an unusual path—he was poised to bring a seismic shift to the world. The thought sent a chill down her spine, one she quickly masked with a flick of her tail.

Snapping herself out of her stupor, she quickened her pace. “Let’s hurry to the tea shop,” she said briskly, her tone firm. “I saw some books on spirit beasts there. You will get more information on them there."

She strode ahead, ears twitching with irritation and focus. Yet, as the wind carried Chen Ren’s steady footsteps behind her, she risked a glance over her shoulder. His casual gait and unfazed demeanour only deepened her unease. What destiny awaited a man walking the dao of money?

***

Chen Ren sat cross-legged in the quiet upper-floor room of the tea house. The scent of freshly brewed tea was in the air but his focus remained on the stack of books before him. Like Qing He had promised, she’d allowed him access to more of her collection, and he’d already devoured a handful of them over the past few days. But today, his purpose was singular; learning the truths about spirit manifestations and spirit beasts.

He turned the worn pages of an old book titled “Path of the Bonded Spirit by Grandmaster Xu Fen”, the faded ink still sharp enough to convey its authority.

According to Xu Fen, spirit manifestation was one of the most difficult feats a cultivator could achieve, requiring not only a deep understanding of their dao but also the extraordinary luck to find a spirit beast that resonated with it. Binding the spirit beast wasn’t just a connection; it was a soul pact, forged through the cultivator’s star space. Once completed, the bond allowed the cultivator to draw on the spirit beast’s power, uniting their fates forever.

The book had detailed the process of binding, alongside accounts of cultivators who had succeeded.

Chen Ren’s eyes lingered on a vivid description of a famous cultivator, Zhang Wu, who had bonded with a mischievous monkey spirit. Through the pact, Zhang gained the ability to create multiple clones of himself, overwhelming opponents with sheer numbers. Another tale recounted the journey of Sato Shi, who formed a pact with a lightning mouse. The bond allowed her to summon devastating thunder strikes in battle.

Chen Ren’s brow furrowed as he read on.

He found detailed descriptions of spirit beasts commonly bonded with cultivators walking the martial daos.

Martial dao cultivators had a natural advantage, forming bonds with creatures like stone apes or wind wolves that enhanced their combat techniques. Alchemists, on the other hand, often bonded with fire spirit beasts—flame foxes, ember salamanders, or even minor firebirds—granting them the precise control of flames needed for their craft.

The book, Path of the Bonded Spirit, was an invaluable resource. Yet, as he closed it with a soft thud, Chen Ren furrowed his brows. "There's really nothing about dragons in here," he muttered, a tinge of disappointment colouring his voice.

From across the room, Yalan, sprawled lazily on her stomach, cracked an eye open and flicked her tail. "Obviously, there won't be," she said in a dry tone, as if mocking Chen Ren’s research. "I bet you didn’t even find anything on the other three heavenly beasts, did you? None of them have bonded with a cultivator in centuries. You won’t find that kind of information in any dusty book."

Chen Ren let out a frustrated sigh but leaned back, thoughtful. "At least I learned how bonding works. I can try with the dragon."

Yalan lifted her head slightly, and let out a chirr, before continuing. "But didn’t you tell me you’re always thrown out of your star space when the dragon shows up?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I can barely stay there for a few moments before it forces me out."

"Then you’re too weak to bond with it," she replied bluntly, stretching her paws out. "It’s impossible for someone in the body forging realm to bond with something like a dragon. Your body will break under the strain of its strength."

Chen Ren sighed again, deeper this time. Her words sounded like he wasn’t enough to do whatever he needed to do at the moment, and that was—frustrating. "That’s… unfortunate to know." He paused, staring out the window for a moment before his eyes lit up with determination. "But if it’s just a matter of strength, doesn’t that mean I’ll be able to bond with it if I get stronger?"

Yalan studied him for a long moment, her gaze unreadable. Finally, she shrugged, a sly grin forming on her lips.

"Sure. Build more businesses, then."

Chen Ren blinked, confused. "What does that have to do with—"

"Your dao," Yalan interrupted, her tail swishing playfully. "The dragon follows your path, right? Get stronger on your path, human. Maybe then you’ll have a chance."

Chen Ren gave a wry smile, leaning forward to stretch the muscles in his back and neck as he’d been sitting in the same position for too long.

“I already feel stretched thin as it is. I need more people in my sect, but it’s hard to recruit anyone without an official sect status."

Yalan scoffed, flicking her tail in irritation.

"Then just get an official one."

He sighed, shaking his head. "That’s easier said than done.” Definitely harder than flicking the tail and asking to get an official sect status. “To establish a sect officially, I’d need spirit stones, and you don’t understand how much harder those are to get. They're insanely expensive. Sure, I can earn a lot with my businesses and trade mortal currency for them, but the exchange rates? They’ll bleed me dry. A single low-grade spirit stone costs a hundred silver coins, and that’s if you’re lucky enough to find someone honest. Higher grades? Don’t even get me started."

Yalan's eyes narrowed as she stretched her front legs again, feigning a yawn. "Then why not go find them in the wild?"

Chen Ren gave her a flat look. "You think I haven’t thought about that? I don’t have the location of any spirit vein mines. It’s not like they just pop up out of nowhere. The famous ones are already under the control of major sects or handled directly by the empire. No one’s leaving those unguarded for me to stumble upon."

Yalan’s ears twitched as she circled the same spot she had napped in before finally settling down. She glanced up from the floor and gave her tail a single swoosh, signalling her comfort. Chen Ren couldn’t help but be amused by this cat—just look at her.

"Then go hunt beasts. Trade their cores for spirit stones. Isn’t that how cultivators usually make a living?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, forgetting all about the demeanour of the cat just to focus on her words.

"That’s an option, sure, but it’s dangerous. Spirit beasts aren’t exactly friendly, and I’m not strong enough to face high-grade ones yet." His gaze shifted to her, a wicked smile stretched across his face.. "Unless, of course, you’d be willing to lend me your claws?"

Yalan smirked, her tail curling lazily. "Ah, so now you want my help? What happened to your, ‘I can handle it myself ‘ attitude?"

Chen Ren sighed dramatically. "That was before I realised just how expensive ambition is in this world."

Yalan scoffed, flicking her tail dismissively. "I’m not your employee, human. I’ll help if you’re in danger, but if you start relying on me for every little problem, you’ll never grow. Do you think I want to follow around a weakling forever?"

Chen Ren nodded earnestly. “Well, you are right. I don’t plan to use you. It was a joke. You’re already my cheat in this world—besides my dao, of course."

Her ears twitched as she eyed him suspiciously. "Cheat? What’s that supposed to mean?"

Chen Ren just chuckled, refusing to answer as he snickered under his breath and moved toward another stack of books.

He skimmed through the shelves, his fingers brushing over the spines as he read their titles. “The Mystical Art of Spirit Carpentry,” “Cooking Techniques of the Flame Salamander,” “How to Properly Groom a Spirit Beast—Volume II,” and he stopped, raising an eyebrow. "Who writes two volumes on grooming?"

Yalan snorted from her spot, unimpressed. "People with too much time on their hands, clearly."

Shaking his head, he kept searching. His gaze wandered past a few more odd titles—“The Secret Lives of Spirit Ants” and “1001 Ways to Trap a Spirit Chicken”—until he froze. His eyes landed on a plain, leather-bound book tucked between more decorative tomes. The faded golden letters on the spine read: “Talismans and their Making.”

Something about it tugged at him, and he reached for it without a second thought.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.

37. Cultivation disciplines

Jasmine—Qing He inhaled the smell deeply as the porcelain teacup swirled gently in her hand.

Her eyes locked in at a cluster of young girls—mortal, rich, giggling and infuriatingly loud–huddled around a table. Their voices raised after one another as they all debated (with an annoying heat) over that story. The one penned by the odd young cultivator, Chen Ren.

Her fingers tapped on the table in a soothing rhythm as her lips curved in a satirical smile.

It had been quite some time since the so-called love story was released. She half-expected the fascination to die long back but on the contrary, it had become an obsession. They’d been treating the book akin to a classic folk tale.

She sighed at that thought.

These girls—they were reimagining, filling the gaps with their own absurd fantasies; alternating endings, impossible love triangles and even theories that bordered on the ridiculous. She had talked to Chen Ren about it and he had simply labelled it as “fanfiction” and told her to let it grow.

According to him, every popular work would have fan renditions, but Qing He had never even heard the term before.

Her brows twitched as the two youths started raising their voices, trying to assert dominance over their narrative of the protagonist’s love was truly required.

She sighed, feeling that her patience was wearing thin.

“Maybe I should've just burned the manuscript,” she muttered to herself. Or maybe, I shouldn’t have ever accepted letting that young cultivator take a look at my collection in exchange for the novel.

Because the deal had struck true, the profits continued to flow inside her small tea stall like nothing, and it had been mostly due to the book ‘Liang Shan’ and ‘Hua Yun’.

With that, a chuckle escaped her lips. At least the business has been doing well.

As she took another sip of her tea, her mind refocused on Chen Ren. With his sly grin and strange aura, he had been on her mind far more often than she cared to admit.

Two hundred years ago, she might’ve mistaken this curiosity for a girlish crush—one that ran deep. But now? Now she knew it was something else entirely.

He was an enigma and Qing He detested enigmas. He was a strange, mysterious cultivator and those kinds almost brought a new set of problems with them.

This morning, he’d entered her shop without so much as a greeting and made a beeline for the first floor, where the books were. And he moved with the authority of a man with a big, fat purpose.

But that wasn't the reason why he had been on her mind.

It was due to the fact that his aura had changed, from a weak four-star body forging realm cultivator to a seven-star. She had seen him just three days back and he hadn't looked anywhere near a breakthrough then.

Her teacup paused mid-air, her fingers tightening around its rim. One thought swirled in her mind.

“Is he a demonic cultivator?” she said aloud, unable to help herself.

And more importantly, even if he was, could she kill him with the spirit cat following behind him?

She hadn’t reached that conclusion for no reason.

Qing He had seen many strange things in her centuries of life, enough to dismiss the eccentricities of most cultivators. Because they were, by nature, an odd breed. Endless pill-popping, retreating into caves for decades at a time, and emerging half-mad and wholly awkward.

But this? This was something else entirely.

No cultivator, no matter how talented or dedicated they were, leapt three stars in the body-forging realm within a single day. That was a fact as immutable as the heavens themselves. She had confirmed it with her own senses–he had been a fourth-star novice barely a week ago, and now—his aura was much more noticeable at the threshold of the eight star.

At first, she thought it could be because of pills. After all, it wasn't unreasonable. Chen Ren had recently earned a significant fortune by winning a Trial by Might.

He could’ve easily bought body-strengthening or bone-forging pills, the type used by wealthy but untalented disciples to brute-force their way through the early realms. But pills, no matter how strong they were, took time to absorb into the body. They worked with the marrow, the bones, the muscles and even the bloodline. No pills, no matter how rare or expensive they were, could slip the natural order.

So, how?

If he wasn't a demonic cultivator whose rumours had been speeding through the city, then what was he? The thought of him being a heavenly genius crossed her mind. That would at least explain the spirit cat she’d seen trailing him.

And yet,something about that explanation felt… wrong.

Her instincts, experienced over decades of watching the rising and fall of countless cultivators, rejected that idea.

No, he didn’t fit into the mould of a demonic cultivator or a prodigy.

His path felt stranger, more labyrinthine.

The truth felt like something that she couldn’t figure out just yet. And for the first time in decades, she felt curiosity bubbling inside her, and her mind felt like an itch that she couldn’t quite scratch without proper answers.

On the other hand, the mystery surrounding the man was intoxicating. She felt almost giddy, wanting to know what he was up to, who he was and how he did it.

A part of her even wanted to march towards him, block his path with a single thought and demand answers directly. Words or force, she didn’t care.

Her reverie was broken by the soft creak of footsteps, drawing her eyes toward the staircase.

Chen Ren, the man who’d clouded her very thoughts for the longest time today, emerged. He had a small stack of books balanced in his arms, and that spirit cat—his perpetual shadow, padded silently behind him.

A faint smile crossed her face as she straightened, placing the teacup in front of her and she folded her hands on the counter.

The young cultivator stopped before her, putting the books down with a casal thud. “Senior Qing He, I found these books and was hoping you could help me understand them.”

Qing He’s eyes flicked to the titles, her brow arching with each one she read. Talismans and Their Makings. Arrays and Applications. A Dumb Cultivator’s Guide to Pill Creation.

Hmm. Interesting.

Her gaze rose to meet his. “Are you… trying to learn all the cultivation disciplines at once?” she asked, a faint edge of incredulity lacing her voice.

Chen Ren grinned, an expression so disarming it nearly masked the absurdity of his response. “Actually, yes,” he said with a casual nod. “I was looking for books on spirit beasts, but these caught my eye. They seemed... interesting.”

Qing He pressed her fingers to her temple, exhaling slowly. “Interesting,” she repeated, her tone dry. “I don’t think you realize what you’re getting into. Most cultivators only dabble in secondary arts when they’ve reached a bottleneck or lack talent in pure cultivation. Sects value a skilled alchemist or array master because those talents are rare, but mastery of a secondary art is an entirely different path from cultivation itself. Few have the time—or the capability—for both.”

Chen Ren nodded thoughtfully, his grin never faltering. “That’s precisely why I want to dabble in them,” he replied, his voice carrying a conviction that caught Qing He off guard. “I believe they’ll unlock the next set of opportunities for me.”

“Opportunities? What kind of opportunities?”

His grin widened, a glimmer of mischief in his expression. “I believe you already know,” he said smoothly. “Business opportunities.”

Qing He blinked, momentarily stunned by the simplicity of his answer. She leaned back, her lips pressing into a thin line. She couldn’t understand this man or his intentions, and she was far from assuming what they were. “Business opportunities,” she repeated, shaking her head. “You’re an odd one, Chen Ren. Most cultivators seek power, enlightenment, or even revenge. And here you are, treating cultivation as a stepping stone to—what? Becoming a merchant?”

“Not just a merchant. A successful one.”

For a moment, Qing He said nothing, simply studying him. There was no hesitation in his words, no sign of doubt. If nothing else, she had to admit: his confidence was as intriguing as it was maddening.

She let her eyes linger on him, her expression an amalgam of disbelief and curiosity.

It wasn’t the first time Chen Ren had said something so wildly unconventional. She still remembered the day he’d nonchalantly talked about founding a sect as if it were the same as opening a tea shop. Now, here he was again, speaking of mastering cultivation disciplines—not for self-defence, enlightenment, or even survival, but for business.

Her lips twitched with a mixture of amusement and incredulity. “You’re telling me, that you’re learning these—not to make pills for breakthroughs, or to protect yourself with arrays, but… for business?” She waited for his response.

He nodded, enthusiastically.

“Are you dumb?” she asked, not holding back her thoughts.

Chen Ren didn’t flinch, his grin unfaltering. “Obviously not,” he replied. “Business is my path. I’ve been doing well in the mortal market, as you’ve probably noticed, but it’s only a stepping stone. Sooner or later, I’ll need to target cultivators and to do that, I need to understand what they want to buy. These books”—he gestured to the stack on the counter—“are the key to developing products they’ll value. And, as you said, these skills can double as tools for self-defence. That’s just a bonus.”

Qing He let out a sharp laugh. “Going by your unnaturally fast breakthroughs, I seriously doubt you need more tools to defend yourself.”

Chen Ren’s expression shifted ever so slightly—a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. He met her gaze squarely. “I can see that your old eyes are still working.”

Qing He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “They work better than yours and I haven’t lived for centuries just to miss something so obvious,” she replied. “And you don’t strike me as foolish enough to think mortals would have books on cultivation disciplines. It’s clear you understand what I am.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly, his fingers drumming lightly against the counter as his eyes darted around the shop. After a moment, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “So, can you help me with these? I’ve skimmed through them, but most are written in overly formal language, full of jargon that’s hard to grasp. If I’m going to learn, I’ll need guidance. And frankly, you’re the only one I can come to.”

For a moment, Qing He was taken aback. Surprise flickered in her eyes as she studied him, searching for any sign of deceit.

The man stood tall, with his usual smile on his face. Not even the smallest falter of emotions in his eyes.

Finally, finding none, she opened her mouth, ready to reject him outright.

But then, her earlier questions about his rapid progression surfaced in her mind, tugging at her curiosity. She hesitated, the words dying on her lips. Instead, she leaned back.

“I could help you, but in exchange, I want something from you.”

Chen Ren tilted his head. “And what might that be?”

“You’re going to tell me how you’ve been progressing so fast in your cultivation.”

***

Chen Ren hesitated, his eyes shifting between the stack of books and Qing He’s steady, expectant stare. Revealing his dao wasn’t something he took lightly. By now, he understood just how rare it was.

The idea of casually sharing it with others felt similar to handing over a priceless treasure—dangerous and foolish. More importantly, if his suspicions were correct, his dao might be the thread that tethered him to a lost heavenly beast. That connection wasn’t something he wanted prying eyes on.

But again, Qing He… wasn’t just anyone. Though the woman carried herself with the aloof dignity of someone who didn’t care much for others, Chen Ren had spent enough time around her to know better. She was sharp, sure, but also bound by her word—a rare trait in a world where deceit was second nature to many. And while she sometimes acted like she’d rather be anywhere but talking to him, she’d still been honest, patient even, in their past conversations.

He sighed, leaning forward slightly. “Fine, I’ll tell you, but only if you promise—no, swear—that you’ll never speak of it to anyone.”

Qing He frowned, her forehead wrinkling as she looked at him with the same thoughtful expression she always wore. “You have my word. Now, speak.”

Chen Ren took a deep breath, steeling himself before he began to explain. He spoke carefully, omitting any mention of the dragon or the deeper mysteries he hadn’t fully unravelled himself. Instead, he focused on the essence of his path: the Dao of Money. He described the way it resonated with him, how it shaped his understanding of the world, and how it opened doors in ways few could comprehend.

As he spoke, Qing He’s expression shifted. At first, her brows furrowed in thought, her lips pressed into a thin line. Then, as the realization sank in, her jaw slackened, and the teacup, she grabbed up to take a sip, remained in mid-air. When he finished, she closed her eyes and let out a long, slow breath.

“So,” she finally said. “you’re not a demonic cultivator. You simply follow an esoteric dao… of money.”

Chen Ren nodded, a small, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “That’s right.”

She opened her eyes and set the teacup down. “And here I was, wondering if you were the soul-devouring fiend skulking through the city.”

Chen Ren blinked, caught off guard. “Wait. Why would you even think that?”

Qing He leaned back in her chair, her fingers idly tapping the armrest. “Because there’s been talk. Whispers of a demonic cultivator roaming the city, killing people and consuming their souls. It’s spreading fast—too fast. Even the city guards have ramped up their patrols to hunt the culprit down.”

Chen Ren’s brow furrowed as he processed her words. He went silent, his mind drifting to the streets he’d passed through earlier. Now that she mentioned it, the atmosphere had been strange. People moved with a cautious edge, their gazes darting to every shadow, their steps quick and lacked the usual calmness. He’d dismissed it as paranoia, but if a killer was truly on the loose, their wariness made sense.

“I did notice people acting… off,” he admitted. “But I didn’t think much of it at the time.”

Qing He studied him for a moment, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “Well, at least I can cross you off the suspect list,” she said dryly.

He paused. Unable to know what exactly to respond with, he replied, “...Thank you? And, I’m not that. I’d never do something like that.”

Qing He studied him for a moment before giving a slow nod. “You don’t carry any demonic qi—that much is certain.” Her gaze shifted slightly, landing on Yalan, who lay nonchalantly by the counter, her tail flicking lazily. “But what about your spirit beast?”

Before Chen Ren could respond, Yalan hissed with sass and spoke directly into their minds. "I’m not his."

Qing He’s other eyebrow shot up, the faintest trace of amusement flickering in her eyes as she looked back at Chen Ren. “Care to explain that one, kid?”

Chen Ren scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “She’s... complicated. Yalan isn’t just any spirit beast. She’s been the protector of my clan for generations. In this lifetime, she’s bonded to me. But,” he paused, glancing at Yalan, “I’d say she acts more like a master than anything else.”

Qing He’s lips quirked into a faint smirk, her sharp gaze flicking between him and Yalan. “Interesting. Makes me wonder about your clan, but I won’t pry further.” She let the silence settle briefly before shifting her attention to the books on the counter. “Now that my questions are answered, let’s get to business.” She tapped the top book with her finger. “I’ll help you with the basics of these disciplines, but don’t get your hopes too high. I’m no master of any of them—just someone with a baseline understanding. You’ll have to make do with that.”

Chen Ren nodded quickly, his excitement plain. “That’s more than enough for me, Senior Qing He. Where do we start?”

She slid the book on talismans toward him. “Tomorrow afternoon. Meet me at my shop, and we’ll begin with talismans. It’s as good a place to start as any.”

“Tomorrow? Why not now?” Chen Ren asked, ready to pout her way in if it would work with the old woman.

Qing He pointed out the window, her tone wry. “Because it’s already night, and unlike your young bones, mine need proper rest. I have to close up and do some reading of my own.”

From her place by the counter, Yalan let out a soft, amused snicker but said nothing.

Chen Ren nodded, his excitement dimmed only slightly. “Fair enough.” He glanced out at the darkening streets and sighed. “Either way, I need to go. One of my creditors has something of mine—a medallion—I need to collect, tonight.”

Qing He’s expression turned serious at that, her gaze narrowing. “You’re heading out this late? Be careful. The demonic cultivator hunts at night, and you don’t want to cross paths with him or her. Most of the attacks have been closer to midnight, so you might be fine, but caution is always wise.”

Chen Ren dipped into a slight bow, his tone respectful. “Thank you for the warning, Senior Qing He. I’ll be careful.”

With that, he turned and stepped out of the tea shop, the faint jingling of the bell above the door accompanying him into the night.

Yalan padded silently beside Chen Ren, her sleek form appearing noticeable even in the shadows as they moved through the quieting streets. The path to Feng Ming’s estate was familiar to him—not from this life, but from the fragmented memories he had inherited. The layout of the city’s upper side was etched firmly in his mind, making it easy to navigate the straight route from the tea shop.

The upper side of the city exuded quiet wealth, with paved roads and well-maintained lanterns emitting a steady glow, but even here, the usual hum of life seemed muted.

As they walked, Yalan’s voice brushed against his thoughts, sharp and inquisitive. "I’m curious about this demonic cultivator on the loose."

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow, glancing at her. "Why? Aren’t they a pretty staple thing in this world?"

“Staple or not, they’re not brain-dead,” she replied with a dry edge to her tone. "Even the most reckless of them would think twice before entering a city so close to a guardian sect. If a demonic cultivator is here, actively killing people, it’s not random. They’re here for a reason. And I doubt it’s a small one. I would caution you to not let your guard down, even for a moment, no matter what.”

Her words carried an unmistakable warning tone, and Chen Ren frowned slightly, his steps slowing for a brief moment. He knew she was right. He had no illusions about his strength—he had grown, yes, but not enough to take on a demonic cultivator.

He rubbed his temples as he walked. "I get it. I’ll be careful."

“Good,” Yalan said.

From what he knew, the demonic cultivators were stronger on the same level because demonic qi inherently were far more destructive. It was because they used a lot of forbidden techniques, making it always tricky to fight them.

They never played fair.

But well, she was right. He should be careful.

The streets grew quieter the further they walked. Shops were shuttered, their owners hurrying home, and even the few pedestrians Chen Ren had seen earlier seemed to vanish. The mist, which usually began creeping through the city as the night deepened, hadn’t even started to rise, yet the unease in the air was palpable.

More guards patrolled the streets than usual, their lanterns swaying as they moved in pairs, scanning the shadows with sharp eyes. Chen Ren noticed the tension in their postures and the way they gripped their weapons until their knuckles were white.

The unease was infectious.

A part of him considered turning back, leaving this errand for daylight. It would’ve been the safer choice—less risk, less tension crawling up his spine with every step. But he’d already sent a Tang Clan messenger earlier that morning to arrange a time for retrieving the medallion. The response had been clear: this hour, tonight.

And he didn’t want to delay that. He had no idea if Feng Ming wouldn't stall him if he delayed the meeting and he wanted to end the matter of his debt tonight.

So, despite the unease coiling in his chest, he pressed on, shoulders squared and steps steady. Hopefully, he thought wryly, the demonic cultivator/ serial killer is taking a well-deserved break tonight.

The attempt at humor didn’t quite dispel the tension, but it was enough to keep him moving forward.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.

38. Ancient medallion

Chen Ren moved towards the upper street, and the lower district fell behind him. The upper district felt quite the difference from what he just moved past, cleaner, quieter and had beautiful stonework that reflected the heavy lanterns that hung like floating jewels.

Regardless of everything else, the number of lessening people felt quite off. Normally, these districts weren’t supposed to be this hollow, even at midnight some people were strolling, coming back from bars and red light establishments.

But now, they ran back to their homes, constantly looking over their backs as if a monster would emerge out of the shadows.

Ignore the weird feeling.

He shook his head and started moving towards the destination he had in his mind. Behind him, Yalan trailed as if nothing in this world could bother her. She was a sight to behold. Her tail swooshed to the rhythm her back moved, and she was majestical—in every way.

Chen Ren’s worries faded away after seeing the fearless cat beside him. Even if something happened, he knew he had her protection and doubted that any demonic cultivator would be able to stand against her and if she could actually be defeated by one, then he never stood a chance to begin with.

Soon, the world narrowed until it was just him and the grand estate that was right before him.

The Feng Clan estate stood like a fortress, with imposing, tall walls. The gates were painted in a deep crimson and accented with golden carvings. It had the richness that came from the fortune from the trade of weapons and artefacts.

Yet for all that wealth, the clan had never reached the heights of true cultivation prestige. They had been merchants, not warriors, their legacy had been tarnished by generations of mediocrity.

And the current generation fared no better. Spirit roots were a rarity among them. Even their brightest star, Feng Ming, possessed only thirty spirit roots—a paltry number.

Chen Ren let out a huffed breath from his nose. It was ironic how their paths had crossed.

Months ago, he and Feng Ming had met under different circumstances. Feng Ming, frustrated and bitter over his inability to enter the Soaring Sword Sect, had poured his grievances into Chen Ren’s ears. Back then, the previous body owner had been naive and had an inflated ego, therefore, he had boldly promised to help Feng Ming gain entry after he won the sect’s entrance examinations.

The memory left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Feng Ming, his entire body soaked with greed and desperation, had assumed that Chen Ren's confidence was backed by strength. Eager to bind him in debt, he had handed over a small fortune to secure the man’s loyalty. But when the competition began, the truth was laid bare. The old Chen Ren's lack of skill was as glaring as the midday sun, and his humiliating defeat was a spectacle the entire city still talked about.

Feng Ming’s mask had slipped after that. The once-amiable youth had transformed, his scorn sharper than the blades his clan forged and had barged right inside his room to collect the debt.

Chen Ren exhaled slowly and rubbed soothing circles in his palms. That was the past. The old Chen Ren was gone, buried along with his failures. The man who now stood before the Feng Clan gates was entirely different.

Today, he would settle this debt, once and for all. The pouch of silver at his waist wasn’t heavy, but its significance outweighed its weight. It was more than repayment; he could finally sever the ties. Feng Ming’s money had been a chain, but today, Chen Ren intended to break it.

Adjusting his robes, he stepped forward.

The faint clink of coins accompanied his movements, a sound that felt strangely like freedom.

Without any other thought, he stepped into the Feng Clan compound, his steps steady as his eyes swept over the scene. The guards stationed at the entrance stiffened as they saw him approach, their hands instinctively moving to their weapons. They crossed their halberds in front of him, blocking his way.

"Who are you?" one demanded sharply. His thick eyebrows were like two caterpillars looking down at him in an attempt to look scary.

"I’m Chen Ren, from the Chen Clan of Red Peak City. Feng Ming should be expecting me."

The guards exchanged a glance. The stout and black-haired one rubbed his neck for a brief moment and a silent conversation passed between them. After a moment, the taller one replied, "Wait here," before disappearing into the depths of the compound.

Chen Ren took a step back, leaning casually against the wall beside the gate. He inhaled deeply, and calmed his soul, focusing on the faint rustle of leaves.

Minutes passed. He remained motionless.

“That fool hasn’t returned yet. Did he get lost or dropped dead on the way?” Yalan’s voice stirred in his mind, completely covered in pure irritation.

Chen Ren smirked faintly. "No, I don’t think so. It’s a power move. Feng Ming’s trying to make me wait. He wants it to seem like he’s too busy, like I’m the one in need here. It’s petty but predictable."

This was exactly why he’d gotten comfortable when the men walked inside. Just like Bai Shen, Feng Ming was another stereotypical young master who liked to make others feel like they were less important in front of him.

Yalan hummed in agreement.

"Shall we just break the gate down? It would save us both time and patience."

Chen Ren shook his head at that. "Let’s wait a minute more. Then we’ll see if this gate can withstand my [Thundering Punch]."

Fortunately for the gate, the guard returned just then, looking slightly flustered. It could be the midnight coldness crawling to his face—but Chen Ren doubted that was the case.

He gestured stiffly.

"You may enter. Follow the servant; she’ll take you to the young master."

Chen Ren pushed off the wall with an easy grace, brushing past the guard without a word. A young servant girl awaited him just beyond, bowing politely before motioning for him to follow. Her steps were quick, and Chen Ren kept pace, his eyes taking in the grandiose surroundings of the estate. Manicured gardens, passionately carved stone paths, and the sweet scent of incense filled the air, all designed to flaunt the Feng Clan's wealth.

After weaving through several courtyards, they stopped before a large sliding door. The servant turned to him. "Young Master Feng is inside."

Chen Ren nodded, his hand reaching for the door. With a firm push, the panel slid open, revealing the room beyond. He stepped in, the door closing behind him with a quiet thud.

The room Chen Ren stepped into was spacious, almost cavernous. The polished wooden floor reflected the harsh glow of lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and the air carried a faint trace of sandalwood incense. It seemed like the entire compound was made to his taste.

The walls were filled with racks of weapons— swords, axes, and halberds displayed like trophies. Among them, Chen Ren’s eyes caught the designs of talismans encased in protective glass. He narrowed his gaze at one in particular, its surface marked with runes. Though he couldn’t identify its exact purpose, the runic patterns suggested it was a fire-aspected talisman, likely capable of causing explosions in battles.

He had taken a look at a similar design while looking through the book just hours back.

After a quick survey of the room, Chen Ren’s attention shifted to the man seated at its center. Feng Ming sat cross-legged on the floor, a porcelain cup of tea cradled in his hands. He looked much the same as always—neatly groomed, with an air of smug confidence that radiated from the smirk tugging at his lips. It was an expression Chen Ren found uniquely irritating.

Even as his eyes focused on Feng Ming, he said nothing, his focus seemingly on his tea, as though Chen Ren’s presence was an afterthought. The silence stretched, a subtle challenge hanging in the air. But Chen Ren understood these power games well. He didn’t speak, didn’t move—he merely stood there, his expression calm and unreadable.

Time ticked by, and the faint clink of Feng Ming setting his cup down broke the silence at last. “Chen Ren, you’re here,” he said lazily, as though the ten minutes of waiting hadn’t happened.

Chen Ren’s lips twitched, his voice laced with dry humor. “Yeah, for the last ten minutes. Your eyesight must’ve gotten pretty weak if you couldn’t see me standing so close.”

Feng Ming coughed lightly, his smirk faltering for a moment before returning. “Your tongue is as sharp as ever. Either way, I don’t have time to waste on you. Why are you here?”

Chen Ren folded his arms, his voice calm but firm. “My messenger should have told you already. I’m here to take back my medallion. It’s a family heirloom, and leaving it in the hands of a creditor is a disrespect to my ancestors.”

Feng Ming’s smirk widened, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Ah, your medallion. You forget, Chen Ren, that I took it because you couldn’t pay your debt. If you want it back, I’ll need—”

Before he could finish, Chen Ren flicked a pouch toward him. It landed on the table with a heavy thud, the clink of coins unmistakable. “There’s 500 silver wen in there, with interest. Standard rate. Now, hand over the medallion.”

Feng Ming froze, his gaze flickering to the pouch. After a moment, he opened it, the shine of polished silver reflecting in his eyes. His expression shifted, the smirk fading into something more complicated. He looked back at Chen Ren, a trace of surprise creeping into his voice. “I heard you’ve abandoned cultivation altogether and started dabbling in business. But I didn’t expect you to succeed so quickly… Or is this money from that idiot Bai Shen? Just so you know, I could defeat him with my eyes closed. He’s hardly a worthy opponent.”

Chen Ren grunted, his tone flat and impatient. “You don’t need to concern yourself with where the money came from. Just give me my medallion so I can leave.”

Feng Ming shook his head, an irritating smirk creeping back onto his face. “Relax, I was just making a conversation.” He reached into the drawer of the low table beside him, pulling something out and tossing it toward Chen Ren. The gleaming object spun in the air before Chen Ren instinctively caught it. His fingers wrapped around the cool hilt of a sword.

His brows furrowed as he held it up, glaring at Feng Ming. “What is this? I gave you my medallion, not a sword.”

Feng Ming leaned back lazily, waving a hand toward the weapon. “That sword is forged from Black Vein Iron, and the handle is made from the bone of a tier-two beast. It’s worth far more than 500 silver wen. Take it as compensation instead of your medallion.”

Chen Ren’s expression darkened, his grip tightening around the sword. He could feel everything inside him coiling with rage as he looked at him. “Are you joking with me? This wasn’t our deal.”

Feng Ming shrugged nonchalantly. “Apologies, but I already sold your medallion. Got a great deal for it, too. Consider yourself lucky—I’m compensating you better than you deserve. You should be happy to get a sword like that after defaulting on your—”

Before Feng Ming could finish, Chen Ren’s patience snapped. A surge of qi burst forth from him, crackling lightning snaking across the room in a brilliant flash.

In a blur, Chen Ren sprinted forward, faster than Feng Ming could react. His hand shot out, grabbing the collar of Feng Ming’s robes and slamming him against the wall with a resounding loud noise.

The smirk vanished from Feng Ming’s face, replaced by wide-eyed panic. “W-What are you doing?!” he stammered, struggling against Chen Ren’s grip, but the iron-like fingers didn’t budge.

Chen Ren’s voice was low, laced with the hum of barely contained fury. “Give me my medallion, or I’ll burn you to ash with my lightning.”

Feng Ming thrashed, trying to escape, but the realization hit him like a stone: he was utterly powerless. His voice trembled as he choked out, “H-How? How are you this strong? You—you were only at the third-star body forging realm before!”

He could hardly speak with the grip Chen Ren had on him. Feng Ming seemed to quiver as his eyes glowed faintly with the charge of his qi.

“I’m at the seventh star now. And unlucky for you, you’re still at the third. If I wanted, I could kill you here and now.”

Feng Ming’s face turned pale. “T-There are laws in the city! You can’t just—”

Chen Ren’s lips curled into a dangerous smirk. “You broke the law first when you refused to return what was mine. I’ve already proven my strength once in a Trial by Might. I could easily win another. This time, I might even keep the right to kill. Do you want to gamble on that?”

The room fell into tense silence, the only sound the faint crackle of lingering lightning dancing across Chen Ren’s fingertips. And the heavy breathing of Feng Ming coming out in gasps.

His voice trembled as he spoke, “No! No! I’ll get you your medallion. Just release me!”

Chen Ren let go, watching as Feng Ming stumbled forward, his hands trembling. The once-smug young master moved with a nervous, jerky gait, heading toward the far corner of the room. Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed as he followed every step, ready to act if Feng Ming attempted anything. He cast a quick glance toward the door, ensuring no guards stormed in to intervene.

Feng Ming reached a large desk and bent down, opening a hidden compartment beneath it. From inside, he pulled out a small, ornate chest. He placed it on the table, hesitating for a moment before opening it to reveal the medallion resting within.

Chen Ren’s gaze immediately locked onto the heirloom. Its familiar dull sheen brought a slight sense of relief, but his voice was sharp. “So, this is what you call sold?” He stepped closer, picking it up and inspecting it thoroughly. The medallion looked the same as he remembered—old, unassuming, and yet undeniably sturdy. No scratches or marks had tarnished it. He turned to Feng Ming with a piercing glare. “Why did you lie?”

Feng Ming flinched, averting his eyes. “I… I wasn’t able to figure out what material it’s made of,” he confessed. “And since you said it’s a family heirloom, I knew it must be valuable. My clan deals in weapons and artefacts, so I’ve seen almost everything, but this medallion… my best appraisers couldn’t determine its origin. That’s why I got greedy.”

Chen Ren’s brow furrowed. His medallion, a keepsake he had never thought much about, suddenly seemed to carry more value. His mind wandered briefly to Yalan and the strange circumstances surrounding his ancestors. If they had been powerful enough to bind someone like Yalan in a debt of servitude, then perhaps the medallion wasn’t as ordinary as it appeared. Still, it had never displayed any signs of being a spirit artefact.

Looking back at Feng Ming, he asked, “What did your appraisers find out?”

Feng Ming swallowed hard, his hands twitching nervously. “Not much. Just that it’s old—very old. There’s some strange writing etched on the back, but it doesn’t match any known script in the empire or any region my appraisers are familiar with. Beyond that, nothing. Trust me.”

Chen Ren studied him for a moment before nodding. “Fine. But next time, don’t lie to me. I’m not the same person you used to know.”

Feng Ming opened his mouth as if to respond, but Chen Ren had already turned, striding toward the door. Behind him, Feng Ming hesitated, a shift of something—perhaps fear, perhaps regret—crossing his face. But Chen Ren didn’t look back, exiting the room with his medallion in hand, the heavy door sliding shut behind him with finality.

The door creaked softly as he slipped out of the mansion, his robes brushing against the cool stone steps. The night was still, the faint noise of wind and leaves the only sound accompanying his hurried steps. Tilting his head to the heavens, his eyes locked onto the silver crescent moon, its position confirming what he already feared. The mist would be forming by now, creeping along the walls.

The streets were emptier than he'd expected. Not a single lantern flickered in the windows, and the silence pressed against his ears like a weight. Even the usual nocturnal scurry of small creatures seemed absent. His brows furrowed as he quickened his pace, the medallion clutched tightly in his palm.

“Yalan,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, “do you know what this is?”

Her presence stirred faintly within him, her voice soft but laced with curiosity. “No. This medallion has been passed down since the first of your ancestors I served. They believed it was some kind of war medal, a relic of victory. But after what Feng Ming said... even I’m uncertain.”

He traced the etchings on the back of the medallion with his thumb, their unfamiliarity gnawing at him. “Can you read the script?”

“I can’t,” Yalan admitted with a rare note of frustration. “I know much about cultivation techniques, formations, and ancient artefacts, but languages and scripts aren’t my domain. You’ll need to investigate this yourself.

A heavy sigh escaped him, his breath clouding briefly in the cold night air. “One more mystery to solve,” he muttered, slipping the medallion into his pouch as his steps quickened.

Rounding a bend, his attention caught on a figure moving parallel to him down the adjoining street. The man’s face was obscured beneath a wide bamboo hat, and a dark cloak hung loosely around him, swaying with his strong strides. A sword hilt jutted over his shoulder, its grip wrapped in worn leather.

He slowed, his gaze narrowing as he watched the man’s movements. Something about him—it wasn’t just the sword or the hat—felt... off.

His instincts prickled, a faint warning curling in his chest like smoke. He shook the feeling off and pushed forward, turning into a narrow alley.

“Yalan,” he whispered again, his tone sharp this time, “did you see his soul?”

“No,” she replied quickly, while her fur straightened as she craned her neck outside the alley to look at the back of the man. “I used my [Soul-Seeing Eyes], but... he’s shrouded. That cloak must be crafted to block detection, even at this high level.”

He slowed, the unease twisting into a knot in his stomach. “Why would someone need to hide like that? And at this hour?” His voice dropped to a murmur. “Don’t tell me…”

Chen Ren's muttering trailed off as a faint, painful groan reached his ears. He froze, the sound cutting through the stillness like a blade. Heart pounding, he stepped around the corner, his boots splashing into something wet. The coppery tang of blood hit his nose instantly, and his gaze dropped to the crimson pool spreading beneath him.

Two guards lay sprawled on the cobblestone street. One was lifeless, his head severed cleanly from his shoulders, the grotesque wound still oozing. The other gasped weakly, his chest heaving in shallow, ragged bursts. Blood poured from the stump where his hand had been, pooling beneath his mutilated body.

Chen Ren's eyes widened, his breath catching as he crouched by the dying man. “Hey!” he said urgently, his voice shaking. “What happened here? Who did this?”

The guard's lips quivered, his bloodied mouth trying to form words, but no sound came. His body convulsed once, twice, then stilled, his lifeless gaze fixed on the void.

“Yalan,” Chen Ren called out, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Look at the wounds,” she said grimly, her voice heavy with warning. “They were made by a sword. Precise, ruthless.”

“A sword?” Chen Ren echoed, his stomach twisting. His mind snapped back to the man he had seen earlier—the bamboo hat, the cloak, the sword on his back. The pieces clicked into place like a lock turning, and a cold dread seeped into his veins. “It’s him,” he whispered, his voice hollow. “The demonic cultivator.”

Before he could process the revelation, a deafening explosion shattered the silence.

The ground trembled beneath him, and a blinding flash of light tore through the darkness, forcing him to shield his eyes. The shockwave hit like a hammer, leaving his ears ringing and the world around him spinning.

Instinctively, he dropped low, his heart pounding in his chest as the echoes of the blast faded into a harrowing silence.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.

Happy new year! Forgot to wish last chapter.

39. Escape in the mists

What on Earth?!

Chen Ren crouched amidst the bloodied earth, his breath shallow, his fingers brushing the remnants of the crimson-soaked soil.

Above him, the sky churned, a mushroom-shaped cloud of thick smoke spiralling outward, its tendrils curling into the sky like dark fingers reaching for an unseen foe. The scent of sulfur and burning metal was sharp in the air.

He closed his mouth with his hand as the smoke filled his lungs, a cough willing to escape. But he didn’t want to—

The ground trembled beneath him, quaking with the force of distant explosions. One after another. Each of the blasts seemed to tear the world asunder, its echoes drowning out the shouts, screams, and frantic voices that mingled with the chaos. A part of his body froze, caught in the noise of everything.

He knew. His senses weren’t dull enough to ignore the unmistakable signs. He had just passed by the demonic cultivator and the smoke was rising from the Feng Clan's estate.

He stared at the smoke, his heart sinking as he considered the fate of Feng Ming. With that much sound and impact, he doubted anyone within the estate area could have survived. Not even a cultivator would stand against such destruction. At least not a body forging realm one.

Should he go and help? The thought ran in circles around his mind, but he knew he wouldn't be able to do anything. His power was growing, sure, but it was still a far cry from what was needed to face a demonic cultivator of such monstrous strength.

Chen Ren looked at the cat who’d huddled beside him. He knew for a fact that even if Yalan took charge, the rift between her and the demonic cultivator would tear the very air they breathed. If he stayed, he risked being crushed between their forces.

Yalan’s fur fluffed out in agitation and her amber eyes moved between Chen Ren and the chaos.

“Yalan,” Chen Ren whispered. His voice almost didn't come out due to the fear that crept at his insides. At his voice, Yalan’s eyes stuck on his. “We should run.”

Without another thought, the cat nodded and they started to run, leaving the bodies behind.

“I don’t know the demonic cultivator’s strength either… but it’s better to steer clear. There’s no point in risking it with you here,” Yalan said, jumping over a wall and running on top of it.

Just as Chen Ren opened his mouth to agree, a scream sliced through the commotion. A loud, animalistic shriek that rattled the very earth and sent a ripple of dread down his spine. He halted as his eyes snapped toward the source.

God, what is that?

Chen Ren squinted his eyes.

The thick smoke parted, revealing monstrous shapes emerging from the gloom.

Ethereal beastly bodies revealed themselves, their massive forms glistening in the haze like phantoms of flame. Their red-glowing outlines pulsed with an annoying light, their large bodies almost transparent, as though they were born from the very smoke itself.

They resembled rhinos and his eyes widened as he took the sight in.

There were seven in total, their monstrous roars reverberating through the air like the cries of spirits trapped in a nightmare.

The ground trembled beneath their weightless forms as they surged forward, their ethereal hooves striking sparks from the stone. Three of them, larger than the others, veered toward Chen Ren’s position, their ghostly bodies gliding over the earth.

Chen Ren’s heart plummeted.

He didn’t need to see more to know what was coming. His legs tensed, ready to spring into motion, but his mind struggled to form a plan.

“Chen Ren, run!” Yalan's voice broke through his shock.

Without waiting another second, Chen Ren shot forward, his feet pounding the stone streets, propelling him faster than he’d ever moved before. The city around him was chaotic, voices rising in panic, but they were all swallowed by the continuous thunderous roars of the etheral rhinos that chased him. Their haunting cries shattered the air, leaving only the sound of his laboured breaths as he pushed himself onward.

I need a plan. Something… something to put them off.

His thoughts churned as adrenaline peaked.

He immediately shifted directions in a blur to throw them off, his body flickering in and out of sight, moving with unnatural speed as his [Lightning Step] technique took hold. His legs screamed in protest as he used it at its full ability, every step a jolt of pain, but the technique was a lifeline, allowing him to leave streaks of afterimages.

The strain was unbearable, but his heart raced with desperation. Despite all his efforts, the rhinos continued to chase after him, like shadows that would never be outrun.

“Chen Ren, look to your right.”

Yalan’s voice echoed in his mind, cutting through his panic. He didn’t hesitate, turning instinctively to the side just as a massive, ethereal ivory-horned rhino surged toward him, its glow an obnoxious black that leached into the very air around it.

The aura it radiated was suffocating, and by its sheer presence, Chen Ren could tell it was a qi refinement realm beast. An early stage Tier 2 monster.

Chen Ren's mind raced. Fighting wasn’t an option. Not against something like this. Yet... he couldn’t just run. His qi surged as he prepared to unleash [Thundering Punch], but before he could, an intense heat touched his chest and started spreading throughout his body. He immediately turned to his right.

Yalan.

Purple light erupted from Yalan’s claws, streaking through the air with the ferocity of a storm. Flames danced along her tail like the first time he'd seen her, fiery tendrils licking the air. With a fluid motion, she hurled the flames at the charging rhino, catching it mid-surge. The flames scorched its ethereal hide, throwing it off course, before her claws dug deep into its flesh, tearing through its form with ease.

The creature let out a strangled whimper, its body writhing, but not a drop of blood spilt from the wound. Chen Ren’s heart skipped as he saw it falter. She had injured it.

But just as quickly as the relief came, it vanished. A second rhino, larger and more ferocious than the first, charged at him from behind, its black-tipped horns gleaming with murderous intent. Chen Ren’s instincts kicked in. He twisted, leaping backwards just as the rhino’s horn grazed the air where he had been a heartbeat ago.

Before the beast could charge again, Yalan’s fiery aura enveloped it. Her short frame suddenly looked bigger and her amber eyes looked cold—too cold. She threw herself into battle with the second rhino, her claws glowing purple and slicing through the air with impossible precision.

“Chen Ren, run. I will handle these two. Get to safety.”

The words hit him like a slap. He opened his mouth to protest, but her voice cut through, unwavering.

“If you think I can be defeated by creatures like these, you are sorely mistaken. Just run. You aren't strong enough yet.”

For a moment, Chen Ren stared at her, his heart heavy. He wanted to argue, to stay and fight alongside her, but deep down, he knew the truth. Yalan was far stronger than these ethereal beasts. She wasn’t as fragile as a normal feline. If anything was fragile here, it was him.

Though her words cut him sharp, she was right. He wasn’t strong enough—not yet. Right now, he was a burden to everyone around him.

He could only pray that Yalan’s strength was enough to keep them both alive. If he ever wanted to stand on his own, to protect those he cared about, he had no choice but to run.

And so, he ran.

The pounding of his feet against the stone streets was the only sound in his ears, but even that was swallowed by the noise of destruction behind him. The sound of battle echoed across the city—shouts, screams, and the vicious roars of beasts. He couldn’t help but know, deep down, that Yalan was holding her ground, her flames lashing out as she fought back the rhinos.

He aimed for the Tang Clan compound, hoping that it would offer some kind of sanctuary, but just as he neared the edge of the street, the ground beneath him trembled violently.

He turned instinctively, just in time to feel the wind of a projectile whizz by his cheek, missing him by a hair’s breadth.

A chill ran down his spine as he looked back. Standing in the street was another large rhino, its eyes fixed on him like a predator eyeing its prey. Its ivory horn glowed with an eye-blinding black light, sending shivers through his bones. Chen Ren felt his heart race, and before he could react, the rhino fired another volley of projectiles.

He barely managed to twist his body, using [Lightning Step] to dodge.

Golden lightning surged through his legs, sending him darting to the side as the deadly projectiles sliced through the air where he’d been a moment before.

The rhino didn’t relent. With a deafening roar, it charged forward, its massive form blurring toward him like an unstoppable force. Chen Ren’s mind screamed at him to move, but he knew that he couldn’t outrun this one. Not head-on. He needed another way.

His eyes moved through the street before an idea struck him. His gaze hardened.

He pushed his qi to the surface, flooding his body with power and planted his feet. With a deep breath, his fists tightened, and with a raw, thundering force, he slammed them into the ground. The shockwave rippled through the earth, and cracks splintered outward, tearing through the stone beneath his feet.

The rhino’s charge faltered as one of its hooves caught on the crack, causing it to stumble and slide awkwardly. For a brief moment, it was off balance—long enough for Chen Ren to seize the opportunity.

Without hesitation, he turned and bolted, changing direction entirely, his mind racing.

Another roar split the air.

Looking over his shoulders, he saw the rhino regain his footing and start to give chase. Chen Ren's heart fell, mind racing for a way to lose it.

He couldn’t keep running in circles, couldn’t stay out in the open for long.

His eyes shot up to the horizon suddenly, where a dense mist began rolling in, creeping over the city like a living thing. A spark of inspiration flared in his mind. The mist. If he could make it there, if he could blend into the fog, maybe—just maybe—he could lose the rhino.

He pushed himself harder, his feet moving faster, silent as the wind, as he sped toward the encroaching mist. Lightning danced around his legs.

The rhino followed, undeterred, its roar reverberating through the streets. It got closer and closer every second.

Chen Ren could feel its presence like a shadow looming behind him, waiting for the moment when he would slip up.

He took a deep breath as he neared the edge of the mist and pushed his focus inward. His steps softened to near silence, every muscle working in harmony to create as little noise as possible. His lightning extinguished to not attract attention.

He moved like a ghost, his body practically blending with the shifting mist.

The world around him became a blur of grey and white as he entered the fog, each footstep deliberate and controlled. He couldn't afford a single misstep.

Chen Ren glanced back, watching the ethereal rhino charge into the mist after him.

His heart hammered in his chest, but he remained calm. If the rhino had no way to see through the mist, he might have a chance. The dense fog swallowed him whole, obscuring his figure from the creature’s sight.

Just keep moving, he thought, using the sentence as a mantra in his mind.

Behind him, the sound of the ethereal rhino crashing through the mist echoed like thunder, its roar wild and desperate.

He saw it turning in a different direction than where he stood due to the shine of its horn.

Chen Ren couldn’t help but smile to himself. Just as he’d suspected, the rhino was nothing more than a mindless beast—a shadowy creature driven by instinct. If it couldn’t see him, it couldn’t do anything at all.

Stupid bastard—a big ball of flesh.

With that thought, Chen Ren moved carefully through the fog, each step measured and silent. The mist, thick and oppressive, offered him the perfect cover. Slowly, the silhouette of the rhino materialized through the haze, its massive body huffing as it searched for him. Looking here and there. Chen Ren’s heart raced as he crept closer to the creature’s rear.

Without hesitation, he gathered all his remaining strength and unleashed a [Thundering Punch] directly onto the rhino’s back. The ground beneath him cracked as the force of the blow reverberated, sending a shockwave through the earth. The monster let out a bone-rattling roar, its body shuddering from the impact.

But by the time it turned around, Chen Ren was already gone, slipping away like a shadow in the mist. The rhino, disoriented and enraged, madly charged back and forth, trying to catch the elusive figure that had struck it. But Chen Ren was already on the move again, hitting the same spot on the creature’s back, again and again, and again.

The rhino’s movements grew sluggish as it staggered, its form dimming in the mist. Chen Ren’s confidence grew with each successful hit. One more strike, he thought to himself, and I’ll be able to get out of here.

He rushed forward, gathering his remaining qi and unleashing his [Lightning Frenzy] on the rhino, his fists crackling with power. This time, however, the rhino seemed to sense the change. With surprising agility, it turned just in time to meet his strike. Chen Ren’s fist landed with a deafening impact against its face, and the rhino screamed in pain, its body jolting backwards.

But before Chen Ren could make his escape, the rhino retaliated. Its ivory horn shot forward, slashing across his shoulder with a sickening burn. Pain exploded through him, but he gritted his teeth, pushing through the agony. Adrenaline surged as he leapt over the creature, narrowly avoiding its follow-up attack.

The rhino roared and charged again, but Chen Ren was already moving. By now, he had a solid grasp of where he was. He could feel the edge of the city in the distance. The boundary was near.

And then, just as he expected, the city’s walls loomed before him, rising up from the mist. The rhino, relentless as ever, continued its charge, its eyes locked on him. But Chen Ren was ready. With a powerful burst of speed, he kicked off the ground, his foot landing solidly on the city wall and jumped.

The rhino, too caught up in its rage to stop, slammed into the wall with a bone-shaking impact. It's horn got caught in the stone. It let out a painful whimper as it struggled to free itself.

This was it. Chen Ren didn’t hesitate. He got back on the ground and summoned the last of his energy, his qi surging through his body. Destructive lightning surged through his fist, and with one final roar, he unleashed it at the rhino’s face.

The moment his punch connected, the ethereal beast seemed to dissolve. Lightning covered its whole body and its form shattered into just air of glowing particles, mixing with the mist and vanishing into the atmosphere like smoke.

Chen Ren staggered back, panting heavily, his shoulder searing with pain.

He barely had time to register the victory before his exhaustion hit him all at once. His legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees, breathing heavily, eyes locked on the mist as the last remnants of the rhino disappeared.

Chen Ren squinted at the fading remnants, his mind racing with confusion. That's weird. I’ve never seen such a beast before.

His gaze swept across the mist that seemed to cling to the ground, but no one else was in sight. The silence of the city had settled into an eerie calm, a complete one-eighty to the chaos he had just fled.

Then, like a wave crashing over him, the pain hit. Double and triple the pain he felt before.

His entire body screamed in protest—the deep, gnawing ache in his shoulder where the rhino’s horn had grazed him, the weariness in his legs that felt like they were made of lead from the continuous use of his [Lightning Step] technique, and the raw tenderness in his arms, which had taken the brunt of the rhino’s tough hide. His breath came in short gasps, each movement sending tremors of agony through him.

He couldn't afford to stay here. Not now. There were no sign of Yalan, and he needed to move, to find safety.

Chen Ren gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand, pushing against the searing pain. His legs felt unsteady, but his determination was unshakable. If he were to pass out here, no one would know he died. And he would be disappointing Yalan who had given him the opportunity to escape.

He would never get the chance to fulfil the potential of his dao and uncover the mysteries of this world.

He clutched his shoulder and walked, each step sending a jolt of pain all over his body. But he endured and moved further and further.

The smoke plumed from every corner, the air thick with the screams of panicked citizens and the bellowing roars of beasts still terrorizing the streets. As he moved, every step felt like a battle in itself.

But he couldn’t afford to collapse now.

When he finally reached the Tang Clan compound, the sight of guards and familiar faces gave him a brief moment of solace. Tang Xiulan was among them, her eyes scanning the crowd, but when she spotted him, her face blanched. Without a second thought, she rushed toward him, her footsteps quick as if she feared the worst.

“Young Master Chen Ren!” she shouted, her voice filled with panic as her eyes took in his condition.

His body, weakened and drained from the battle, faltered. As she reached him, Chen Ren had no strength left to hold himself upright. His body sagged, and with a soft, almost defeated sigh, he collapsed into her arms, his vision beginning to blur.

"I have no energy left... Please take care of me," he murmured, his words barely above a whisper, heavy with exhaustion.

He gave in to the darkness that clouded his vision. The dots drew a full blank and numbness clouded his entire body.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.

40. Bitter Pills

Chen Ren felt like he was running and running, his lungs burning as if they were on fire, his legs trembling under the weight of his own body. Behind him, a monstrous demonic beast roared, its grotesque tentacles writhing like living shadows, each one tipped with a sharp edge that thirsted for his blood—seeking him, wanting to slash his flesh into pieces.

The earth beneath him quaked with each step of the beast, the sound of its guttural growls reverberating through his chest.

Lightning coursed through his legs, arcs of electric energy crackling at his heels, urging him forward with desperate speed. Yet, no matter how fast he ran, no matter how much he pushed himself, the beast was faster.

Every step sent pain coursing through his body.

His limbs felt heavy, and his strength was a shallow reservoir rapidly draining away.

Too slow. Too weak.

A cold, slimy tendril lashed out and wrapped around his waist, yanking him off his feet. He thrashed wildly, trying to get out of this trap, but the tentacle only tightened, crushing his ribs as it dragged him closer to the monstrosity. It hovered over him, a terrifying amalgamation of chaos and darkness, its grotesque mouth lined with jagged teeth stained with the remnants of its past victims. Shreds of human flesh and bone dangled from its maw, the stench of death suffocating.

Chen Ren’s heart sank into an abyss of despair as the creature spoke, its voice a deep, guttural resonance that seemed to echo within his very soul.

"Your soul is mine now."

The beast reared its head back, preparing to devour him, when a deafening roar split the air.

Chen Ren covered his ears, the sound almost rupturing his eardrums.

The skies above erupted into brilliance. Golden light emanated, making his jaw drop.

A massive golden dragon glided down, its scales shimmering with celestial radiance. Its eyes burned with fury, and each beat of its wings sent waves of energy rippling across the landscape. The dragon’s roar shook Chen Ren, a sound so powerful it seemed to challenge the very existence of the demonic beast.

Chen Ren’s hope reignited as the dragon descended like a bolt of divine retribution, its claws poised to rip the monstrosity apart.

But before the dragon could strike, a sharp pain shot through Chen Ren’s leg. He cried out as warm blood gushed from the wound.

He glanced down, only to see the beast’s tentacle morphing, its slimy surface sprouting fur. Its sharp tip was reshaping into a familiar claw.

His mind spun as he stared at the transformation, confusion breaking through the fog of fear. "Isn’t this… Yalan’s claw?"

The beast’s mouth twisted into a cruel grin, its voice reverberating once more.

"Yes, it is. Now wake up."

Chen Ren blinked, his breath catching. The surreal nightmare twisted further as a force yanked him upward, ripping him from the darkness.

He gasped, sitting bolt upright. His chest heaved as cold sweat drenched his body, and his surroundings came into focus.

He found himself in the same room he had been living in for over a month in Tang Clan's guest compound.

His hands trembled as he instinctively reached for his legs, now tightly wrapped in fresh bandages. His shoulders, too, bore signs of care, medicinal salves and bindings holding together his battered body.

His gaze shifted, locking onto Yalan, sitting beside him. Her sharp eyes studied him, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. She tilted her head as if to say, “You’re finally awake”.

Chen Ren looked around the room again, his thoughts a whirlwind. Memories of the night before came flooding back—his meeting with Feng Ming, the return of the medallion, the attack of the demonic cultivator, the explosion that tore through the silence, the spectral rhinos he fought while fleeing for his life. It all felt like a lifetime ago.

He exhaled shakily, rubbing his temples. The beast’s words still echoed in his mind, its jagged teeth and monstrous grin seared into his memory. He glanced at Yalan again, her presence anchoring him to the present.

“What…” he croaked, his voice hoarse. “What happened?”

Yalan started kneading as she relaxed on the bed.

“You’re alive. Barely. But next time, try to put more practice into your movement techniques. Like you learned last night, not every fight is fair and you need to run more times than you would like. A fast movement technique helps in that, especially for someone so weak.”

Chen Ren winced at her bluntness but couldn’t argue. He let his head fall back against the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Here.”

Chen Ren’s eyes drifted to Yalan’s paw, where two pills rested. The scent of herbs wafted from them.

He raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued despite the ache in his body. “What are those?”

Yalan’s tail flicked. “The grey one is a Flesh Restoration Pill. It’ll mend your torn flesh, stop the bleeding, and close up the worst of your injuries. The white one is a Body Restoration Pill. It handles minor wounds, balances your qi flow, and gives you a surge of energy. Take them both, and you’ll be back on your feet soon enough.”

Chen Ren picked up the pills, holding them between his fingers as he inspected them. The grey pill was rough and irregularly shaped, its surface matte and unappealing. The white pill, by contrast, had a smoother texture and gave off a faint luminescent sheen. He glanced at Yalan skeptically.

"Surge of energy, huh?" he muttered, rolling the pills in his palm. With a resigned sigh, he popped them into his mouth.

The taste hit him instantly—a mix of bitter herbs and something else indescribable, like burnt ash mixed with spoiled milk. His face twisted in disgust, and his first instinct was to spit them out.

Yalan’s sharp voice stopped him mid-motion. “Chew them. Both of them. If you don’t, they won’t work properly.”

He gave her a withering look but complied, biting down on the pills. The bitterness intensified, spreading across his tongue and making his stomach churn. He felt his gag reflex coming to play when he chewed further, but somehow, he managed to swallow the gritty remains. His entire face scrunched up in pain.

As the last of the taste faded, warmth blossomed in his core. It started as a tickle, then spread like wildfire through his veins. His breathing steadied, and the ache in his shoulders melted away. Even the dull throb in his legs dampened until it was barely noticeable. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the sudden vitality coursing through him.

Yalan watched his reaction with an amused smirk. “Feeling better already, aren’t you?”

Chen Ren nodded, rolling his shoulders experimentally. “Yeah, even my shoulders feel better. What type of herbs are they even made up of?”

“Dozens of different herbs and beast materials. You don't need to know right now. Just take them as a miracle of alchemy.” Yalan said with a wave of her paw.

Chen Ren studied her for a moment before asking, “Where did you get them? And what happened yesterday? Did you kill those spectral beasts?”

Yalan rolled over and showed her belly like a normal cat. A behaviour he had gotten used to. He briefly wondered if he should scratch, thinking back to his neighbour's cat that used to love that. But decided against it in the end.

If she gets angry, she might just force me to take more of those awful flavoured pills.

She was a feisty soul and Chen soon saw it when she turned around and sat next to him. “Of course I killed them. Those foul creatures were easy enough to deal with, though there were a lot of them. After finishing them off, I wanted to come back for you, but the demonic cultivator was still out there. I couldn’t risk letting him escape. So, I rushed back to the site of the explosion, but there was no trace of him. That bastard vanished without a single clue.”

Chen Ren frowned. “And the pills?”

“I found them in a pill shop that the spectral rhinos were destroying,” she said nonchalantly. “Figured you’d need them, so I grabbed a handful. Afterward, I scoured the area, hoping to find that demonic cultivator, but he was gone. By the time I came back to look for you, you’d already disappeared. When I finally tracked you down, you were collapsed in the Tang Manor’s courtyard with Xiulan tending to you.”

Chen Ren leaned back against the pillows, absorbing Yalan’s words. His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, betraying his unease.

“The demonic cultivator got away… fuck! He must be stronger than I thought if he can control those spectral rhinos.”

Yalan shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. There were no traces of demonic qi on them. They weren’t his doing—not directly, at least. I believe they came from a spirit artefact, not the work of the cultivator himself. Whoever set this chaos in motion, I doubt they intended for the city to be wrecked like this. The other killings were done quietly, in the dead of night. This... this mess doesn’t fit the pattern. Honestly, I don’t even think the explosions were caused by the demonic cultivator.”

Chen Ren furrowed his brow, her words gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. He suddenly recalled the talismans he’d glimpsed in Feng Ming’s room before fleeing. Those fire runes. The memory clicked into place, and a theory began to form.

If Yalan was right and the explosions weren’t the cultivator’s doing, then those talismans… He gritted his teeth. The demonic cultivator had been heading toward the Feng Clan estate, and the talismans might have been the trigger for this entire mess. Perhaps the blasts were intended to draw attention—enough to set the Feng Clan’s guards and the city watch on high alert. The spectral rhinos could have been a diversion, buying time for the demonic cultivator to slip away unnoticed.

As his thoughts raced toward a conclusion, a knock on the door jolted him back to reality. He exchanged a glance with Yalan, then called out, “Come in.”

The door creaked open, revealing Tang Xiulan. Her usual confidence was replaced with an expression of worry and concern. Her eyebrows knitted in a tight frown and her lips tightened. Her gaze darted to Chen Ren, and the tension in her shoulders eased slightly when she saw him sitting upright.

“Young Master, you’re awake. How are you feeling now?” she asked, stepping into the room.

Chen Ren offered a faint smile, trying to downplay the gravity of his injuries. “I’m fine. Feeling better already. Wounds like these won’t keep me bedridden for long.”

He glanced at Yalan, and back at Xiulan. “Can we have the room for a moment?”

Xiulan didn’t nod immediately. Chen Ren noticed it and frowned. “Is there something else you need to tell me?”

“Yes,” Xiulan replied and cleared her throat. Her hands fidgeted nervously as she looked at him. “Young Master, the city guards are asking about you. They’re here to question you.”

Chen Ren’s frown deepened. “Question me? About what?”

“They’re suspecting you’re the demonic cultivator. They’re talking about taking you away to interrogate you. I have tried to keep them away from your room, but they are insisting on seeing you.”

Chen Ren's eyebrows shot up in shock. He exchanged a quick glance with Yalan, her fur standing slightly on end as her ears twitched in shared alarm. Without wasting a second, Chen Ren pushed the covers aside and swung his legs over the bed. “Where are they?” he demanded.

Tang Xiulan hesitated, wringing her hands. “They’re just outside the compound. Young master, you shouldn't move. You are injured.”

Chen Ren grabbed his outer robe, ignoring the slight twinge of pain in his still-mending shoulder and Tang Xiulan's words. “I’ll go deal with it,” he said firmly, striding toward the door. “And don't worry. Most of my injuries have healed.”

“Be careful,” Xiulan called after him, worry evident in her tone.

“I’ll be fine,” he said without looking back. “I’ll just explain what happened last night. They’ve got no right to throw around accusations like this.”

Despite his confident words, his thoughts churned. City guards or not, they don’t have the strength to push cultivators around unless they’ve brought someone strong enough to back them up. I’ll give them a report, set them straight, and get back to resting.

He walked through the wooden floorboards, briefly glancing at the other servant he passed by before finally stepping into the courtyard.

As he did so, Chen Ren froze mid-step. An oppressive aura bore down on him like a tidal wave, heavy and unrelenting. His instincts flared, and he immediately scanned the source. A group of city guards stood in formation, their gazes hard and unyielding. At the forefront, a towering man clad in dark armor exuded an unmistakable presence.

Oppressive qi rippled out of him and Chen Ren gulped. By this point, he had seen enough cultivators and had familiarised himself with qi to know that the man wasn't just a body forging realm cultivator— this was someone in the qi refinement realm.

Chen Ren’s gut twisted slightly. He hadn’t anticipated facing someone of this caliber today.

The man’s sharp eyes locked onto Chen Ren the moment he stepped into view. “You are Chen Ren?” he asked. “I'm the guard captain here. We need you to come with us.”

Chen Ren straightened his back, suppressing the lingering pain in his body. “That’s me. What’s this about?”

The guard captain’s expression remained stony.

“By order of City Lord Li Baolong, you are hereby taken into custody for the murder of Feng Ming of the Feng Clan and on suspicion of being the demonic cultivator responsible for wreaking havoc throughout the city. Any resistance will be met with force. Surrender yourself immediately.”

***

Gu Tian stood amidst a restless crowd gathered near the ruins of a grand estate. The smoldering wreckage of the Feng Clan manor painted a grim picture of chaos, with splintered wood and charred stones strewn across the ground like discarded remnants of an inferno. The acrid scent of smoke still lingered in the air, mingling the sweet scent of blood.

The people around him whispered in hushed tones, their voices tinged with fear and fascination.

“They say the demonic cultivator unleashed a demon,” murmured one man, his eyes darting nervously toward the wreckage. “It swallowed everything in its path.”

“I heard the guards were helpless against the thing,” a woman added, clutching her child tightly. “Nothing but corpses left behind.”

“Quiet down!” barked a guard stationed nearby, waving his spear to scatter the crowd back. “This is an official investigation. Clear the area!”

Despite the guards’ efforts, the whispers persisted, growing more sensational with each retelling. Gu Tian shook his head.

Idiots. They’d believe anything.

He knew the truth. He had been there when the explosion rocked the Feng estate. He had been on the verge of finishing Feng Ming, the wretched and weak young master, when the fool had activated those talismans. The runes had glowed ominously before exploding in a catastrophic release of power, killing Feng Ming instantly and forcing Gu Tian to flee.

The aftermath had been far from ideal. The explosion had attracted too much attention, forcing him to use his master’s spirit artifact—a concealed relic with enough power to create a diversion while he escaped into the shadows.

Now, he was here, blending into the crowd, spectating the chaos he had indirectly caused. The guards combed through the wreckage, their faces grim as they retrieved bodies, both whole and in pieces. Gu Tian kept his hood low, smirking faintly at their ineptitude. At least they’re not clever enough to think the culprit would return to the scene.

A sharp, familiar voice cut into his thoughts, ringing clearly in his head.

“You should have been more careful,” his master’s ethereal tone hissed, full of disapproval. “I warned you about barging in without enough information. You are still so green behind the ears.”

Gu Tian’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond immediately. He stepped away from the crowd, moving into a narrow alley, his boots crunching on loose gravel. Once out of sight, he muttered under his breath, “We don’t have a lot of time. The guards were already on edge. I didn’t have a choice.”

“And now they’re more vigilant than ever, thanks to you,” his master retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do you have any idea how much harder you’ve made this? And we’re no closer to finding the medallion.”

Gu Tian ground his teeth, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “It’s not my fault! I’ve searched the entire city, but you’re asleep half the time in that bracelet of yours. You can’t detect the medallion unless you’re awake, and you only stirred yesterday when I was already seconds away from killing Feng Ming. If you stayed conscious, we’d have the damn thing by now, and we would be on my way to the Gate of Immortals.”

Gu Tian leaned against the cold stone wall of the alley, exhaling sharply as his master’s deep, raspy voice growled in his mind.

“I’m too weak right now, boy, merely a fragment of my former self, barely clinging on as a spectre. Do you think it’s easy concealing your qi and twisting it to pass for ordinary? It drains what little strength I have left. Show some respect.”

Gu Tian rolled his eyes, his voice laced with exasperation. “Alright, fine. But let’s be real here—we’re no closer to finding the medallion, and after the stunt last night, sneaking into the big clans is out of the question. The city’s crawling with guards. If I so much as breathe near their gate, I’ll have an entire squad on me.”

“So?” his master replied coolly. “You’re supposed to be resourceful, aren’t you? Figure it out.”

Gu Tian ignored the jab, straightening as his thoughts coalesced into a single plan. “The tournament,” he said decisively. “It’s the only chance we’ve got. If the medallion is as significant as we know, there’s a good chance it’ll either be among the prizes or carried by someone important. If we enter, you can sense if it’s nearby, right?”

A gruff silence followed, his master’s presence simmering in his mind like a storm waiting to break. Finally, the spectre replied, his tone reluctant. “It’s a gamble, but you might be right. The tournament would draw all manner of treasures and powerful people. If the medallion is here, it’s likely someone connected to it will appear.”

“Then it’s settled,” Gu Tian said, determination hardening his voice. “I’ll enter the tournament. Until then, I’ll lie low. No more slip-ups.”

His master snorted. “Low profile, huh? A bit late for that, don’t you think?”

Gu Tian frowned but chose not to retort. He knew his master was right. Still, this was their best option.

“I will be sleeping until then. Don’t do anything else. You’ve done enough for now. Just hide and wait. If we get caught before that, you know what’ll happen.”

Gu Tian nodded. “Our goal of immortality will be over. I get it. I’ll stay hidden.”

With a tug of his hood, Gu Tian melded into the shadows of the labyrinthine streets. His master's silhouette disappeared from his eyes, returning to his bracelet. Just a little bit more time until the day of the tournament.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.

41. Innocent until proven (1)

When the guards arrived and refused to let him speak, Chen Ren knew it was bad news. They didn’t stop there—they grabbed his arm and began dragging him away. He could only glance back at the confused expressions of those gathered around the Tang Clan compound.

Anger surged through him, seeping from his core to the tips of his fingers. He wanted to burn the guards to ashes.

The past twenty-four hours had been anything but peaceful. First, the meeting with Feng Ming hadn’t exactly been pleasant. Then, he had narrowly survived explosions and had to fend off ethereal ghost rhinos bent on his destruction. And now? He was being hauled away on the suspicion of being a demonic cultivator.

At this point, he almost wished he was one, just so he could kill them all on the spot. Because, after all, there was only so much one man could endure.

Although Chen Ren lacked the strength to fight against qi refinement realm cultivators, he knew Yalan did. The small but ancient spirit beast could easily tear through them all with her claws and flames. Part of his brain, the impulsive part, urged him to unleash her, to ignore the consequences entirely. But rationality held him back. Regretfully, he had to consider the aftermath.

Causing a scene by opposing the city guards would mean going against the bureaucracy—and that would only spell more trouble for him and his budding business in the long run. He had no choice but to endure this indignity.

It was almost funny—or perhaps it was just his mind playing tricks on him during an unfunny situation. In Xianxia novels, protagonists always seemed to burn entire cities for one reason or another. He wasn’t one of them—it was for the best. Taking extreme measures would bring the wrath of the entire empire upon him.

After all, in Xianxia logic, there was always someone stronger—someone who would inevitably arrive to exact revenge for the chaos.

It was a never-ending spiral: one comes, only to be followed by someone stronger.

Chen Ren sighed. He didn’t want to be part of that vicious cycle. As frustrating as the situation was, he believed in his ability to find a way out. For one, he wasn’t a demonic cultivator. And two, he had the backing of the Tang Clan. If things spiraled out of control, he knew they’d step in to rescue him.

At least, he hoped they would.

Therefore, suppressing the simmering anger and his urge to burn everything down, Chen Ren sat silently in the carriage. As the door slammed shut with an unnecessarily harsh thud, he took a deep breath and reached out to Yalan mentally, knowing she must be nearby.

"Stay close. Just in case."

"Right here, on the roof. Don’t worry," Yalan’s voice came through, calm and soothing, a much-needed balm to his frazzled nerves.

Even though he had a potential escape, he couldn’t stop his heartbeat from quickening, its rhythm pounding in his ears. "Thanks," he thought, glancing down at his hands.

Thankfully, they hadn’t cuffed him. He wasn’t sure if it was because the captain of the guards was confident in his strength or simply because Chen Ren hadn’t resisted.

Before he could ponder further, two more guards climbed into the carriage, one on either side, boxing him in.

“Well?” Chen Ren broke the silence, turning to the man on his right. He was tall, with brownish hair and clad in the standard green guard uniform. By the subtle aura he gave, he was a low star body forging realm cultivator.

Chen Ren expected at least a terse response from him; a conversation that might help him glean the information he desperately needed.

Instead, he was met with nothing. The guards sat rigid, their mouths clamped shut, gazes fixed straight ahead.

He waited a moment, then tried again. “Why am I being dragged off like this?”

Silence. Again.

Realizing it was futile, Chen Ren gave up. The rest of the ride stretched on in complete silence. He kept his mouth shut, letting the oppressive quiet hang heavy around them.

The carriage rattled along, its destination unknown to him. The journey was anything but comfortable. The guards on either side flanked him so closely he felt squashed, their presence acting as a constant reminder of his lack of freedom.

Looking out the small window, he found his only solace. The city outside bore the scars of recent destruction. Crumbled buildings lined the streets, their remains strewn across the ground like forgotten relics of stability. People wept openly as their ruined homes stood as testaments to the chaos.

Debris filled the air, while the cacophony of hammers striking, tools clanging, and voices shouting painted a grim picture of the city’s heart. Through it all, he could almost hear the pain raging in their hearts, unspoken but unmistakably raw.

Some people pointed at the carriage. They hurled curses and shouted incomprehensible accusations at the guards’ inability to do anything to stop the destruction. The guards seemed to ignore them, but he could see them frowning for a brief second.

Looking at the state of things… I can see why the city guard came for me this morning, he thought, watching the angry and despairing passersby.

Until now, his short time in the city had taught him that the guards were slow-moving and likely corrupt. But this time, they had acted quickly—too quickly. It was clear that due to the murders and the attack, their reputation was all-time low.

They had likely gotten orders from someone higher up too.

“Catch the demonic cultivator as soon as possible.”

Chen Ren could guess the likely source— City Lord Li Baolong himself.

But why he had gotten taken in was still a mystery. Though, he had an idea.

As his mind tried to make sense of it, a dull ache began to throb in his temples. He flinched, rubbing the sides of his forehead. Timing… he mused bitterly.

In life, timing was everything—being in the right place at the right moment could open doors. But in his case, he’d been in the wrong place at the worst possible time.

Someone had likely spotted him entering the Feng Ming Clan estate the previous night. He’d taken his time there, staying longer than he should have. Then came the explosion. And, as luck would have it, he’d been close enough to witness the devastation—and endure its aftermath.

That must be why they detained me, he thought grimly, his headache worsening.

His theory solidified when he recalled the guard’s announcement during his arrest: they suspected him of being a demonic cultivator.

Chen Ren let out a slow breath, forcing the tension in his chest to subside. A misunderstanding, he told himself. Nothing more. If he kept his composure and explained himself, surely they would see reason.

That was assuming they’d even bother to look at the truth with reasonable eyes. If not, Chen Ren could only guess what fate awaited him.

Worst case scenario, I would have to stay in whatever cultivator prison they have in this world.

The thought crept in, dark and unbidden, sending a chill rippling across his body. He shook it off, refusing to entertain it further.

Instead, he did what he had learned to do best—ignore everything. His gaze stayed fixed on the passing streets outside the window. Roads blurred into shops, shops into houses, and houses back into more winding roads. The turns of the carriage, the jostling, and the suffocating lack of space clawed at him, stirring nausea that he forced down with sheer will.

Finally, the carriage ground to a halt.

The guards to his sides exited first, their heavy boots landing with purpose. They held the door open, but there was no courtesy in the gesture. Only cautious, wary stares that silently screamed mistrust.

Chen Ren stepped out, the fresh air doing little to ease the dread pooling in his chest. His eyes rose to meet the imposing structure before him—the City Guard Station. Its gray stone walls loomed like an unyielding fortress, cold and unwelcoming.

“Move,” barked the guard who had sat to his right. The man’s tone carried the weight of command, stiff and edged with unspoken threats.

Chen Ren offered no resistance. He followed their lead, passing the iron-gated entrance flanked by dozens of guards. Their eyes bore straight ahead, statuesque in their discipline, giving him no more acknowledgment than they would a passing shadow.

Inside, the oppressive silence of the corridor made each step echo ominously. The number of guards dwindled as they moved deeper, but their presence still pressed heavily on Chen Ren’s shoulders.

The path ended abruptly before two towering mahogany doors. Chen Ren’s eyes instinctively flicked back to the guard, whose expression stayed cold and unyielding.

“Go in and wait,” came the terse instruction.

Chen Ren’s frown deepened, but he swallowed his retort. Am I not innocent until proven guilty? He thought bitterly but kept his silence.

With a reluctant nod, he pushed the doors open.

The room was barren, save for a lone wooden table and two chairs. The heavy doors slammed shut behind him with a force that rattled the ceiling, sealing him in.

Chen Ren let out a long sigh, his body sagging like dead weight as he dragged a chair out and slumped into it. The effort of holding himself together had taken its toll, even in this short time.

The ride from the Tang Compound to here had been excruciating. His body didn’t ache as much as he had expected—thanks to the pill he’d taken earlier—but his legs still throbbed with soreness.

Chen Ren's gaze drifted across the sparse room, seeking distraction in its details. His eyes caught faint carvings etched into the stone walls—runes.

They are probably part of an array, he realized, his mind sharpening. The intricate designs radiated faint traces of power, almost imperceptible unless one knew to look for them. He leaned forward, examining them closely, noting their differences in style and purpose. There wasn’t just one array at work here. The overlapping patterns suggested multiple layers of enchantments, each reinforcing the room’s defenses.

So this is why the guard captain seemed so confident, Chen Ren mused. He tapped his fingers lightly against the wooden table, piecing together the puzzle of the arrays to pass the time.

From what he recalled about arrays—a brief but enlightening chapter from the book he’d studied yesterday—they were as varied as the stars in the sky. Each array drew on different materials and principles to achieve specific effects.

If I were designing a room like this, he thought, what would I include?

The silence around him was stifling. Likely the work of a [Null Voice Array], which suppressed all sound from escaping—or entering—the room. The walls themselves bore signs of reinforcement. The thick lines and angular patterns suggested a [Stoneheart Array], designed to make the structure nigh-impervious to force.

But what truly piqued his interest were the subtler carvings that were there. Chen Ren guessed these might belong to a [Truthseeker Array].

Although the world wasn't advanced scientifically, it wasn't far-fetched for magic to replace modern tools like lie detectors. The thought tugged at the corner of his mind, thinking of ways he would be able to use arrays to make new products to sell.

As his thoughts drifted, another realization crept in, unbidden.

Qing He.

Her name surfaced in his mind carrying a sense of disappointment, at himself. He’d been looking forward to today’s lesson on cultivation disciplines, eager to absorb her insights. The regret settled in his chest, mingling with the frustration of his current predicament.

Another thing to fix when this is over, he thought, shaking his head lightly.

Still, he took comfort in the knowledge that Qing He would likely understand. For now, he needed to focus on navigating this mess before he could return to what truly mattered.

The faint hum of the arrays in the walls was the only sound in the room until the door creaked open. Chen Ren’s gaze snapped up as the guard captain entered. His face bore a casual indifference, but Chen Ren didn’t miss the subtle sharpness in his eyes—he was a man used to commanding attention.

The captain carried a cup, steam rising lazily from its contents. He moved with unhurried grace, placing the cup on the table and sliding it toward Chen Ren.

“Here, drink this,” the captain said, his voice calm, almost friendly. “Apologies for the abrupt way we brought you in, but orders are orders. We couldn’t risk letting a suspect roam free while the investigation is ongoing.”

Chen Ren glanced at the tea, then at the captain, his expression unreadable. Tea, in this situation? Either this man is absurdly confident, or this is part of some strategy.

His mind immediately jumped to the possibility of something being mixed into the tea. A truth serum? A sedative? But the arrays in the room already ensured he was at their mercy. Any resistance now would only make him seem more suspicious.

With a small nod, Chen Ren decided to play along. He picked up the cup, the warmth radiating through his fingers. Blowing gently on the surface, he took a cautious sip. The familiar flavour of oolong greeted him—nothing unusual, at least in taste. But it helped him with the nerves, calming his headache.

The captain’s lips curled into a faint smile. “I suppose introductions are in order. My name is Cai Tao. I’m one of the guard captains here in the city.” He leaned back in his chair, his demeanor almost casual. “It’s nice to meet you, Chen Ren. I’ve heard quite a bit about you recently, but I never thought our first meeting would be under such... peculiar circumstances.”

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly have you heard? Good things or bad?”

Cai Tao chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed rehearsed. “A mix, I’d say. Your businesses have been quite the talk of the city lately alongside your Trial by Might against Bai Shen. A hardworking and righteous cultivator trying to make an honest living? That doesn’t exactly scream ‘demonic cultivator,’ now does it?”

He paused, his gaze narrowing slightly. “But as you might guess, personal opinions don’t matter when it comes to enforcing the city’s laws. Regulations exist for a reason, and my feelings can’t interfere with my duty.”

Chen Ren set the cup down, his fingers idly tracing its edge. “Fair enough. So, Captain Cai, what now?”

Cai Tao’s smile didn’t waver. “We talk. I have a few questions, and I hope you’ll indulge me.”

Chen Ren studied him for a moment. His earlier impression of Cai Tao as a forceful, combat-ready man during the detainment at the Tang Clan compound clashed with the seemingly amicable demeanour he displayed now. It was clear this was a performance, a calculated attempt to put him at ease.

With a faint smile of his own, Chen Ren nodded. “Go on. I’m all ears.”

Cai Tao’s face remained impassive, though his gaze bore the intent of a predator. He leaned forward slightly, his voice calm yet edged with an undercurrent of accusation.

“First of all, I believe you already know this, but Feng Ming died in yesterday’s explosion.” He paused, watching Chen Ren’s expression carefully. “What do you think about that?”

Chen Ren’s composure faltered, just for a moment. Though he had seen the devastation and guessed Feng Ming’s chances were slim, a small part of him had clung to the possibility of survival.

He didn’t particularly like Feng Ming—memories of the man’s attempt to scam him for the medallion flared in his mind—but death, especially one as violent as that, felt excessive. Snuffing out those thoughts quickly, he realised Cai Tao was studying him with the precision of a hawk.

Chen Ren exhaled and spoke, his tone even. “I feel sad, of course. We weren’t particularly close, but he was an acquaintance. He was too young to die like that. I can only hope the heavens will be kinder to him in his next life.”

Cai Tao’s lips curled into a humourless smile. “Acquaintance? Interesting. From what I’ve heard, the two of you were closer than that. Drinking buddies, frequenting the same brothels...”

Chen Ren grimaced, the memories of the previous body owner’s less-than-savoury nights surfacing unbidden. “I won’t deny that. But Feng Ming wasn’t the only one I drank with or visited brothels alongside. That doesn’t mean we were close friends. Besides,” he added with a pointed tone, “I’ve stopped going to brothels altogether.”

Cai Tao nodded slowly, as if accepting the statement. “True enough. You may have stopped going to brothels, but you didn’t stop meeting Feng Ming. In fact, according to my findings, you owed him a sum of money—500 silver wen, to be exact—and you met him yesterday, not long before his death.”

Chen Ren didn’t flinch. He had anticipated this line of questioning. “That’s correct. I owed him 500 silver wen, and I’ve been working hard to pay it off. That’s the only reason I went to see him yesterday—to pay my debt and cut ties for good. I left right after that.”

“Are you sure that was all you did?” His gaze flicked to Chen Ren’s shoulder, lingering on the bandages beneath his robes. “After all, you’re clearly injured. The servants at the Tang Clan compound confirmed you were resting due to those wounds.”

Chen Ren’s brows furrowed, but he held his ground. “What are you trying to say?”

Cai Tao pointed at Chen’s shoulder. “That wound on your shoulder—looks like it was caused by a blade. Feng Ming was a sword cultivator, wasn’t he? According to your version of events, you simply left after paying your debt. But don’t you think it’s quite a coincidence that Feng Ming died so soon after your meeting? It doesn’t seem far-fetched to me to put two and two together.”

Chen Ren met Cai Tao’s gaze steadily. “Coincidence or not, I’m not the demonic cultivator. I get that it’s suspicious—the timing, my injuries—but injuries alone don’t prove guilt. I was at the wrong place at the wrong time, nothing more.” He leaned back slightly, his voice calm but firm. “It’s unfortunate that the demonic cultivator attacked after I left, but you can’t pin that on me.”

Cai Tao smiled at that, almost mocking his words. "Yeah, it doesn't prove anything, but there’s one more thing. We suspect the attack was by a demonic cultivator, but it’s still just suspicion. The timing of the attacks, targeting high-profile individuals like members of big clans or wealthy merchants, makes sense. But I wonder... is it really him? The previous murders were done silently and we've yet to see him or her summon beasts to aid in the attacks. Till now, the demonic cultivator had been trying to stay in the shadows, but this time it was different. And that could be a sign of an impersonator—someone using the image of a demonic cultivator to cover their own deeds."

He paused, letting the words settle. And the next words; they came out of his mouth slowly. "And if I think about the ability to summon beasts, it’s clear that it must be tied to some sort of spirit artifact—a rare and valuable item. The kind of thing most often found in the hands of the large clans. And speaking of which, aren’t you from one of those big clans in Red Peak City?”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.

PS - This is a small arc. I'm clarifying because I know some RR readers get miffed with such arcs, but it won't be like that.

42. Innocent until proven (2)

Cai Tao’s mention of Red Peak City caught Chen Ren off guard, but he was no stranger to adapting in the face of uncertainty.

The pure surprise in his eyes lasted barely a heartbeat before it vanished beneath his usual smile. It was a well-practiced business smile that came to him naturally. It wasn't genuine, but no one had caught it yet.

In such a setting, he knew every little detail was a giveaway.

His lips curled slightly with the hint of a smirk tinged with self-deprecation, as he spoke with deliberate calm.

“Captain, it seems your research wasn’t thorough enough,” Chen Ren said in a mocking tone, lowering his gaze as his smile faded into a downcast expression. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly.

“What do you mean?” Cai Tao’s brow arched, suspicion laced through his voice. He leaned forward slightly, eyes squinting.

Chen Ren let the silence stretch, just long enough for tension to build, before speaking again, his voice tinged with resignation. “I’ve been exiled by my clan,” he murmured, each word measured, as though admitting it took effort. “The Chen Clan may hold sway in Red Peak City, but for someone like me? A failure cast out? They wouldn’t lift a finger. And as for the artifact...” He allowed a bitter chuckle to escape, shaking his head. “An exile, holding something as rare as a spirit artifact? Impossible. All I managed to leave with were a few personal belongings before they cast me out.”

He lifted his gaze, locking eyes with Cai Tao. “If you doubt me, you’re welcome to confirm it with Tang Jihao, head of the Tang Clan. He knows my story.”

The shift in Cai Tao’s expression was subtle but telling. His sharp facial expression softened, replaced by a flicker of hesitation. Chen Ren could see the wheels turning in the guard captain’s mind, the weight of the Tang Clan’s name and his exile pressing against his doubts. Even so, Cai Tao’s posture remained firm, his eyes narrowing as he seized on a new angle.

“You claimed those injuries came from fighting the spectral rhinos,” Cai Tao pressed, his eyes once again moving towards his shoulder. “Yet you’re still only in the body forging realm. Those rhinos were in the qi refinement realm, far beyond what someone of your cultivation should manage. How did you survive?”

Chen Ren’s stature remained unruffled as he raised the teacup to his lip. After a pause, he lowered it and met Cai Tao’s gaze calmly.

“I was chased by one of the rhinos into the mist… Stronger than me, yes—but not clever. The creature couldn’t navigate the haze, and I used that to my advantage. I struck from the shadows, again and again, until it fell.” He glanced briefly at the faint scars on his shoulder before continuing. “It wasn’t without cost. My injuries were severe, and I wouldn’t be sitting here now without the pills I’d saved up for emergencies.”

Cai Tao gave a short nod, his eyes flicking briefly to the runes embedded in the walls of the room. His gaze returned to Chen Ren. “I see,” he murmured, but the edge in his tone signalled that the questioning was far from over.

What followed was a relentless barrage of inquiries.

“Where were you during the recent demonic cultivator attacks?”

“Why did you suddenly decided to become a merchant?”

“What’s your connection to the Blood Snakes? I heard you met with their leader Yu Kuang.”

Chen Ren answered slowly, but without hesitation, never offering more than what was necessary. He had mostly been staying at the Tang Clan compound at night, so there would be witnesses. The servants could easily confirm that, and fortunately, there had been no attacks on the nights he had been out training in the forest.

As the questions turned to his businesses, he spoke of how his debts were the reason, also adding the story he had told Tang Jihao sometime ago to give more weight to his decisions.

When pressed about his confrontation with the Blood Snakes, he described it in broad strokes—an unfortunate clash due to Bai Shen pulling the strings from the back, nothing more. Cai Tao tried his best to form a connection there, but Chen Ren stood firm. There were already rumours about the Trial by Might and why it happened, so he doubted the guard captain would get new information.

Still, the questions continued.

Through it all, Chen Ren carefully guarded his secrets. His dao remained hidden behind layers of mundane explanations. And as for Yalan... Not even the hint of her existence slipped through his words.

Cai Tao’s probing gaze lingered after each response, but Chen Ren sat still, his fingers lightly gripping the rim of his teacup. His thoughts wandered as the guard captain’s scrutiny seemed to finally dull, as if the last thread of suspicion had been weighed and found wanting. He had expected Cai Tao to address his rapid cultivation progress, particularly after the sect entrance examinations, but the captain had avoided it entirely.

He guessed that it was because Cai Tao had concluded that it had been mostly due to pills.

Rich cultivators often relied on such means, and with the money Chen Ren had accumulated from his Trial by Might and his perfume shop, it was no surprise that he could afford to hasten his growth this way. The guard captain, in his pragmatic way, likely didn’t see the need to press further.

Eventually, the room grew quiet as Cai Tao leaned back in his chair, a faint sigh escaping his lips.

His sharp gaze met Chen Ren’s. “Most of my questions are over, and up to this point, I believe you’ve been honest with me. You’ve even revealed the situation with your clan, something few would so freely admit.”

Chen Ren nodded. But he didn’t relax—he knew well that a change in tone often preceded a shift in intention.

Cai Tao’s eyes narrowed as he continued, his words heavy with finality. “But despite that, I can’t let you go just yet. You’re not giving off any demonic qi, but we know too well that demonic cultivators have ways of hiding their aura. If we let you go now, there’s always the chance you might slip through our fingers. So…” His gaze hardened. “I’m afraid we’ll have to put you in the Purity Chamber.”

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow. “Purity Chamber?”

Cai Tao’s lips curled into a grim smile with no warmth in it. “It’s a property of the Soaring Sword Sect. A chamber specifically designed to expose demonic cultivators. If you harbor even a hint of demonic qi within your dantian, it will kill you. We’ve been given permission to use it,” Cai Tao continued. “All the suspects will be transferred there once the investigations are finished. It's not easy to find a demonic cultivator, so the chamber is our last hope.”

Chen Ren’s mind raced. A chamber that could kill him in an instant, should he carry even the smallest trace of demonic qi. The risks were immense, but it wasn’t his first time facing danger. Rather than that, he dreaded sitting in the room alone for more time.

He managed to keep his expression neutral, though the frown on his face deepened as he spoke. “How much time will it take?”

Cai Tao seemed to consider this for a moment. “Few days. We’re completing the other investigations and rounding up the remaining suspects. Once we have everyone, we’ll also move them to the Purity Chamber.”

Before Chen Ren could respond, a sharp knock on the door echoed through the room, breaking the tension. Both men turned toward the sound, the moment of confrontation put on hold.

As another knock echoed through the chamber, Cai Tao rose from his seat with a frown, his steps brisk as he moved to the door. He cracked it open just enough to step out, leaving Chen Ren sitting alone. Through the narrow gap, he caught a glimpse of another man standing outside—one of Cai Tao’s subordinates, judging by his uniform.

He had an anxious expression and made some hurried gestures before the door shut firmly, leaving Chen Ren in solitude.

He leaned back, casually tapping his finger on the edge of the desk. Finishing the last sip of his tea, he set the cup down, his gaze wandering over the runes glowing faintly on the walls. He couldn’t shake the sense that something had shifted, though what it was remained unclear.

Moments later, the door opened again, and Cai Tao returned, his face bearing an entirely different expression. There was no trace of suspicion, no lingering doubt—only an air of resignation.

“Forget what I said about the Purity Chamber,” Cai Tao said abruptly, his tone flat and decisive. “You can go now.”

Chen Ren blinked, genuinely taken aback. “I can... go?” he repeated cautiously, his mind racing to decipher the sudden change. But years of navigating treacherous waters had taught him a valuable lesson: never argue with good fortune.

He rose quickly, bowing his head slightly to Cai Tao, masking his relief with a veneer of calm. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll take my leave.”

With that, he stepped out of the room and into the dimly lit corridors. His strides were brisk but steady, his senses heightened as he glanced over his shoulder every few moments. The halls stretched endlessly ahead, but his mind was elsewhere, racing through questions. What had changed so suddenly? Could Tang Yuqiu have intervened? It seemed too fast, even for her.

Just as he approached the final stretch before the exit, he froze. Standing there, her figure unmistakable even in the sparse light, was Qing He. The old woman radiated her usual unyielding aura, though her posture seemed firmer, her grip steady on a plain wooden stick she held. Beside her stood Yalan—flickering her tail dismissively as always.

Chen Ren walked forward, his confusion mounting. “Senior Qing He? Why are you here?” His gaze flickered to the stick, and then to Yalan, who gave him a knowing look but said nothing. “What’s going on?”

Qing He’s lips curved into a sly smile, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “So many questions from someone I just bailed out of trouble.”

Chen Ren’s eyes widened as her words sank in. “You did that?” he asked, incredulous. “How?”

Her laughter echoed through the corridor, rich and knowing. “Kid, you underestimate me. My connections go far, and I mean far—right up to the city lord’s personal chambers.” She tapped the stick against the ground for emphasis. “Honestly, I was content to let them sort this out on their own. They’d have released you sooner or later. But then Yalan came running to me, saying they were suspecting you of being a demonic cultivator. I knew those fools would drag out that Purity Chamber nonsense, so I stepped in.”

Chen Ren’s expression shifted from shock to something closer to gratitude. “Thank you,” he said earnestly, though a thousand questions still swirled in his mind.

“That Purity Chamber?” Chen Ren raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be a bad thing?”

“For anyone who values their sanity? Yes.” Qing He leaned on her stick, her sharp eyes glinting with humour. “The Purity Chamber doesn’t just check for demonic qi. It crushes your dantian, shakes your soul, and grinds down your mind. Originally, it was called the Force Chamber—a training tool from the olden days. Back then, it wasn’t advised to stay in for more than an hour unless you wanted to come out drooling. Now? They’ve modified it, but not for the better. Occasionally, they would find people suspected of being demonic cultivators and put them there till they lose their mind.”

Chen Ren’s eyes widened, a chill running down his spine. “So they were just going to shove me into a death trap, wait for me to lose my mind, and hope that if I was a demonic cultivator, I’d unleash my qi to escape?”

“Precisely,” Qing He said, her tone almost casual. “Demonic qi is volatile, more so than you can imagine. Under that much pressure, it would flare uncontrollably, revealing your true nature. Of course, that doesn’t mean the chamber isn’t lethal to regular cultivators too. And while your reckless ideas might get you killed someday, I’d rather it not be this soon.” Her smirk deepened as she said the last part.

Chen Ren clenched his fists, his mind flashing to Cai Tao’s unnervingly calm demeanour. That smug, smiling face suddenly seemed like the perfect target for a slap or two. He couldn't imagine how the man had been so casual while talking about the Purity Chamber. There was no way he didn't know it would make him go insane, but he simply didn't care enough to tell him.

Part of it could have been because he didn't want Chen Ren to try to escape, but it didn't change the fact that he had nearly died just because he had been a suspect.

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm down before stepping forward and bowing deeply toward Qing He. “Senior Qing He, thank you. I truly owe you for saving me from this.”

Qing He’s smile didn’t waver. “Oh, you’re grateful now. But I don’t expect that to last.”

Chen Ren straightened, his brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Yalan, silent until now, finally spoke, her voice carrying a touch of amusement. “I think she’s referring to the deal you made, remember? She agreed to teach cultivation disciplines to you.”

Chen Ren’s face froze for a moment before turning toward Qing He, whose grin only grew wider, a dangerous glint in her eyes.

“That’s right, kid,” she shrugged and turned around. “I hope you’re ready for hard training because I don’t believe in holding back. And we are already late for our first session. Purity Chamber might have made you insane, but if you don't focus, my training might have the same effect.”

Chen Ren suppressed a groan, already imagining the gruelling days ahead, but then he looked back at the guard station and thought about the fate he had just escaped.

Compared to that, he doubted her training could be that hard. Right?

***

Growing up, Chen Ren had done a ridiculous amount of homework. Since middle school, he’d turned his neat handwriting and quick mind into a part-time job, charging the younger kids in the neighbourhood for doing their assignments. By high school, he’d been a one-man essay factory, churning out essays on everything from ancient poetry to biology experiments.

Back then, it had been a hustle—a way to earn some pocket money. But when Qing He announced she would be training him, he hadn’t expected those endless days of scribbling to come back to haunt him.

He stared down at the sheet of paper in front of him, frustration bubbling beneath his calm facade. For the five hundred and seventy-ninth time, he inscribed the same basic symbol with painstaking care, the brush gliding over the paper in smooth strokes.

It was a simple pattern, deceptively easy to learn but maddeningly difficult to perfect. One slight wobble in the line, one stroke too thick or thin, and it was all worthless.

Chen Ren sighed, his grip tightening around the brush as he spotted yet another mistake. The lines were uneven—again. He crumpled the paper in frustration, tossing it onto the growing pile of rejects before pulling out a fresh sheet to start over.

Beside him, Qing He sat with infuriating serenity, sipping tea as if she had all the time in the world. “Careful now,” she said without looking at him. “The talisman doesn’t care about your impatience. The symbols must be precise. A single flawed stroke can make the entire inscription useless—or worse, unstable. I’m sure you don’t want it blowing up in your hand.”

Chen Ren glared at her for a moment, though he quickly schooled his expression back to neutrality. “I think I’ve got that part figured out, thanks.”

Qing He’s lips twitched into a knowing smirk, but she said nothing, simply lifting her cup for another sip.

She had dragged him here right after he’d informed Tang Xiulan that he was safe and that she didn’t need to worry.

When he had thought about learning the disciplines, he hadn’t expected to be thrust into hours of grueling practice, learning the basic inscription symbols used in talisman crafting. It sounded straightforward and easy in theory, but in practice, it was maddening. Even the tiniest deviation—a millimeter off, an unsteady hand, or ink that dried too quickly—meant failure.

And failure was all he had to show for the last few hours.

He set his jaw, determined to get it right this time. The brush moved across the paper, his focus being his prime goal. Sweat beaded on his brow, his concentration razor-sharp. As he worked, he caught Qing He watching him from the corner of his eye, her expression calm but expectant, as if she were waiting for him to crack under the pressure. He almost groaned loudly for her to hear.

“Do you have to sit there and watch me?” he asked, his voice strained as he finished another line.

“Of course,” she said smoothly. “I wouldn’t want you to feel neglected.”

A moment passed, and another. Chen Ren just stared at her not knowing if he should give up right away or if he should—

“What are you staring at? Why aren’t you inscribing?”

Chen Ren put down the brush and flexed his aching wrist, the stiffness beginning to creep up to his forearm. “I’m just tired. My wrist is killing me.”

Qing He scoffed, setting her teacup down with a faint clink. “Tired? Wrist hurting? That’s nothing. You inscribe until your wrist can’t move, and then you push past that. That’s the way of a talisman master. What I’ve given you are the basic Tier 1 runic symbols. You should consider yourself lucky I didn’t start you off with alchemy. Then you’d be learning the names of ten thousand herbs and their uses.”

She chuckled, her laugh somehow both light and ominous. “Actually, why don’t we make that your next lesson—after you’ve completed a thousand inscriptions, of course.”

Chen Ren groaned inwardly, dropping his gaze back to the paper. “A thousand,” he muttered, picking up the brush and dipping it back into the ink. “Why not make it ten thousand while you’re at it?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Qing He replied.

Chen Ren sighed heavily and refocused, the tip of his brush hovering over the paper as he prepared to start again. Just as he was about to inscribe the first line, the murmur of conversation drifted over from the other side of the tea shop.

Two girls, familiar faces from the marketplace skirmish, were seated a few tables away— Yin Qiao and Mei Lian. Since their initial fight, they had apparently gotten closer. Their voices carried just enough for him to catch snippets of their talk.

“The city tournament is starting soon,” Yin Qiao said, excitement evident in her tone. “Are you going to take part?”

Mei Lian shook her head, her expression nonchalant. “No, I’m better off cheering from the sidelines this time. But didn’t it get canceled because of the demonic cultivator attack?”

“Nope,” Yin Qiao wiggled her eyebrows. “It’s still on. I heard they’re making changes to keep everything secure. Extra guards and all that. Apparently, City Lord Li got angry at the guards on the security of the city and they had been working hard to ensure the tournament goes on right now.”

“Really? Then I wonder if Li Xuan is going to participate?”

“I have heard he will. Lots of cultivators are going to participate just to have a shot at challenging him.”

Mei Lian's eyes widened. “Really? Then maybe I will go watch.”

Chen Ren couldn’t help but smile as he listened. The idea of a city tournament brought a spark of interest to his otherwise grueling day. He had heard about it before, but with everything he had gone through recently, the thought of it had completely left his mind.

He turned slightly, his eyes meeting Qing He’s piercing gaze.

“What’s that grin about? Are you planning to enter the tournament? Or are you just daydreaming again?”

Chen Ren shook his head, though his smile didn’t fade. “I’m not sure if I’ll enter. I haven’t decided yet. I can't enter without seeing if there's any prize I want.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, his mind already spinning. “But I do see it as an opportunity.”

Qing He raised a brow. “What kind of opportunity?”

“For business, of course. A tournament means crowds. Crowds mean travellers from nearby villages and towns. It’s the perfect chance to attract customers—and I’ve got so many ideas running through my head.”

Qing He leaned back, studying him with an amused expression. “You’re more of a merchant than a cultivator, aren’t you?”

Chen Ren shrugged. “Why not both?” He picked up the brush again, his focus sharp. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to finish this before my next big venture.”

Qing He scoffed. “Well, just don’t let your wrist fall off before you reach a thousand inscriptions.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.

43. Registration

Over the next few days, Chen Ren’s body healed with a speed that defied his expectations. The ache in his muscles faded, the faint stings of pain in his ribs dissipated, and soon, he felt stronger than he had before the battle. It was as if the ordeal had tempered his flesh, sharpening him like a blade pulled from the forge. He wasn't surprised knowing pills were a miraculous cure in this world, but knowing and seeing it firsthand was a different experience altogether.

The city, too, began to find its usual liveliness once again. The chaos of the demonic rhino attack—so named by the people for the monstrosities that had trampled through the streets—had subsided, leaving an uneasy atmosphere in its wake. Despite that, the sound of hammers striking wood and labourers’ voices filled the city as the wounds started to patch.

Rumours were as abundant as the dust kicked up by the repairs. Whispers of arrests carried on the wind, names of those dragged to the city guard station for interrogation multiplying with each passing day. Chen Ren learned that over half of these individuals were sent to the sect, destined to sit in the Purity Camber. A grimace tugged at his lips each time he thought of the chamber—a device designed to crush both body and spirit under its relentless pressure.

He could only offer a silent prayer for the poor souls subjected to it.

Despite the arrests, no news of the demonic cultivator’s capture emerged. The lack of resolution hung over the city like a storm that refused to break. Some proclaimed that the culprit had already been caught. Others speculated that he had fled, vanishing into the night like a shadow.

“Fools,” Qing He had scoffed over tea one afternoon. “If he’d been caught, the City Lord would’ve paraded him in the square by now, perhaps even staged a grand execution to reassure the masses. He might have just fled the city after the commotion he caused.”

Chen Ren nodded, though he disagreed with the notion that the demonic cultivator had fled.

Demonic cultivators were notorious for their madness, but their actions often carried a sinister purpose. Both he and Yalan believed that the perpetrator still lurked within the city, biding his time to complete whatever vile quest he pursued. It was scary—especially the feeling of uncertainty.

It clawed his insides, over and over—whenever he thought of the demonic cultivator, but he refused to let it unbalance him.

He got back into his routine, changing his training time to morning due to being wary of the demonic cultivator and focused on pushing his body and gaining mastery over his techniques every day.

His goals remained steadfast: wealth, stability, and a future unmarred by poverty. Whatever chaos lingered in the city, Chen Ren resolved that his ambitions would not fall victim to it.

He’d rather think about his businesses and how to grow them.

During all this, the City Lord's office rolled out the announcements and registration for the long-awaited tournament. Chen Ren guessed that Li Baolong was using the tournament as a way to distract the city from the gloom of the demonic cultivator attack. From the conversations he heard on every street, Chen Ren knew it was working.

The tournament's rewards were prominently displayed—glistening spirit stones, gleaming weapons, rare herbs, and ancient technique manuals. The promises of fortune and fame worked their magic, sparking excitement among cultivators and commoners alike.

People spoke in animated tones about the tournament, their words filled with excitement. As he predicted, the city gates were busier than ever, welcoming travellers from nearby villages and towns, all eager to participate or watch the spectacle.

The influx of visitors brought more customers to his noodle stall, and Tang Xiulan had to work tirelessly to keep up with the demand. Even the perfume shop, now under Tang Yuqiu’s eye, saw a surge in business. It seemed young village women were particularly drawn to its offerings. And he wasn’t the one to complain.

“Do you know why the perfumes are selling so well lately?” Tang Yuqiu asked one afternoon, her lips curving in a knowing smile.

“Enlighten me,” Chen Ren replied, counting the day’s earnings.

“This time of year is considered auspicious for marriages. A nascent realm cultivator couple married at the end of summer centuries ago, and ever since, it’s become a tradition for weddings,” she explained. “The women are buying perfumes to stand out more, hoping to attract their destined partners.”

Chen Ren sighed, regret flashing in his eyes. “If I’d known, I could’ve started a clothing or jewelry business. The profit margins would’ve been massive.”

“You’re already doing well with the stall and the perfume shop,” Tang Yuqiu reminded him.

“Well, I’m not stopping there,” he said, though his mind raced, thinking about all the opportunities that lay ahead. He only needed to extend his hand to seize them. Especially with his new plan related to the upcoming tournament, which had been impossible to ignore with how loud people were getting about it.

Moreover, after spending a few solid minutes staring at the prize list, he made a decision—to enter it himself.

After all, what could go wrong, really?

***

“Are you sure you want to enter the tournament?” Yalan asked, trailing behind Chen Ren as he followed the crowd in front of him. “Once your name is registered, there’s no turning back.”

Chen Ren adjusted the sack on his shoulder, pausing to meet her gaze. “Yes, I’ve already told you why I’m entering.”

She nodded slowly. “For the plot of land and the spirit stones?”

“Not just that,” he replied and looked at her. “They’re offering weapons, technique manuals, herbs, and more. I don’t know if I’ll take first place—there will be plenty of strong competitors—but I’m confident I can make it to the top four. That’s all I need to secure the spirit stones for an official sect status.”

Yalan wiggled her tail aimlessly and continued her walk beside him. “And you think you can come in the top four?”

“I’ve thought this through. By the time the tournament ends, I’ll either be on the verge of breaking through to the qi refinement realm or maybe I’m already there. Besides, I have a few ideas I plan to test during the matches. If they work out, I’ll have an edge over the others.”

Yalan studied him for a moment, then sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing. Just don’t get yourself killed for spirit stones.”

Chen Ren chuckled, his grip tightening on the sack. “Don’t worry. I’m not planning on dying anytime soon. I’ve got too much left to do.”

Chen Ren adjusted the sack on his shoulder once again while his eyes moved towards the crowd that had gathered in the streets. The city had become a melting pot of humanity, alive with travellers drawn by the promise of the tournament.

He noted their clothes, a mix of sturdy village garb and modestly refined attire, with an occasional flash of more affluent silks. Their expressions varied—some wide-eyed with wonder, others brimming with anticipation, and a few carrying the jaded look of seasoned wanderers.

Among the throng, he caught snippets of conversations, some laced with accents unfamiliar to his ears. It was clear the tournament had cast its net far and wide, drawing people from distant regions. The sheer size of the crowd made manoeuvering through the streets a challenge, and Chen Ren had to carefully sidestep a group of travellers gawking at a nearby herbal stall.

As he walked, his thoughts shifted to the implications of the crowd. This is bigger than I thought. The City Lord’s office really knows how to put on a show.

Soon, the imposing structure of the City Lord’s office stood right ahead of him. Unlike the streets, which were filled with commoners, the area around the office teemed with cultivators. Chen Ren’s sharp senses picked up on the subtle aura fluctuations in the air and the resolute gazes on display.

Most of them were body-forging realm cultivators, their cultivation levels no lower than the fifth star. Sprinkled among them were qi-refinement realm cultivators, though none seemed to have surpassed the second star. What caught Chen Ren’s attention most, however, was how young some of them looked. Many of them looked barely adult, some even appearing to have only recently stepped into their teenage years.

I didn't expect so many teenagers here. Although the tournament is only for early realm cultivators, I had no idea so many of them were there around Cloud Mist City, he thought to himself.

Chen Ren knew the unspoken rules of such events. While the tournament was open to body-forging and lower qi-refinement realm cultivators, those who had already climbed higher in the latter realm wouldn’t bother. Competing at this level would only tarnish their reputation, and most high-star qi-refinement cultivators were already members of sects. For those gathered here, the tournament was an opportunity.

Many of them are likely hoping to catch the eye of sect recruiters, especially those from the Soaring Sword Sect, Chen Ren thought, his lips curving into a faint smirk.

A good performance here could serve as a backdoor into a sect, bypassing the gruelling entrance examinations. Though, he was sure there were also quite a lot of people who were only after glory and rewards, like him.

Lost in thought, he made his way through the crowd, eventually reaching the upper floors where the registration desks were set up. The air here buzzed with excitement but also quite… nervousness. Lines stretched long with eager and too-happy-to-be-here participants.

Chen Ren scanned the faces at the desks and immediately spotted a familiar figure.

Liu Wen, flanked by his usual colleagues, sat at the head of one of the lines. He looked as bored as ever, casually tossing a wooden token between his fingers as he processed registrations.

Chen Ren joined the line, his gaze sweeping over the cultivators around him. He couldn’t help but size them up, noting their postures, weapons, and subtle giveaways of their strength. Some exuded confidence, others carried the nervous energy of their first competition, and a few kept their expressions guarded, their intentions unreadable.

As he waited, he glanced again at Liu Wen. The man hadn’t noticed him yet, too engrossed in talking to the cultivators.

Let’s see how many of these people are real competition, he thought, sending a signal to Yalan while he bided his time.

Chen Ren stood casually in line, his sack of potatoes resting against his shoulder. Yalan perched on his other shoulder, her amber eyes gleaming with mischief. Despite her playful demeanour, she was quietly doing what she did best—analysing the crowd.

"That one," she whispered, her tail flicking toward a tall young man clad in leather armour. "Seventh star of body forging, but look at his stance. He favors his right side. Probably a lingering injury in his left leg."

Chen Ren nodded slightly, letting her observations sink in. "And the one with the spear?"

Yalan squinted, her sharp gaze scanning the young woman gripping the polished weapon. "First star of qi refinement. Decent aura control, but she’s gripping the spear too tightly. I don't think she has a lot of practice with it."

Her ability to gauge someone's strengths and weaknesses at a glance was uncanny, and Chen Ren felt a small swell of gratitude for her presence. Without her, he wouldn't know for sure who he needed to be at guard against.

He smirked, passing the time with her commentary until the line finally shuffled forward enough for him to step up to the counter. Liu Wen, seated behind the desk, looked up and immediately broke into a grin.

"Ah, Chen Ren! Didn’t think I’d see you here," Liu Wen said, his tone both friendly and surprised. His gaze drifted to Yalan for a moment before turning towards the sack on his shoulder. "And... what’s that?"

Chen Ren shifted the sack slightly. "Potatoes.”

Liu Wen blinked. "Potatoes? What for?" He asked. “And are you really entering the tournament?”

"I decided to enter after seeing the rewards for the tournament," Chen Ren said, setting the sack down with a soft thud. "As for these, I plan to do something with them and sell them during the event."

"Potatoes?" Liu Wen repeated, his brows furrowing. "You think people will buy them? I mean, your noodles are already a hit. Those would probably sell better."

Chen Ren chuckled, knowing where he was coming from. "I’m not just selling potatoes. You’ll see once you’re there. I don’t think it’ll disappoint you."

Liu Wen leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Yeah, I’m sure of it. I’m already a big fan of your noodles. Whatever dish you make out of those potatoes, I’ll be first in line."

With that, he reached under the counter and pulled out a registration form, sliding it across the table toward Chen Ren. "Here you go. Fill this out. The prizes and entry fees are listed at the bottom. Make sure to double-check everything."

Chen Ren picked up the form, his gaze flicking over the details. The structure was straightforward, with a steep entry fee of a hundred silver wen, which fortunately, he could pay without issue. Participants recommended by the Soaring Sword Sect or the City Lord's Office were exempt from the fee.

His mind worked quickly, already calculating the cost-benefit ratio of the entry fee compared to the rewards.

He skimmed through the tournament rules, noting that the event would consist of five rounds, starting with a chaotic battle royale, followed by increasingly intense one-on-one duels. The schedule was gruelling, with matches running sixteen hours a day so it could finish within the allocated time. The venue—a grand arena in the upper streets.

Then his eyes fell on the rewards, neatly outlined in a bold, eye-catching box:

—

The Grand Cloud Mist City Tournament: Tournament Rewards!

Top 8:

- FIVE spirit stones

- THREE pills

- ONE weapon

Top 4:

- TEN spirit stones
- FIVE pills
- Rare herbs for Alchemy

- ONE weapon of choice (crafted by the Soaring Sword Sect’s blacksmith)

Runner up:

- TWENTY-FIVE Spirit Stones

- TEN Pills

- Rare Herbs for Alchemy

- ONE Cultivation Manual of Choice (from the Soaring Sword Sect)

- Inner Disciple Status in Soaring Sword Sect

Winner:

- FIFTY Spirit Stones
- TWENTY Pills
- Rare Herbs and Beast Essence
- ONE Cultivation Manual of Choice

- ONE Weapon of Choice (crafted by the Soaring Sword Sect’s blacksmith)

- A Large Plot of Land (near a nearby village)

- Core Elder Discipleship in Soaring Sword Sect

Chen Ren's lips curled into a small smile as he read the list. He sent a mental message to Yalan. “See? If I won, there’d be plenty of benefits.”

Yalan’s voice chimed back in his mind, dripping with doubt. “Do you really think you can win? There are lots of people stronger than you here.”

Chen Ren’s smile didn’t falter. “Maybe. But I’ve got plans. Reaching the top eight should be easy enough. Once I’m there, I can fight my way to the semifinals—maybe even the finals. And even if I don’t get the plot, those spirit stones will be more than enough to buy it.”

The feline spirit hummed thoughtfully. “You’re ambitious, I’ll give you that. But ambition without strength is just a fool’s dream.”

Chen Ren chuckled. “Good thing I plan on having both.”

Chen Ren moved to the counter, picked up the form, and began writing down his details. As he wrote, the hum of the crowd behind him suddenly quieted, replaced by a loud, arrogant voice.

"Hey! Get out of the way! The young master of the Cang Clan is here to register! Clear the path, or face the consequences!"

Chen Ren turned his head, his quill pausing mid-stroke. A scrawny man stood pointing a trembling finger at him, his expression twisted with self-importance. Behind him stood the supposed "young master"—a cultivator whose aura screamed peak body forging realm. His tailored outfit exuded wealth, and his long, flowing purple hair stood out from everyone within the vicinity.

Chen Ren’s brows arched slightly. Dye? Or some weird cultivation technique?

He knew that martial techniques could have those side effects and as a reason, cultivators often had a variety of coloured hair.

"Sorry," Chen Ren said calmly, turning back to his form. "I’m registering right now. If you want to register, you’ll need to wait at the back of the line like everyone else."

The atmosphere grew tense immediately.

Chen Ren saw Liu Wen’s gaze drop nervously to the desk as whispers rippled through the room. He looked back. The scrawny man looked stunned, his finger frozen mid-point. Then, his face turned beet red.

"Didn’t you hear me? The young master Cang Rui is here!" the servant barked. "Give him face, or you’ll regret it!"

Chen Ren, shifting his focus back on his form, replied evenly, "What can he do?"

Before the servant could respond, the young master strode forward. Hearing the loud thuds of footwork, Chen Ren looked up. Seems like the form will have to wait a little.

Cang Rui's eyes glinted dangerously as he sized Chen Ren up. His hands placed on his hips as if he was ready to launch into an attack.

"Are you doubting my ability to do something to you?" he asked, his voice reverberating through the room. "Who are you, even?"

"Chen Ren," he replied without any hesitation.

Cang Rui's narrowed eyes lit up with recognition in an instant. The young master's lips curled into a sneer. "Ah, Chen Ren. The one working with Tang Yuqiu in that little perfume business." His voice carried a dismissive tone. "I’ve heard of you—briefly. I never expected you’d be so brazen. If you’re trying to run a business, you should know better than to go against the interests of the major clans."

Chen Ren’s expression remained neutral as he straightened, folding his arms. "I’m not going against the Cang Clan. Or even you. I’m just pointing out that you simply need to wait in line for your turn to register, and if you can’t even understand such a common sense, I doubt you’ll amount to anything."

The words hit like a slap, the room falling deathly silent as every gaze locked on the young master. His aura flared, his face twisting in rage.

"You dare insult me?!" he snarled, his voice echoing through the chamber. "You won’t get out of here alive!"

Without warning, he lashed out, his fist surging forward with a burst of wind, the pressure sharp enough to rustle the papers on Liu Wen’s desk. The sheer force of the strike made the weaker cultivators in the room step back instinctively.

But Chen Ren didn’t flinch. His eyes locked onto the incoming punch, calmly stepping aside as the strike barely grazed his robes. The young master’s power wavered, the energy dissipating mid-strike as his overzealous attack faltered.

The room erupted in murmurs, astonishment flashing across the onlookers’ faces. Chen Ren’s calm composure contrasted sharply with the young master’s now-frustrated expression.

"Is that it? You’ll have to do better than that if you plan to keep your threats."

Cang Rui stared at his fist in disbelief, then glanced around the room. His entire face twisted into an ugly angry face as he barked, "What just happened? Why didn't my attack work?"

Chen Ren shook his head and looked around."There are arrays around here," he explained calmly. "This is the city lord’s office. They block any technique that uses even a bit of qi. You won't be able to fight here, no matter how hard you try."

That earned him another life-threatening glare from Cang Rui, his jaw tightening. "I don’t need qi to deal with someone like you!" he spat, taking a step forward.

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow, as he ‘tsked’ disappointedly.

"You really are an idiot, aren’t you? Do you realize where we are?" He gestured subtly around the room, the faint insignia of the city lord visible above the registration desk. "If you try anything here, it means you're openly disrespecting the city lord’s authority. The guards will come, and they won’t care who your clan is. They’ll drag you away in front of everyone. And with this audience..." Chen Ren tilted his head slightly toward the room full of amused onlookers. "Why sully your clan’s name for nothing?"

The young master froze, his gaze darting around. For the first time, he seemed to truly notice the growing crowd of spectators. Many of them were openly smirking or suppressing laughter. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and he clenched his fists tightly. Finally, he jabbed a finger at Chen Ren.

"Fine," he snapped. "Meet me outside when you’re done. Let’s settle this properly!"

Chen Ren snickered, shaking his head. "No. Once again, you fail to grasp the situation. The city is crawling with guards due to the demonic cultivator attacks and the influx of travelers for the tournament. If you try anything outside, they'll intervene, and trust me, the consequences will be far worse than just a scolding here. You’ll be dragged away like a common thug."

He paused, letting his words sink in, then added with a touch of finality, "Don’t be so stupid. Go to the back of the line and wait your turn. Let me finish my registration in peace."

Without waiting for a response, Chen Ren turned back to his form, his quill gliding across the parchment as if the entire exchange had already been forgotten. From the corner of his eye, he saw the young master huff angrily and stomp to the back of the line, his servant trailing behind him. Cang Rui’s eyes, however, never left Chen Ren, glaring daggers at him the entire way.

Chen Ren smirked to himself, the corner of his lips curling.

Liu Wen leaned in slightly, whispering, "Do you really have to antagonize him? He’s not just some nobody. The Cang Clan is influential, and he’s rumored to be one of the prospective semi finalists this year. Unlike Bai Shen, he’s well-trained and has proper backing."

Chen Ren finished the last stroke of his name and set the quill down, his smirk widening. "I didn’t do anything. He got angry all on his own," he shrugged. "Besides, I don’t care about angering him. In fact, I’d say it’s better this way."

"Better?" Liu Wen blinked, confused. "Why?"

Chen Ren leaned slightly against the counter, his expression turning sly. "Because I needed someone like him for my plans," he said, his voice low but confident. "Influential, hot-blooded, dumb, and easy to manipulate. He’s perfect."

Liu Wen’s confusion deepened. "What kind of plans?"

Chen Ren chuckled, picking up his form and handing it over. "Let’s just say it’ll all make sense during the tournament. Like the potatoes—" he patted the sack slung over his shoulder—"you’ll see soon enough. I promise it won’t disappoint."

Liu Wen could only shake his head, muttering, "You’re either a genius or a madman."

Chen Ren grinned. "Why not both?"

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.

PS - To all the authors sending me shoutout swap messages, please text me on discord. I do try to help out newbies but I don't like the RR messaging system (RR gods don't mind it), so please text there. My ID - beebee0162

44. Tricks and Rivals

The registration process was quick and easy. Once Chen Ren was done, he turned around and headed straight to meet Tang Xiulan. He wanted to talk about their plans for the upcoming tournament.

She had been single-handedly managing the noodle stall during his recent busy days. To his pleasant surprise, she had not only maintained their regular customer base but also managed to increase it significantly. It was mainly due to the influx of travellers in the city who’d created a rush, and she had smartly capitalised on it.

On the other hand, their partnership had grown stronger. She continued to give him daily records every night once he was free, and she even suggested ideas regarding the business.

One idea she brought up stood out to him. She had proposed that they actually hire the street kids that had been helping them around.

That was an interesting proposition, and initially, Chen Ren hesitated, unsure of the idea of formalising their roles. But after giving it some thought, he realised that it made sense. The kids were already involved in the business, and giving them proper jobs would keep them away from dangerous paths like theft and banditry. Even though he didn’t like to admit it, the kids gave him a sense of responsibility.

Regardless, beyond that, with the tournament drawing closer and the crowds expected to swell, he would need every available hand to maximise profits and not get overwhelmed in the process.

Therefore, after considering the logistics, he set their wages at three silver wen a month. It was a modest sum but would suffice for their needs. And, alongside the salary, they would receive free meals.

Chen Ren smiled at the thought. It was a fair deal for now, though he planned to increase their pay once the business expanded further. The kids would become an important part of the business's operations, just like Xiulan, whose contributions since the beginning had proven invaluable.

While Xiulan handled the stall and prepared for the tournament rush, Chen Ren focused his attention on his cultivation. He knew that if he wanted to make an impact in the tournament, his skills would need to be razor-sharp. His lightning techniques remained his ace, but he wasn’t content to rely solely on them. So, he threw himself into learning talismans and array formations.

Tournament rules forbade the use of pills, but talismans and arrays were permitted—but only if the competitors themselves created them. That stipulation worked in his favour, as it allowed him to lean into his growing expertise in the disciplines. Even so, the speed with which he was learning them wasn't enough to satisfy him.

According to Qing He, he was making decent progress and might even be talented in the disciplines, but until he learnt to apply arrays and talismans into battles, he wouldn't be able to make full use of them.

To circumvent that, he decided to intensify his training.

On a crisp morning just days before the competition, Chen Ren went deep into the forest. Yalan walked behind him, keeping track of his steps. The forest was alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, and the eerie feeling of the beasts who roamed inside it. But the location was perfect, no prying eyes, no one to disturb—he could simply practise his combat techniques, test the limits of his talismans and sharpen his arrays.

Chen Ren inhaled deeply and felt the pulse of his qi as he centred himself. He was crouched low in the undergrowth while his heart thudded in his chest. He turned his head slightly as he looked at the cat behind him.

“Do you really think this is a good idea? We could just find something else, you know?”

Yalan flicked her tail lazily in a nearby branch. “If you can’t handle a Tier 1 duskwolf, you’re not going to defeat anyone in the tournament.”

Chen Ren sighed, his gaze shifting back to the clearing ahead.

Just beyond the underbrush, a wolf stood over a torn unrecognised carcass, its sharp fangs tearing brutally through flesh. Its dark, mottled grey coat was streaked with blood, which dripped from the raw meat it savoured. It was the sheer size of the creature—twice that of a normal wolf, with the girth of a full-grown cattle—that sent a chill down his spine, combined with the feral glint in its eyes and the blood-stained maw.

Why does she always find the scariest ones? Chen Ren wondered, his jaw tightening. This may be Yalan's way of toughening his mental state, forcing him to confront his fears head-on. If that was her goal, it wasn’t helping.

Turning back to Yalan, he conversed through his mind, “You know very well that a Tier 1 beast just means it’s in the body forging realm. That thing looks like it’s at the peak of it.”

Yalan yawned, unbothered. “It’s around your level,” she replied, her voice sounding as if it was almost mocking his fears. “You’ve got your tricks. Try not to act so scared every time. We both know you have the confidence to beat it—especially after that rhino.”

Chen Ren winced at the mention of the rhino. The memory of the terrifying beast was still a fresh wound, but Yalan’s words struck a chord. Compared to that monstrous creature, this wolf seemed... manageable. Probably.

But staying here, hidden, wouldn’t do any of them any favours. He had to move forward to fight it.

He let out a long breath, pushing the fear aside. “Yeah, I know.”

He shifted his focus, replaying the lessons he’d learned from the rhino fight in his mind. Then, steeling himself, he rose from his hiding spot and stepped out into the clearing.

The duskwolf immediately snapped its head up, blood dripping from the sides of its mouth as it locked eyes with him. Its lips curled into what could only be described as a cruel smirk, as though it had just found its next meal. It leaned backwards and aimed at Chen Ren without hesitation, and leapt towards him. The snarly thing clawed the air, wanting to catch Chen Ren.

Just then, his hand shot into his pocket, pulling out a Tier 1 fire talisman. He infused it with a spark of his lightning qi. The talisman burned with an intense black smoke, and for a fleeting moment, he felt as if his own hand was on fire—a surge of energy washed through him.

Then, nothing.

The energy disappeared into the air without a trace. His eyes widened in horror as he realised what had just happened. “Fuck!” he cursed, leaping to the side using [Lightning Step] just as the duskwolf’s claws raked the spot where he’d stood.

Chen Ren saw the long nails scraping the dirty soil and leaving marks in its wake.

Landing in a crouch, Chen Ren turned to see the duskwolf pivoting, its glowing eyes locked on him as it prepared for another attack. Its speed was relentless, and it was already on him before he could fully regain his footing.

He sidestepped its swipe at the last moment, his fist snapping out in retaliation. His strike connected with the beast’s flank, sending it tumbling away. The impact left a slight scorch mark on its fur from Chen Ren’s lightning qi.

The duskwolf rose again, growling, its fur now singed but the monster didn’t seem to care. Chen Ren straightened, his breathing steadying as he met its gaze. “Alright, you mangy mutt,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Although he knew the brainless beast didn’t understand his words, the duskwolf’s actions spoke otherwise. It charged toward him, its claws slicing through the air and blood that was previously on its face, splattering everywhere.

Chen Ren’s pulse quickened but he didn’t hesitate.

He pulled the small pouch from his belt and sprinkled a fine white powder onto the ground in front of him, forming a circle. His hands moved quickly, reaching for the two talismans he’d created earlier.

As the duskwolf neared, he began chanting softly under his breath. His heartbeat thudded in his ears as he concentrated, praying that everything would go as planned this time. The powder on the ground turned orange as it began to burn. The scent of it rose in the air like incense.

He looked up from the circle and saw that the angry duskwolf almost had him. But before it could reach him, it slammed into an invisible wall with a loud thud. The transparent barrier shimmered before it, crackling faintly from the impact, holding the wolf back.

Chen Ren’s face lit up with a satisfied grin. The array had worked.

Quickly, he held one of the talismans and activated it. This time, the talisman ignited correctly, forming a fireball. He did the same with the second talisman, and two fireballs materialised in the air, their flames roaring and flickering as they hurtled toward the wolf.

The duskwolf howled in pain as the fireballs struck its side, scorching its fur and skin. The beast stumbled back, trying desperately to retreat, but its movements were sluggish, weighed down by all the burnt marks. It could only stagger for a few moments before collapsing, its body twitching as it lay motionless in the dirt, a charred carcass.

Chen Ren stood there, his breath coming in heavy gasps, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He watched the remains of the duskwolf, the fireballs having done their work. As he slowly relaxed, he glanced down at the array’s barrier, now cracking and fading.

He let out a long breath. “Well, that’s not as good as I expected."

Yalan emerged from the underbrush, her tail swaying in the air. She glanced at the shattered duskwolf carcass and then at the barrier’s cracks. “At least, unlike last time, you didn’t trap yourself in the barrier and have to break it to get out.”

Chen Ren gave a wry smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, my chant was wrong, then. This time, I messed up with the first talisman too. I’m not sure if I did something wrong while burning it, or if the rune was just messed up. Probably the latter.” He shook his head in frustration. “I need more practice with these before I can use them in the tournament.”

“Do you really think it’ll work against cultivators?” she asked. “You were able to kill the wolf because it was distracted by the barrier, but cultivators would have movement techniques, and your fireballs are still pretty slow.”

Chen Ren exhaled through his mouth as he thought about her words. It was true. Cultivators could move at incredible speeds, and his fireballs, while effective against a distracted, brainless beast, would be likely easy to dodge in a real fight. But this was just the beginning. He still had a lot to learn and refine before he could stand toe-to-toe with skilled cultivators in the tournament.

“I’ll figure something out.. I have to. I’m not going to let something like speed stop me from winning this.”

Chen Ren stood silently for a moment, his mind racing as he stared at the remnants of the duskwolf’s carcass. His eyes drifted from the deceased beast towards Yalan who was laid next to it. Slowly, he began to form an idea in his mind, a strategy that didn’t rely solely on brute force. He turned to Yalan, speaking as though he had come to a realisation.

“Actually,” he started by saying, a small smile already forming in his lips. “I’m not going to use arrays or talismans necessarily for direct attacks. They’ll be more like distractions.”

“Distractions?”

Chen Ren nodded, glancing down at the white powder that was still scattered on the ground. He gathered the remaining powder into a small pouch. Unlike talismans, which could be prepared ahead of time, arrays required specific materials, precise placements, and proper chants to activate. They were more like rituals, complicated and needing extra caution.

The tier-1 arrays, at least, were straightforward. They only needed the powder, a bit of qi from the air, and a chant. But even that was tricky. He had to position the powder just right for the array to function, and even the slightest disturbance could ruin everything. Chen Ren didn’t fully understand how they worked, but that didn’t bother him much. What mattered to him were the results.

Till now, he’d only been able to study barrier arrays.

Although he had made progress in talismans, he knew he needed to learn more about how to use them… creatively.

Yalan had talked about it a lot, but battles weren’t really time-consuming. He also had experiences in the fights he’d taken part in. A well-paced strike or a clever use of resources could decide the outcome in just a few moves. Especially against weak cultivators. And that’s why he needed to focus on innovation.

He had to find a way to break through any challenge that he might face during the tournament using more than just the expected techniques.

As Chen Ren continued to ponder his strategies, his gaze shifted to Yalan, who was casually swiping at the air with her claws to kill a bug that had been bothering her. She did it fluidly and effortlessly, her eyes momentarily gleaming before returning to their usual calm. It was a sight that momentarily distracted him, but then something clicked in his mind.

"Hey, Yalan," he asked, his eyes squinted as his curiosity got the best of him. "Don't you know a lot of techniques?"

Yalan tilted her head slightly, her gaze meeting his as she replied nonchalantly, "Yes, but I don't know any lightning techniques. As you know, the element I mostly deal with is fire."

Chen Ren nodded, already knowing about her fire affinity, but a thought sparked in his mind. "But don't you have other techniques that don't require a fire affinity?"

Yalan paused for a moment, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. She fluttered her tail irritatedly. "I do, but they aren't easy to learn, nor would you be able to master them in such a short time before the tournament. Most of the techniques I know are quite advanced."

Chen Ren smiled, the excitement in his eyes clear. "That's okay. I can take it easy with the martial techniques, but I would like you to teach me a small trick before the tournament."

***

Li Xuan's sword cut through the air, the blade loudly striking the massive, ancient tree. Each hit sent splinters of lightning into the branches, yet the tree stood firm, barely even dented. Sweat beaded on his brow, but he didn't stop, swinging his blade again and again.

With every strike, his mind focused inward, tracing the steps of his martial dao, the path of the sword.

Every cut had to be precise, every movement had to have exact intent. If there was no reason behind the strike, then it was nothing but aimless flailing, a waste of energy. The strikes needed purpose. They needed to be driven by the desire to cut through everything in their path. This was the essence of the first art of the Seven Sword Arts— One Slash Strike!

He had been working tirelessly toward mastering it, trying to use every movement with clarity. To know and face anyone or anything that’d come across him and his sword. It wasn’t easy, but he pushed himself forward.

His sword rang out as it struck the bark again. The tree’s wood cracked slightly, but it did not give. Li Xuan's jaw tightened, frustration bubbling up.

He had to push past this barrier. He had to make this tree fall.

Then, a shout interrupted his rhythm, cutting through the tension of the moment.

"Senior Li Xuan, you have been called by master!"

Li Xuan’s blade froze mid-swing. With a deep breath, he stepped back, sheath in hand, and turned to see one of his fellow disciples standing a few feet away. He nodded and placed the sword across his back, straightening his posture.

"Alright," Li Xuan said.

He moved through the familiar corridors of the Soaring Sword Sect's training grounds. The path to his master’s room felt heavy, knowing there was always something behind his words—an intent, a goal, a lesson, and most of the time, a sense of superiority. His master’s presence always made the disciples feel small, not only because of his vast knowledge and experience but also because of the high expectations he set for his favourite disciples.

Though, he prided himself in overcoming each one of his expectations.

When he reached his master’s chambers, he paused to bow, lowering his head in deference. “Master Xiaosheng, you called for me.”

Master Xiaosheng, one of the core elders of the sect, sat in a chair, his robes flowing elegantly around him. His eyes were sharp as he looked at Li Xuan, trailing his eyes down the tall frame. His presence was as commanding as ever, his cultivation level firmly rooted in the core formation stage. His long, silvery beard swayed slightly as he breathed deeply.

“Ah, Li Xuan, you are here. I’ve heard of your request to go back to Cloud Mist City to participate in the city tournament. I’m allowing you to go, but I want you to promise me something.”

Li Xuan straightened, concerned, flickering in his eyes, but he kept his voice steady. “What is it, master?”

Master Xiaosheng's gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing as he stroked his beard, slowly. “Win it. You are a core disciple of mine, Li Xuan. If you lose, it will bring shame to both me and the sect. I am only allowing you to interact with the mortal world because you have shown great progress in your cultivation. Otherwise, you would have remained isolated until you entered the foundation establishment realm. You know that we cultivators must remind the mortal population that we are above them.”

Li Xuan winced, the weight of his master’s words sinking in. The sect’s disdain for the mortal world and their belief in their superiority was something he had grown accustomed to, though it still stung. He lowered his head respectfully. “I understand, master. I will make sure to win.”

Master Xiaosheng nodded approvingly, but his expression remained stern. “Good. Also, there is something else.”

“Yes, master?”

“A demonic cultivator has recently been on the rise in the city. While it is unlikely you will cross paths with him, if you do, I want you to kill him and bring his head back here. A mere demonic cultivator should be easy for you to handle, and it will curry favor with the sect leader.”

Li Xuan’s eyes hardened, a cold flicker of recognition crossing his gaze. The idea of dealing with a demonic cultivator wasn’t a new one. Such threats were often dealt swiftly within the sect, but he understood that this wasn’t just a matter of duty—it was an opportunity to show his worth.

Although his master had talked about it casually, he knew that he only did so because he wanted Li Xuan to kill the demonic cultivator. Speaking straight to the point wasn't his master's way of doing things and he had gotten used to it during his time in the sect.

But, some questions arose in his mind when he thought about the demonic cultivator.

Li Xuan hesitated for a moment, then looked up at his master.

"How will I find him, master?"

Master Xiaosheng scoffed, his expression hardening. The corner of his lips turned upwards as his hands flew into the air. "You can figure that out yourself," he said with disdain. "Do I have to tell you everything? You have a brain of your own, so use it."

Li Xuan immediately nodded, and bowed again. “Will do, master. I will find that demonic cultivator and bring the head back here.”

When he lifted his head up, Master Xiaosheng waved his hand dismissively, signalling the end of the conversation. "Now go. It will take time for you to reach the city.” Li Xuan nodded, but the next part of his words made him wince. “And remember to stay away from mortals... Even if your mother is one.”

Li Xuan barely held back a frown from covering his face. He couldn’t help but let the bitter feeling of those words sting his throat. He flinched at the tone and the intent, his grip tightening around the hem of his robes.

His mother, a mortal. That reminder never failed to sting. To him, it was not a big deal, but for his master, it only meant that half of his blood was dirty, having barely any worth.

His heart felt heavy. He wanted to talk against his master and reveal his true feelings about the matter, but he simply nodded obediently.

“Yes, master,” Li Xuan said.

With that, he turned and exited the room, the weight of the conversation settling on his shoulders. His footsteps were heavy as he moved through the familiar halls of the sect. The path ahead was clear but difficult. He had to participate in the tournament, face whatever challenges it brought, and, in the meantime, figure out the whereabouts of the demonic cultivator his master wanted him to eliminate.

But that didn’t stop the last words of his master from bothering him. Instead of heading straight for the exit, Li Xuan found himself walking back toward the tree where he had been practising earlier.

The ancient tree still stood, its bark unharmed by his previous attempts.

“My mother being a mortal doesn't mean she's lowly or dirty,” he muttered, picking up his sword and continuing his spar with the tree. “I will prove you wrong. I will prove everyone wrong.”

Training always made his head weigh less and his thoughts numb—which was exactly what he needed after talking to Master Xiaosheng.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.

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45. Young master manipulation (1)

Chen Ren kept himself busy, splitting his time between training, learning new techniques, and working on the food he planned to sell during the tournament. Similarly, the city was too lively with activity. Merchants, cultivators, and spectators were eager for the upcoming grand event. He had already secured permission to set up a temporary noodle stall outside the arena, but he wanted to do more. He wanted to get his food inside the arena too.

The problem was noodles. They were best eaten fresh and hot, and he couldn’t guarantee that in the chaos of the tournament.

So, he had turned his thoughts to other kinds of food—something portable, quick to eat, and still delicious, addictive even. And after days of thinking and experimenting, he came up with a few ideas. Now, he was working on one of them.

The kitchen of the Tang Clan compound was quiet except for the soft scrape of a knife against potato skins. Chen Ren sat on a low stool, peeling potatoes and tossing the smooth tubers into a nearby bowl of water. Beside him, Lihua, one of the maids, helped him. Her hands moved a little slower than his as she tried to keep up, but she worked with determination.

Chen Ren’s thoughts wandered as he peeled, planning his next steps. His schedule was packed tight, and he started feeling the strain. With Xiulan managing the noodle stall, the extra work of preparing the new food items for the tournament fell on him. "I really need more help," he muttered under his breath.

Lihua looked up at him, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Did you say something, Young Master Chen?"

"Just talking to myself," he replied with a small smile, focusing back on his task.

Their eyes met briefly before Lihua quickly glanced away, her face turning redder as she returned to peeling. Chen Ren couldn’t help but feel a little awkward.

He understood why she acted that way, and it wasn’t his fault. Like with most of his problems, it was the fault of his predecessor who had been a hedonistic bastard with no self-control and a habit of saying sweet things to women without meaning them. Lihua had taken those words to heart, and now he was left to deal with the very awkward aftermath.

Still, her help was appreciated.

As the pile of peeled potatoes grew, he planned to dry these and then fry them into crisp, golden chips and season them with spices. If everything pans out as he expected, he’d have the perfect snack for the tournament—easy to carry, quick to eat and tasty even after sitting for a while.

The work was simple but time-consuming, and Chen Ren couldn’t stop thinking about how much he needed to expand his team. Lihua’s occasional glances and shy smiles were a distraction he didn’t need, but he let it slide.

For now, he set his thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. He picked up a peeled potato, slicing it into thin, even strips. Lihua followed his lead, her knife moving with a bit more hesitation but improving with every slice. Once they had a decent pile of slices, they placed them into a large bowl of cold water. The water became cloudy from the starch, but it was all part of the process.

They worked in silence for a while. Finally, Lihua broke the quiet. “Young Master Chen Ren, what exactly are we making?”

Chen Ren glanced up from his work, meeting her wide-eyed gaze. “Chips,” he said simply. “It’s a dish I used to eat when I was a child. They’re easy to make, and since potatoes are cheap, we can prepare a lot of them. I’m trying to make these for the tournament.”

Lihua tilted her head, confused. “Chips? I’ve never heard of them. What do they taste like?”

“Crunchy,” Chen Ren replied with a small smile. “And if we do this right, they’ll be perfectly salty and addictive.”

Lihua nodded, her curiosity still evident, but she didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, they went back to work, slicing more potatoes and soaking the slices in the cold water. The pile of peeled potatoes steadily shrank, while the bowl of soaking slices grew.

Once the last batch of slices was submerged in the water, Chen Ren stood, stretching his stiff shoulders. It was time for the next step.

He moved over to the outdoor cooking area he had set up in the Tang Clan courtyard, the same spot where he had perfected his noodles. The large pot of oil was already heated, the surface shimmering with a faint haze from the fire beneath.

As he carefully lowered the first batch of potato slices into the hot oil, the area filled with the sharp sizzle of frying. Chen Ren watched the bubbling oil, his thoughts drifting for a moment.

This spot held so many memories—his first noodle experiments, the crowd of servants lining up for bowls of his food, and even Xiulan’s very sceptical gaze when he first started this journey. From that small beginning, he had come a long way. He now had multiple businesses and had made significant progress in his cultivation. It was hard to believe how much had changed in such a short time.

But it still feels like I'm just at the starting line, Chen Ren couldn’t help but think.

The golden potato slices floated to the surface, their edges curling slightly as they fried. Slowly, they began to crisp and brown, the rich aroma of fried potatoes filling the air.

Lihua watched the entire process with wide eyes, her knife forgotten in her hand. “So this is how they’re made,” she murmured in wonder, leaning slightly closer to get a better look.

Chen Ren nodded, using a slotted spoon to stir the slices gently. “This is just the first batch. Once they’re done, we’ll sprinkle some salt on them and let them cool. After that, you can taste them for yourself.”

Lihua’s eyes lit up with excitement, and Chen Ren chuckled softly at her enthusiasm. From there, the seconds flew quickly.

After a few minutes of frying, Chen Ren nodded toward the sizzling pot. “Alright, Lihua, take them out.”

Lihua quickly stepped forward, using a slotted spoon to scoop up the golden chips. She placed them carefully on a plate lined with large leaves to drain the excess oil. The crisp slices glistened under the sunlight streaming into the courtyard.

Chen Ren crouched down to inspect them. The chips were a mix of light and golden brown, their edges slightly curled and their surfaces freckled with tiny bubbles from the frying. Then, he picked up one and held it in his hand, admiring the texture. “I think they’re ready,” he said after a moment. Then he glanced at Lihua, offering her a small smile. “Do you want to try one?”

Her eyes lit up as she nodded. “Yes, Young Master!”

Chen Ren handed her one of the chips before taking one for himself. As he bit into it, the loud crunch filled his ears, and he took a moment to savour the taste. The flavour was simple—just the natural starchiness of the potato, lightly enhanced by the frying and the salt. He couldn’t help but think about the chips he used to eat back in his old life, mass-produced and coated with seasonings. These were nowhere near that level of flavor. But then again, those comparisons were unfair.

On the other hand, Lihua seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself. Her expression brightened as she munched, a satisfied hum escaping her lips. Once she finished, she instinctively reached out for another one but froze when she noticed Chen Ren watching her. Her hand hovered awkwardly mid-air, and she quickly pulled it back, her cheeks turning red. “S-Sorry, Young Master! I didn’t mean to—”

Chen Ren chuckled lightly and waved her off. “Go ahead, you can eat more.”

Her face lit up with gratitude. “Thank you!” she said, popping another chip into her mouth with an excited crunch. After finishing that one, she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. “These are so good! I’ve never eaten anything so crunchy before.” She paused thoughtfully, then added, “Though, I think they might taste even better with a bit of salt.”

Chen Ren nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I’ll sprinkle some on the final batch before serving them. That’ll bring out the flavour more.”

Lihua smiled at his response and glanced back at the plate of chips. “I believe these will sell even better than the noodles! But, Young Master, there’s one thing I don’t understand. Why did you ask Xiulan to bring so much milk two days ago? I don’t see how milk is used for chips.”

“It’s not for the chips,” he opened his mouth, about to explain that the milk wasn’t for the chips, but the sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention. He turned around just as Tang Yuqiu entered the area where they were preparing the food.

Her eyes swept across the space, taking in the peeled onions and other scattered ingredients before landing on the plate of golden chips resting on the table.

“What are those?”

“Chips,” Chen Ren replied, motioning toward the plate. “I’m making them to sell at the tournament. Do you want to try one?” he asked. The more opinions, the better.

Yuqiu nodded, and so did Lihua, her appetite still not quenched. Chen Ren offered each of them a chip, and they both bit into their pieces at the same time.

The courtyard was soon filled with the sound of satisfying crunches.

“These are so crunchy!” Yuqiu exclaimed, her eyes widening. “It’s simple, but it’s good.”

Lihua, still nibbling on her third chip, chimed in, “I told the young master that they’d taste even better with a little salt. What do you think, Young Miss Yuqiu?”

Tang Yuqiu nodded thoughtfully. “Salt would definitely enhance the flavor. These could be really popular during the tournament.”

As they enjoyed the chips, Chen Ren glanced at Yuqiu. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

She leaned against the wall, brushing a strand of hair from her damp forehead. “I heard you were working on something in the kitchen, so I came to check it out. Honestly, I’ve been cooped up in the perfume shop for days now, and I needed a break.” She sighed, wiping her brow again. “Ah, it’s so hot outside. We’re at the end of summer, but it just doesn’t want to leave. I’ve been sweating like crazy these days.”

She looked up at the sky and Chen Ren followed her gaze. Only a few clouds dotted the sky and the heat of the sun bore down on them. Even if he was a cultivator with a body more resistant to elements, he still sweated. Not to mention about mortals who had it much worse.

Hence, he had also planned something to alleviate the heat.

Chen Ren smiled as he decided to test out the other item on the menu he was going to unveil at the tournament. Turning to Tang Yuqiu, he said, “I think I might have something that will help with the heat.”

Yuqiu looked down at the chips in her hand, her brows furrowing. “You mean from these chips? They’re crunchy, sure, but you’re right. They’re also hot, and they’re making me sweat even more.”

Chen Ren shook his head, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Not the chips. Come with me.”

He grabbed a bowl and a spoon from the table, gesturing for them to follow him. Lihua, still curious, trailed behind alongside Yuqiu as they moved through the Tang Clan compound to another room.

When Chen Ren opened the door, a rush of icy air spilled out, making all three of them shiver. Yuqiu instinctively rubbed her arms. “Why is it so cold in here?” she asked, her voice almost trembling.

“I set up [Frost Arrays] in this room,” Chen Ren explained. “With some help from Senior Qing, I modified them to keep the temperature extremely low—around minus 18 degrees celsius. It’s the perfect temperature for storing what I’m about to show you.”

Tang Yuqiu blinked, confused. “Celsius? What’s that?”

“Just think of it as very cold,” Chen Ren replied, laughing.

Yuqiu glanced at the frosty air swirling in the room. “If your grand solution to beat the heat is to sit in here, let me tell you—I’ll freeze to death instead. It’s going from one extreme to the other!”

Chen Ren shook his head again, stepping inside. “Not quite. Take a look.”

Both women hesitated for a moment, then followed him in, curiosity outweighing their discomfort. The temperature dropped further as they entered the room, their breaths turning visible in the chilled air. Chen Ren walked over to a table in the corner, where several containers were carefully arranged.

“Now,” he said, holding it up for them to see, “this is what I wanted to showyou.”

Chen Ren gestured toward a large container nestled in the corner of the frosty room. He carefully opened the lid, revealing a smooth, creamy mixture inside. Using the bowl and spoon, he scooped out a generous serving of a substance and handed it to Yuqiu.

“It's called an ice cream,” he explained, looking at the replication of his childhood's favourite snack.

The ice cream glistened faintly in the cold air, but it wasn't the plain white or cream colour he had expected. It was a vibrant orange. The result had came due to the fruit pulp he had added from a common forest fruit called flameberry, known for its bright color and intense sweetness.

Tang Yuqiu frowned slightly as she examined the ice cream. “What is this?”

“Ice cream, I told you,” Chen Ren said.

“Ice cream?” she echoed, tilting her head. “I’ve never heard of it.”

Chen Ren smirked. “You’d never heard of noodles or chips before either, but you tried them and liked them. Go on, take a bite.”

Hesitating for only a moment, Yuqiu took a small spoonful. The moment the cold treat touched her tongue, her eyes widened in pure surprise. “It’s so cold!” she exclaimed, then paused, savouring the sweetness and refreshing sensation. “But it’s so sweet and smooth. It’s… It’s… It’s… amazing!”

Without waiting for further encouragement, she eagerly dug in, as though the ice cream might disappear if she didn’t eat fast enough. Lihua watched her with growing curiosity, her hunger plain on her face.

Noticing the maid’s expression, Chen Ren smiled and scooped out another serving for her. Lihua accepted it with a grateful bow and tasted it. Her reaction mirrored Yuqiu’s, eyes lighting up with delight. “It’s incredible, young master! So refreshing. I’ve never tasted anything like this before.”

Chen Ren nodded, pleased with their reactions. “I thought so too. With the heat as bad as it is, this would sell incredibly well. But…” He frowned slightly, considering the logistics. “It’s not easy to make. Milk, sugar, and the fruit pulp all cost quite a bit. While the results are great, I’d need to target wealthier customers to make a profit. Plus, producing it on a large scale would be tricky, even with the [Frost Arrays] doing half the work for free.”

Yuqiu, still savoring her ice cream, looked at him with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I believe you’ll make a killing at the tournament. In fact, I’m almost starting to regret not investing in this sooner.” She paused, then grinned. “Can I still invest? Please?” She gave him her best puppy-dog eyes, leaning closer in mock pleading.

Chen Ren laughed and shook his head. “No, you should stick to the perfume business. That’s where your talent lies.”

“But if you want to make some quick money,” he added with a teasing smirk, “I have a way for you.”

Intrigued, Yuqiu leaned forward. “What’s that?”

Chen Ren leaned in slightly, lowering his voice for dramatic effect. “The betting markets open tomorrow. Bet on me in the tournament. Just close your eyes, take the risk, and I promise you’ll walk away with a nice profit.”

“You’re awfully confident, aren’t you?”

Chen Ren shrugged. “Let’s just say I know my odds. And I have enough plans up my sleeve.”

***

The sun hung high in the sky, its rays beating down on the arena grounds where the tournament was set to take place in just a few hours.

A massive crowd had already gathered, buzzing with excitement and anticipation. Naturally, most of them gravitated toward the numerous stalls lining the streets outside the arena, each offering a variety of enticing goods.

Among the chaos, Chen Ren stood by his own noodle stall, his arms crossed as he observed the scene. The air was filled with the tantalizing aroma of freshly cooked noodles, drawing long lines of eager customers. Beside him, Xiulan worked efficiently, managing the orders with the same sharpness she had when she first started helping him. The street kids, who had become an essential part of the stall’s operation, darted about with bowls of steaming noodles, handing them out to customers and collecting coins in return.

Chen Ren's gaze roamed over the crowd, taking in the energy and the faces—both familiar and new. His eyes briefly stopped at Old Man Tian, whose stall was right next to theirs. The old vendor seemed to be doing brisk business, his gruff demeanor softened just slightly as he barked at the customers, urging them to try his skewers.

But then, Chen Ren's attention shifted, catching sight of someone unexpected in the sea of people. It was her—the unusual beggar girl.

The girl who had once been nothing more than a shadow in the streets. She moved with surprising grace, between the kids, handing out bowls of noodles and collecting payments like she'd been part of the team for years. Her clothes were still plain but noticeably cleaner, and her face—though still thin—had a certain light that wasn’t there before.

Chen Ren's thoughts briefly wandered back to their first meeting, when he’d handed her food out of pity and later seen her courage in the fight with the blood snakes. It was hard to reconcile that girl with the one now working confidently among the children, with a deep focus, even though the entire area was buzzing with activity.

As he continued to watch the girl, Tang Xiulan approached him, her hands carefully balancing at least five to ten bowls. She placed them on the table beside them and followed his trail.

“She’s diligent,” she said, folding her arms. “Her name’s Anji. She asked to help out because she didn’t want to keep taking free noodles. She’s been doing bits and pieces here and there since then. And knowing we’d need more hands with the tournament, I asked if she’d work for three meals a day. She agreed without hesitation.”

Chen Ren nodded approvingly. “That’s good,” he said.

His gaze drifted back to Anji. She was quick on her feet, balancing a tray with ease as she delivered bowls of noodles. At one point, she turned back toward him, just for a fleeting second, and their eyes met.

A strange sensation coursed through Chen Ren, like a faint shiver running up his spine. He felt it through his backbone and towards where the hairs behind his neck rose. What on Earth was that? Chen Ren squinted his eyes and kept staring at her.

There was something about her—a quiet intensity in her gaze that felt out of place, almost too sharp for someone her age. It left him unsettled, though he couldn’t say why.

Before he could dwell on it, Tang Xiulan tugged his attention back to her. “By the way,” she said casually, “I put all my money on you, Young Master Chen. Just like you said. The odds are twenty times more.”

Chen Ren smiled, the unease fading as quickly as it had come. “Good. That’ll be a nice pile of silver once I win.”

“You sound confident.”

“I have to be,” Chen Ren replied. “Did you send one of the kids to find Cang Rui?”

She nodded. “Yes. I got one of them to quietly slip word to his servants about where you are. But are you sure about this? From what you’ve told me, he feels insulted by you. If he shows up, it won’t be for tea and conversation.”

“That’s what I want. This isn’t just about noodles and bets. I need a spectacle. Something that’ll make people talk. Don’t worry—just watch and follow the plan.”

Xiulan gave him a long look, then nodded. “Alright. But if this goes sideways, I will go call the guards. They would stop any fight from breaking out.”

Chen Ren chuckled softly, but before he could respond, movement at the edge of the crowd caught his attention. Not just his—but also garnered the attention of everyone who was in the vicinity. A group of people pushed their way toward the stalls. At the centre of it all was the purple-haired young master—Cang Rui.

He walked as if he owned the roads with large strides. His fine robes swayed with every step and people made space for him. His face was lit with amusement, even his eyes were wrinkled up with the feigned smile he put up. Flanking him were his servants, and behind them were a few other rich-looking young masters.

They all carried an annoying smirk that seemed to be plastered to their faces.

Chen Ren straightened, a slow grin spreading across his face. “My plan begins,” he murmured to himself.

Finally, Cang Rui’s gaze swept over the stalls, his eyes narrowing slightly as they landed on Chen Ren. He whispered something to one of the young masters at his side, and they all laughed.

Xiulan stiffened beside him. “He brought an audience,” she muttered.

Chen Ren nodded. “The more, the better. Let the spectacle unfold.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.

46. Young master manipulation (2)

The narrow gaze twisted into one of the ugliest glares Chen Ren had ever seen. The young master’s nose flared, but he tried to lighten the mood by saying whatever useless thing he had to say and laughing it off with his lackeys. A group of five men, two as tall as the Tang manor’s ceilings and three of the same height as Cang Rui. All of them were well-groomed men who screamed wealth.

Cang Rui’s lips curled into a sneer as he leaned towards the men surrounding him and made them laugh. His voice loud enough to prick the attention of the gathering crowd.

They smirked at those who glanced their way, enjoying the whispers that had started to stir due to their presence. Clearly, they enjoyed the attention. Chen Ren remained passive, with his eyes locked onto Cang Rui without betraying any emotion he felt for the troupe.

They continued to walk towards him, and as they did, the crowd in the area shifted like wheat in the wind. People nudged one another, started whispering, and began to part, clearing a path for the approaching group. Some pointed toward Cang Rui, their eyes lighting up with recognition, while others simply stepped aside with wary glances. All the while, their murmurs grew louder and louder.

Not only Chen Ren’s face but also his stance didn’t change one bit. He stood calmly behind the stall, his gaze steady as it followed Cang Rui’s approach. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. His hands rested lightly on the counter, the faint aroma of freshly cooked noodles wafting from the steaming bowls beside him.

Cang Rui came to a stop a few paces away, his chest heaving as if the walk had fueled his anger further. But the previous laughter he’d feigned was nowhere to be seen. Without wasting a second, he jabbed a finger at Chen Ren.

“Chen Ren! There you are, you coward!”

The crowd stilled. Even the clinking of coins and the sizzling of nearby food stalls seemed to pause, leaving only the echo of his words hanging in the air. Chen Ren knew it was just his imagination since everything around him still operated as usual. But the feeling of impending danger, nonetheless, was there.

He tilted his head slightly.

“How exactly am I a coward?” he asked, his voice calm as if he were asking about the weather.

“You ran away from my challenge back at the city lord’s office!” Cang Rui snapped, his finger shaking with fury. “Only a coward would do that! You insulted me and now you fear my wrath!”

Chen Ren’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but he suppressed it. How dramatic. These young masters would make excellent actors, he thought, his mind briefly amused by the theatrics before returning to the present.

He straightened slightly and met Cang Rui’s furious glare. “Now, let’s not twist the story,” Chen Ren said evenly. “All I did was ask you to respect some boundaries and wait for your turn. You, on the other hand, couldn’t handle not getting your way and decided to lash out. Then you attacked me. You should count yourself lucky I didn’t take that personally.”

Chen Ren motioned toward his stall with a small shrug. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m busy here. Go yell at someone else.”

With that, Chen Ren pretended to turn, but he couldn’t help but wait for his response. The crowd, however, started whispering once again. Their attention was now fully locked on the exchange. Some chuckled under their breath, while others looked more invested than even the tournament which was about to begin. A man holding a bowl of noodles slurped loudly beside Chen Ren, the sound somehow adding even more… dramatic cue to the tension.

Cang Rui’s face darkened further, his hand clenching into a ball at his side. He opened his mouth, but no words came out at first. His eyes swept over the gathered crowd, their curious and entertained faces fueling the fire in his chest.

“You—!” He began again, his voice trembling with fury, but his words faltered as the crowd continued to watch, some even grinning as if they were watching a street play.

Finally, Cang Rui’s sneer sharpened. “Your words are as cloutless as your businesses, Chen Ren. You aren’t even in the qi refinement realm, yet you keep courting trouble as if you belong among us.”

Chen Ren met his glare without flinching. “Funny, considering you’re the one who came looking for me.”

For a moment, a flicker of energy danced on Cang Rui’s palm, the faint glow of a cultivator’s intent shimmering in the air between them. Chen Ren’s sharp gaze caught it, his body instinctively tensing for a split second. But before the energy could manifest into an attack, one of Cang Rui’s companions stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Young Master Cang,” the man said smoothly, “there’s no need to waste your energy on a battle of words with this fool. Everyone knows that you’ll hand over his ass back to him by the end of the tournament.”

The words that were said aloud replaced the fury on his face with a cruel smile. He nodded, seemingly placated by the words. Then, with a sharp glance back at Chen Ren, he spoke again, his voice raised to command the crowd’s attention.

“You heard him, Chen Ren. I’m here to publicly challenge you in the tournament. There will be no running, no excuses, and no backing down. I’ll show everyone my strength and make you kowtow before me an apology!”

The declaration was enough to send a ripple through the crowd. Murmurs buzzed like an unsettled hive as people exchanged glances and whispered among themselves. Some pointed at Chen Ren, while others glanced nervously at Cang Rui.

Chen Ren took a moment to scan the faces in the crowd. Old Man Tian stood a few paces away, his mouth hanging open as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Other stall owners mirrored his stunned expression, their eyes darting between Chen Ren and Cang Rui.

The children, who had paused their work at the stall, looked equally shaken. Their eyes showed fear, though none of them dared to speak. Tang Xiulan, however, stood with her arms crossed, her eyes calm, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. She knew this was all part of the plan.

Finally, Chen Ren’s gaze landed on the beggar girl, Anji. Unlike everyone else, she seemed entirely unaffected by the tension crackling in the air. She stirred a pot of noodles, her back partially turned to the unfolding drama. She didn’t even glance at him or Cang Rui, her focus fixed entirely on her task.

“Alright, I accept your challenge. Let’s see who makes who kowtow,” Chen Ren said with his hands waving dismissively in the air.

Cang Rui laughed maniacally. “You’re confident now, Chen Ren, but you won’t be once I’m done with you.”

He turned to leave, his companions following close behind, their smug chuckles cutting through the crowd. But just as Cang Rui was about to step away, a voice rang out from the throng, cutting through every other whisper that had started to spread.

“What if he gets defeated before he even faces you in the tournament?”

The crowd stilled, heads swivelling toward the source of the voice. “Wait, who was it?” someone asked loudly. And that was the same question that rang in everyone’s minds.

At the sudden interruption, Cang Rui snapped his head toward the crowd, his sharp gaze scanning for the voice that had dared to speak. Yet, no matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t locate the source. Frustration flickered across his face before one of his young master companions stepped forward with a smug grin.

“Yeah, that’s true,” the companion said, loudly enough for the surrounding crowd to hear. “What if this so-called lowly cultivator can’t even make it through the battle royale? It’d be a waste of your time, Young Master Cang.”

Another chimed in, his tone dripping with mockery. “Exactly. That man isn’t a cultivator; he’s just a glorified merchant pretending to be one. I doubt he’ll even last a minute in the tournament. Most likely, he’ll run off before it even ends.”

A third added, his laugh cutting through the murmurs. “I heard he lost to Li Xuan in less than a minute during the Soaring Sword Sect entrance exams. A talentless hack like him wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Cang Rui’s confident smirk faltered as he processed their words. His expression shifted through a kaleidoscope of emotions—anger, doubt, and then a calculating gleam in his eyes as he glanced at Chen Ren.

“You’re right. This bastard is too weak to make it to the sparring rounds where I can face him properly.” He turned toward the crowd, lifting his chin high. “Hence, I declare here and now: I, Cang Rui, will make him kowtow before me in the tournament!” His declaration silenced the crowd, all ears hanging on his next words. “And if anyone dares touch him before I’ve had my chance, they will be my enemy. Spread the word—Chen Ren is my prey, and no one else has the right to interfere!”

As he finished, he turned to glare at Chen Ren. Yet Chen Ren remained unmoved, his expression blank save for the faintest curve of a smile. It was a subtle gesture, but one that made Cang Rui’s frown deepen.

With a final, pointed finger, Cang Rui spat, “Know this, Chen Ren: I’ll teach you a lesson in the tournament, and there will be no excuse for you to run away this time!”

Without waiting for a response, he spun on his heel and stalked away, his entourage following close behind. Some were bumping fists at what had happened, while others simply followed. Chen Ren saw how the crowd parted for him once more, but this time, their whispers were twice as much. Many turned their gazes back to Chen Ren, their expressions ranging from pity to outright dismissal, as though he were already a dead man walking.

Chen Ren, however, paid them no mind. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his plan working exactly as he’d hoped. He allowed himself a moment to savour the win before a small voice tugged at his attention.

From the edge of the crowd, one of the street kids emerged. It was Chun, his eyes squinted up as the glaring sun bowed upon them, but he had a big smile on his face. “I did well, right?”

Chen Ren smiled back, pulling a small copper wen from his pouch and flicking it to the boy. The child caught it mid-air, grinning ear to ear.

“You did great,” Chen Ren said, watching as the boy scurried off, pocketing his reward.

The faintest chuckle escaped his lips as he turned back toward his stall.

Now, let’s see how the rest of this plan unfolds.

As the crowd slowly dispersed, Tang Xiulan stepped closer. She had a sly smile on her face. “Young Master Chen, you’re really quite the schemer, aren’t you?”

Chen Ren shrugged. “Not my fault these young masters are so sheltered they don’t even recognize obvious schemes. Cang Rui’s arrogance makes him an easy target.” He glanced in the direction the young master had stormed off. “Thankfully, his proclamation will spread like wildfire. Most participants won’t risk crossing him, so I should have a safer path through the tournament.”

Xiulan chuckled softly, folding her arms. “You make it sound so simple.”

Outwardly, Chen Ren smiled with confidence, but internally, his thoughts weren’t so assured. The plan worked for now, but it’s riddled with holes, he admitted to himself. If Cang Rui and I end up in the same bracket during the battle royale, things could go south quickly. And then there’s always the chance that someone from outside the city won’t care about Cang Rui’s threat and decide to attack me anyway.

Still, he allowed himself a small moment of relief. At least for now, I have some measure of protection. It might be just enough to conserve my strength for the later stages of the tournament.

He looked around, seeing the amount of people that had gathered. His first plan had worked, but if he wanted to win the tournament and get all those sweet rewards and the money from the betting markets, he would have to make sure none of his plans falter.

***

As the day progressed, Chen Ren’s noodle stall still flourished, with an increasing number of customers eager to sample their wares. Tang Xiulan and the children bustled around, serving bowls of steaming noodles to the growing crowd.

Although when they tried to move inside the arena with their handcarts bearing ice cream and chips, they faced a challenge. A challenge in the form of stubborn guards.

They blocked them from entering the arena, talking about some laws that obviously didn't exist.

However, Tang Xiulan took care of the “situation”. She slipped the guard a discreet bribe and soon enough, the handcarts were allowed through, and they began peddling ice cream and snacks to the hungry spectators inside. The extra income from this arrangement made Xiulan grin with satisfaction, and Chen Ren decided to leave her in charge of managing the logistics.

His focus shifted to the tournament.

Chen Ren slipped away from the marketplace and into one of the corridors that led into the heart of the arena. The stone walls echoed with murmurs and cheers from the crowd above, growing louder as he approached the open grounds.

His round was scheduled earlier than expected, a fact that initially made him uneasy. As he stepped onto the packed soil of the arena floor, he scanned the gathered competitors. Roughly fifty participants stood in clusters. To his relief, there was no sign of Cang Rui among them. He let out a quiet sigh, his shoulders loosening ever so slightly.

The arena itself was a spectacle. Surrounding the open field, rows of tiered seats overflowed with spectators, many pointing excitedly at the competitors below. Voices called out names, some cheering for their favourites, others placing bets on potential winners. It was… a lot. He’d never experienced one of these arenas, and it starkly reminded him of the Gladiator movie that he had loved.

His eyes scanned across the competitors, searching for familiar faces, but none appeared. He adjusted the hem of his robe, reminding himself to stay focused.

He had come here to win, not to be distracted by what he couldn’t control.

The announcer’s booming voice interrupted his thoughts, calling for the competitors to assemble near the central platform. Chen Ren joined the group, blending into the sea of cultivators.

As Chen Ren moved through the crowd toward the competitor’s platform, his eyes caught a glimpse of Tang Xiulan and one of the street kids, a boy named Jian, selling chips and ice cream to a bunch of girls who were seated. Xiulan handed a bag of chips to a man while the little guy offered a scoop to one of the girls. The sight made Chen Ren smile faintly. They were thriving out there—at least something was going smoothly today.

His attention snapped back to the arena as a tall official, clad in dark green robes embroidered with the city emblem, stepped onto a raised platform. His voice immediately drew all the eyes onto him.

“You all know the basic rules! This is the first round, so no killing is allowed. If you are thrown off the platform, you are disqualified. If you cannot fight any longer, you are disqualified. No pills, no demonic techniques, and no outside interference. You will begin when I give the signal.” He swept his hand toward the massive stone stage. “Now, get on the platform.”

One by one, the competitors climbed onto the raised battlefield. Chen Ren waited until the crowd thinned before stepping up. As he ascended, he kept his eyes on the other participants, studying their movements. Many returned his gaze, their expressions ranging from curiosity to disdain.

A few even pointed at him and whispered. Chen Ren didn’t need to hear the words to know the content—Cang Rui’s declaration had undoubtedly spread like wildfire. He could almost feel the weight of their assumptions. Good, he thought, the more they stay away from me, the better.

The official raised a hand, signalling for silence, and the murmurs in the stands faded. His voice boomed across the arena as he addressed the audience.

“Honored spectators, today marks the beginning of this year’s tournament, hosted graciously by the City Lord’s Estate and with the blessing of the Soaring Sword Sect!” He paused, allowing the crowd to erupt in cheers. “Let this battle royale showcase the strength, determination, and skill of our participants. May the best rise above all others! Competitors begin!”

The moment the words left his mouth, chaos erupted.

Chen Ren stood still as the arena turned into a frenzy. Fighters charged at each other, fists, swords, and techniques flying as alliances crumbled and rivalries ignited. The crowd roared with excitement as competitors clashed, some thrown off the platform within moments.

He watched everything happen while standing steps away from the corner, a smile threatening to break on his face, the wild melee reminding him of the wrestling matches he’d watched as a kid. Adults, fighting as if their life depended on it. Some more desperate than others.

Just as he had hoped, no one made a move toward him. Cang Rui’s warning had done its job, and his unassuming behaviour worked in his favour. As the number of competitors dwindled, Chen Ren allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.

But his moment of calm didn’t last.

A loud voice rang out from his left. “I don’t care who Cang Rui thinks he is! He doesn’t decide what I can or can’t do!”

Chen Ren turned to see a hot-blooded youth, his face flushed with righteous fury, pointing directly at him.

“I, Mi Fung from Red Willow Village, will defeat you and him! I’ll win this tournament and prove my strength to everyone!”

Before Chen Ren could react, the youth charged toward him. So much for flying under the radar, Chen Ren thought, his smile vanishing as he shifted his stance, readying himself for the fight.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

47. Li of the Xuan

Chen Ren had planned to reach the main rounds of the tournament without much trouble, counting on the influence and recklessness of Cang Rui to clear his path. But he wasn’t naive. He knew that while the Cang Clan had power in Cloud Mist City, it didn’t hold much sway beyond its borders.

With cultivators from all over gathered for the competition, Chen Ren prepared himself for more than just local troublemakers.

So, when Mi Fung leapt toward him, shouting his name like a budding Xianxia hero, Chen Ren didn’t even flinch. With a simple sidestep, he dodged the boy’s palm strike, causing the over-eager opponent to stumble dangerously close to the edge of the stage. If he were to jump out of the stage, he’d have been disqualified without another word.

The boy spun around, glaring at Chen Ren, his face red with embarrassment and anger.

“You dare move out of my way? I’ll make you kneel once I defeat you!” Mi Fung shouted. His hands were balled into fists in his sides, and the boy seemed to shake. Anger radiated from every inch of hisbody, and Chen Ren barely stopped himself from laughing.

Instead, he smirked and said, “Get in line, kid. Also, who even talks like that? You’re some village kid with inherent spirit roots, not the prince of the empire.”

The boy’s face darkened with rage. He inhaled deeply and lunged again, yelling the name of his move like it would make it stronger.

“[Heavenly Trusted Strike!]”

Chen Ren sighed, shaking his head as he effortlessly dodged the punch. The boy swung with his other fist, but this time, Chen Ren caught it mid-air and held it firmly. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the struggling cultivator.

“You don’t even seem to be at the fifth star of the body forging realm. What makes you so confident?” Chen Ren asked and raised his eyebrows in question.

But before the boy could reply, Chen Ren’s fist crackled with lightning. I don’t need to know the answer! With a quick motion, he struck the boy square in the chest, sending him flying off the stage. The unlucky cultivator crashed into another participant, knocking both of them out cold.

Chen Ren crossed his arms and waited, half-expecting the boy to jump up, stronger and more determined, like one of those "hidden protagonist" types who only grew tougher the more they struggled. Instead, there was just silence as the crowd murmured in surprise.

Just in case, he stood there for a moment, watching as the boy lay sprawled on the ground, completely unconscious.

Finally, he let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Not a hidden protagonist after all,” he muttered, shaking his head and turning his attention to the rest of the arena.

The battles around him were brutal, and it didn’t take long for the arena to clear out. Over half the cultivators were either lying on the ground or being dragged out by the attendants. Blood splattered the floor in various places, even though killing wasn’t allowed at this stage of the competition. The sight made Chen Ren feel a little nauseous, but he suppressed it. He had seen enough bloodshed by now to keep himself in check.

Eventually, the chaos began to subside, and only two people remained in the arena: Chen Ren and one other man.

As he glanced at his final opponent, recognition flashed in his eyes. It was the man in leather armour, the one Yalan had analysed back in the city lord’s office. She’d mentioned a lingering injury in his left leg—a weakness Chen Ren had tucked away in his mind just in case—especially if a situation as the moment right now arose.

The man noticed Chen Ren as well, the fear in his eyes shifting as conflicting emotions flickered across his face. Chen Ren guessed what was going through his mind. He had probably heard about Cang Rui’s threats and was now weighing whether to give face to the Cang Clan or fight for his own chance at the rewards and the opportunity to enter a sect.

Finally, he seemed to reach a decision. He gave a slight bow and said, “I, Yeng Wi, don’t want to surrender. I’ve sacrificed a lot to stand here and would prefer to leave only after a proper fight.”

Chen Ren smirked at that. “That’s understandable. Come at me, then.”

Yeng Wi didn’t hesitate. He charged forward, gripping a halberd tightly in his hands. As he closed the distance, a gust of wind seemed to swirl around him, boosting his speed and sharpening the blade of his weapon. Chen Ren noted the enhancement but didn’t let it rattle him. With his movement technique, he darted around the halberd, narrowly avoiding its sweeping arc.

Lightning crackled around Chen Ren’s palm as he aimed a punch at Yeng Wi’s side. But the man dodged, stepping back just in time.

Chen Ren smirked. Using the feint to his advantage, he shifted his weight and launched a sharp kick at Yeng Wi’s left leg, the one Yalan had pointed out as injured.

The strike connected. Yeng Wi’s face twisted in pain as he staggered, his footing faltering. Chen Ren took a step back, watching carefully to see if his opponent could recover.

Just as Chen Ren had expected, Yeng Wi collapsed to the ground, clutching his injured leg and crying out in pain. Despite his obvious disadvantage, the man gritted his teeth and swung his halberd at Chen Ren in a desperate attempt to land a hit. But Chen Ren was ready. With a flick of his wrist, lightning crackled to life, surging around him for everyone around him to feel.

The force knocked the halberd from Yeng Wi’s hands, sending it clattering to the ground. Chen Ren stepped closer, narrowing his eyes and looked down at the fallen man.

“You have a lingering injury on your left leg,” Chen Ren said and gestured at the man’s leg. “You can’t win this fight, no matter what. Just give up, or you’ll only make things harder for yourself.”

Yeng Wi’s eyes widened in shock at the statement, and he opened his mouth to respond. But before he could say a word, Chen Ren cut him off. “If ‘I surrender’ isn’t the next thing you say,” he added, “I’ll hit your injury again.”

Fear flashed across Yeng Wi’s face, and he quickly shouted, “I surrender!”

The official overseeing the match stepped forward and raised his voice. “The winner is Chen Ren of Red Peak City!”

With that, cheers erupted from the crowd, and Chen Ren’s name echoed through the arena. He raised his fists in acknowledgment, a small smile tugging at his lips. His gaze naturally drifted toward Tang Xiulan and the others in the stands. They were clapping and smiling, their support warming him more than the cheers of strangers ever could.

But as he turned to leave the arena, his ears caught faint murmurs from the crowd—boos and accusations of cheating.

“Of course he won. No one dared to attack him because of the Cang Rui.”

“Typical. A victory handed to him.”

Chen Ren let the words roll off him. He’d known this was coming the moment he agreed to let Cang Rui’s influence clear his path. He smirked faintly to himself and kept walking, head held high. The tournament wasn’t over yet, and he still had much to prove.

***

After his battle royale round, Chen Ren wasted no time to return to his business. The familiar routine of selling things was a comfort—much better than being in the middle of blood and gore, and with every transaction, he felt his qi swirl more intensely within his dantian.

Although the noodles were now offering diminishing returns in terms of qi generation, his newer creations—chips and ice cream—were proving to be a hit. Ice cream, in particular, seemed to have a much stronger effect on his qi than the chips, though Chen Ren wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was because it was more expensive, or perhaps there was something special about it. Either way, he enjoyed the results, the steady stream of customers and the exciting look on their faces after trying ice cream.

As he moved through the arena, peddling his wares, he couldn’t help but overhear snippets of conversation about himself. Some of it was positive, praising his skill or his victory in the arena. But there were just as many whispers calling him a cheater. Those voices seemed to have grown louder since the battle royale, with more people learning about how the Cang Clan’s influence had likely played a role in his advancement.

Chen Ren didn’t let it bother him much. He figured most of the negativity came from people who had lost money betting against him. After all, they probably saw him as nothing more than a weak upstart who’d gotten lucky.

That perception didn’t worry him; he was confident it would change with time. Until it affected his business, he cared little for his reputation. Besides, the quality and uniqueness of his products kept people coming back. For now, the attention was focused on his goods, not him, and that was exactly how he liked it.

Still, amidst the whispers, he picked up valuable information about the competition. There was talk of the other prominent cultivators who had entered, and one name stood out to Chen Ren: Li Xuan.

Li Xuan was the man who had defeated and killed Chen Ren’s predecessor. Though Chen Ren had briefly heard of him before, it hadn’t been confirmed that Li Xuan would participate in the tournament. After all, he had already moved on to the prestigious Soaring Sword Sect. But now it was certain—Li Xuan was here, and from what Chen Ren gathered, he was last year’s champion.

Many cultivators joined the competition this year just for a chance to face Li Xuan. Perhaps that was the reason Li Xuan had entered, too. Chen Ren wouldn’t be surprised if the City Lord had convinced his son to participate to elevate the tournament’s prestige even further.

Rather than dwelling on the implications of Li Xuan’s presence, Chen Ren was more curious about the man’s strength. From his inherited memories, he recalled that Li Xuan had been at the peak of the body forging realm during their last battle. It was almost certain that he had since broken through to higher realms.

The thought of seeing Li Xuan’s current capabilities intrigued him, so Chen Ren decided to watch his battle royale match from the spectator stands. After all, what better way to know your competitor than on the field?

As he leaned forward, his eyes scanning the arena below, a voice interrupted his focus.

“So, you’re the one selling this ice cream I’ve been hearing so much about?”

Chen Ren turned to see a middle-aged man standing nearby, his face glistening with sweat. The afternoon sun blazed overhead, and the oppressive heat had everyone seeking some form of relief. It was no surprise that his ice cream had become a breakout hit under these conditions.

With his best salesman’s smile, Chen Ren straightened and said, “That’s right. Do you want to try some? It’s only 10 copper wen per scoop.”

The man’s hopeful eyes faltered. “That’s too expensive! None of the food stalls here are charging that much.”

Chen Ren tilted his head and sighed. The heat clearly seemed to have gotten into his head. “That’s because none of them are selling ice cream,” he replied smoothly. “It’s not easy to make, you know. I even need cultivators to use frost arrays on my containers just to preserve them. Honestly, I’m barely making any profit here.”

The man hesitated, glancing around at the arena stands before looking up at the sun hanging in the sky and brushing sweat off his forehead. Finally, he grumbled, “Fine, give me one scoop. It better be worth it.”

“You bet.”

Without wasting time, Chen Ren grabbed a wooden bowl and scooped out a portion of the chilled dessert. Handing it over, he said, "Enjoy, but make sure to return the bowl once you're done."

The man muttered a distracted "Sure, sure," already focused on the ice cream. He took an extremely small bite from the ice cream, and soon his eyes widened. He licked his lips deliciously and looked inside the bowl.

“Oh my! Oh my!” He began devouring the rest of the ice cream without a pause, some of it dripping from the corners of his mouth, but soon, he collected them and didn’t allow a drop to go to waste.

Chen Ren allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction at the man's expression and the swirling qi in his dantian before a loud roar from the arena below pulled his attention.

He leaned forward, scanning the arena just as the announcer declared the start of the match. The crowd erupted in cheers, and the sound of clashing weapons echoed from the combatants below. Chen Ren’s focus sharpened, his eyes searching for a familiar face.

A voice suddenly called out from behind him—inside his mind. "Assessing your competition, are we?"

Chen Ren turned to see Yalan perched on the railing of the stand, her amber eyes gleaming with mischief. Without responding aloud, he nodded slightly before gesturing toward the arena. “That’s him.”

Yalan followed his gaze to where a young man wielding a sword was cutting through his opponents effortlessly. “The one who killed the person I was supposed to protect,” she said in a dead tone, her eyes squinting at the man.

Li Xuan was a tall man— taller than most people in the city. He was at least a foot taller than Chen Ren, standing at seven feet and had long hair that was braided to the middle of his back. It was a shiny blonde colour that stood out from most, giving him the look of a protagonist from one of the Xianxia books he had read back in his previous life.

With extreme focus, he shewed off his sword skills, gracefully moving through the dozens of cultivators in the arena and striking them down with precise strikes. A faint crackle of lightning danced along his sword, but unlike Chen Ren’s volatile energy, Li Xuan’s control was impeccable.

“He’s good,” Yalan remarked. “Much better than the last time I saw him.”

Chen Ren’s brow furrowed. “How strong is he? Can you see his soul?”

Yalan shook her head. “No, I can’t. I believe he’s using an artifact to conceal his aura. But if I had to guess, he’s in the first star of qi refinement. That said, he could easily defeat someone a star or two above him. His techniques are clearly practiced daily. I don’t see anyone in this tournament beating him.”

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow. “Not even me?”

Yalan turned to him, her expression serious. “You’ve been scheming your way into the top sixteen, relyin on tricks and strategies. But that kid fights like a veteran. He won’t be easy to deal with.”

Chen Ren’s gaze didn’t waver as he watched Li Xuan dispatch another opponent. “The demonic cultivator also used a sword,” he said after a moment, “and had a way to hide detection, didn’t he?”

Yalan gave him a sharp look. “Yes, you’re right. Do you think he’s—”

Chen Ren didn’t answer immediately, his mind racing as he considered the possibility. But it seemed too far-fetched.

“No, I don’t think so… I’m just thinking about how hard it’s going to be to find the demonic cultivator until he shows himself. A third of the cultivators here use swords, and it makes sense for someone to have a technique or artifact to hide themselves, especially with this many strong individuals around. If the demonic cultivator is here, he can easily slip past us.”

Yalan purred. “Yes, I’ve been doing patrols around the area, keeping an eye out for anyone suspicious. But so far, I haven’t seen anyone who fits the profile.”

She paused, glancing toward the arena’s stands, where waves of cultivators watched the battle royale, their eyes fixed on Li Xuan. “Still,” she added, “only a rash individual—even among demonic cultivators—would come to a tournament with so many cultivators around. The risk of exposure is far too high.”

“You’re not wrong… But desperation does strange things to people. If he’s here, he’s either exceptionally bold or has a very specific reason for taking the risk. Either way, we can’t afford to let our guard down.”

Chen Ren’s grip on the railing tightened as he watched Li Xuan strike down his final opponent with a flourish.

His opponent crumbled to the ground, his weapon shattered, and the announcer’s voice boomed over the noise, declaring him the victor. Li Xuan stood tall in the centre of the arena, his blade resting casually on his shoulder.

Cheers erupted all around. The entire fight felt like Li Xuan practising instead of actually putting in the effort to fight. He inclined his head in a polite bow toward the roaring crowd, his composure unshaken by the attention. As he straightened, his gaze swept across the stands, lingering briefly on Chen Ren.

For a moment, their eyes met.

Chen Ren tensed, he felt his knuckles turning white, but Li Xuan’s eyes betrayed no recognition. He looked away without a second thought, striding confidently toward the exit.

Yalan snickered, her amber eyes gleaming with amusement. “He doesn’t even recognize you.”

Chen Ren exhaled softly and nodded. “Not yet. But I think I’ll just have to make our next meeting memorable enough that he never forgets me.”

As the words left his mouth, a chill ran down his spine. His instincts flared, and he turned his head toward the opposite side of the arena. There, amidst the sea of spectators, stood a man whose eyes locked up with his.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, draped in a dark cloak. His features were rugged and sharp while his skin was pale, almost sickly, which was the polar opposite of the dark lines of scars and tattoos that crawled up his neck and disappeared beneath his collar.

Chen Ren’s fingers twitched instinctively as the man kept his gaze on him.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

48. City Lord

For a moment, Chen Ren thought the man was glaring directly at him. The intensity of his gaze felt like it could pierce through the crowd, locking him in place. But then, the man’s eyes shifted elsewhere, and he turned, disappearing into the throng of spectators without a second glance.

“What’s wrong?” Yalan asked, her voice laced with curiosity as she perched on the railing.

“Nothing,” Chen Ren replied evenly, though his thoughts were still racing. “Can you see through that man?”

Yalan tilted her head, her small eyes narrowing as she scanned the crowd. “No. He seems to have some sort of detection-blocking artefact. But I don’t think he’s that strong. Probably a bit weaker than you, actually.”

“Is that so?” Chen Ren mused, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Then I’m just being paranoid. He seems like one of the competitors, but if he’s not that strong, he probably won’t do well in the tournament.”

Yalan’s tail flicked once. “Yeah, you should just focus on selling your stuff and your battles. Leave the rest to fate.”

Chen Ren nodded, though a lingering unease remained in his chest. His mind drifted back to that night with the spectral rhinos, when even the shadows felt much more dangerous than they actually were. Since then, paranoia tugged at him every now and then. He supposed it was inevitable, given that the demonic cultivator hadn’t been caught yet.

He could be anywhere, Chen Ren thought grimly. But like Yalan had said, it would take either a fool or someone incredibly reckless to attend a tournament crawling with cultivators.

He exhaled, shaking off the feeling, and was brought back to the present by a shout. “Hey, ice cream man! Over here!”

Chen Ren turned to see a burly man waving him over impatiently. He grabbed a bowl, scooped out a serving of ice cream, and walked over to hand it off. The man grunted his thanks before digging in, leaving Chen Ren to return to his stand.

***

The battle royale round ended quickly, the competitors falling one by one as the arena grew quieter, leaving only the strongest standing. Chen Ren had hoped to spectate the entire event, watching the clashes of cultivators to learn more about his potential threats, but most of his attention was consumed by his stall and the handcart he had set up inside the arena.

Seeing other vendors peddling their goods made it clear that he wasn’t the only one with this idea, many had bribed the guards to set up shop inside the arena. Though, unlike his ice cream and chips, their sales were much slower, their goods were not as unique or appealing to the crowds.

Day by day, Chen Ren found himself selling over three hundred bowls of noodles, about one hundred and fifty packs of chips, and around a hundred servings of ice cream. While it seemed like the ice cream wasn’t making as much, its price was higher than the other items, and unlike noodles or chips, it had a dedicated group of recurring customers who returned for it every day in the arena.

At a glance, it was clear Chen Ren was doing well. He was pulling in hundreds of silver wen every day, and his qi was constantly swirling within him, rising as his cultivation slowly increased with each passing moment.

He could feel a breakthrough coming, the pull of his cultivation urging him to step forward. But Chen Ren held back. He didn’t want to use the opportunity just yet—he was saving it for the semi-finals.

A small voice in his mind warned him that he might not even reach the semi-finals, but he chose to ignore it.

Confidence in his abilities was key, especially knowing he had many tricks up his sleeve. If he was honest with himself, he felt he could hold his own against even a qi refinement realm cultivator. But fortunately, or unfortunately, he never got the chance to test it.

After all, each of his opponents kept surrendering.

“Zichen surrenders! Chen Ren wins the round and secures his place in the semi-finals!” An official announced and was followed by a brief pause, his voice ringing clearly through the arena. “The defeated cultivator Meng Tou will receive the standard rewards for the top 8— five spirit stones, three pills, and one weapon of his choice!”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd, though Chen Ren hardly noticed. He allowed himself a small smile at the announcement, but his attention was already on his opponent. The man’s face was twisted into a grimace, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. Every fiber of his being radiated frustration and humiliation.

Meng Tou had surrendered without even launching a single attack, a decision influenced by something far beyond his control.

The man’s shoulders shook with barely restrained anger, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. He cast one final glare—at Chen Ren, then at the sky—before stepping off the stage. His movements were stiff, as if each step was an effort to hold himself together.

Chen Ren’s smile faded, replaced by a more somber expression. A pang of sympathy tugged at him. He understood too well how it felt to be powerless, to have no choice but to surrender before even launching one punch.

His thoughts drifted to his previous opponent, the girl he had faced in the top 16. She had looked on the verge of tears as she surrendered, her head bowed in defeat. The memory of her trembling hands and downcast gaze lingered uncomfortably in his mind. He hadn’t known what to say then, and even now, words seemed inadequate.

Instead, he had sent Xiulan to offer her some ice cream after the match. It was a small gesture, hardly enough to erase the sting of defeat, but he hoped it had brought her a sliver of comfort. Watching her accept it with hesitant gratitude had lightened the weight on his chest, if only a little.

Ice cream was, after all, a good comfort dessert.

The world wasn’t kind, and it was easy to feel sorry for those forced to give up, but in his heart, he knew he would’ve won against both of them regardless of their circumstances. He tried to think of it positively.

The competition wasn’t about fairness; it was about survival. And though he knew it was a bit underhanded, scheming was part of the game. There were no rules barring him from using every trick at his disposal, and the so-called righteous cultivators here were no different than the bloodthirsty murderhobos, all pride and ego, willing to do anything to stay on top.

Still, the boos of the crowd affected him a bit. Their discontent was palpable—jeers and shouts of “coward” and other insults rang through the air. They were disappointed by the lack of a fight, and though he understood why, it didn’t make it any easier to bear. He turned toward them, meeting their eyes for a brief moment, and silently vowed to turn their boos into cheers next time.

The trick might not work in the semi-finals, but he’d make sure they wouldn’t be disappointed again.

Before stepping off the platform, Chen Ren’s gaze shifted upward. He noticed a special area in the arena, elevated above the crowd, reserved for important figures.

It looked like a VIP box at a sports match, and in it sat a few individuals, observing the events below. Among them, his eyes landed on an old man with a large beard, dressed in robes that immediately told Chen Ren he was from the Soaring Sword Sect. Chen Ren vaguely recalled him from the sect entrance examinations. He caught Chen Ren’s eyes with the air of someone who had seen it all, someone who wouldn’t easily be impressed.

His eyes seemed… calculating, observing him from above and taking everything in.

Next to the elder sat a burly man, his intense gaze focused on the arena with a scowl on his face. His expensive robes indicated his high status, and the way he spoke angrily to a man seated to his left confirmed his importance. Chen Ren recognised him immediately—the city lord, Li Baolong. From the way he glared at the proceedings, Chen Ren guessed that the city lord was none too pleased with how things were unfolding.

He probably disapproved of Chen Ren’s unorthodox methods. But as long as he didn’t break any rules, there was nothing the city lord could do to him.

As he took in the scene, Chen Ren couldn’t help but notice the differences between Li Xuan and his father. The city lord and his son clearly didn’t share much in terms of appearance. Chen Ren had expected some resemblance, but Li Xuan didn’t seem to look anything like the older man, suggesting he must have inherited his features from his mother.

After giving a respectful bow toward the distinguished figures in the VIP box, Chen Ren turned away. He wasn’t here to cater to the whims of the powerful. He had his eyes on the prize—preparing for the semi-finals. With his next fight on the horizon, he knew it might not be able to get away with it without fighting.

***

The city lord, Li Baolong, sat in the elevated stands in the arena, his eyes never leaving it. His lips were tightened in frustration as he watched the battle end in surrender. His gaze landed on the young man who had gotten an entry into the semi-finals without a single scratch on him and the crowd's harsh words and boos that followed him. Their discontent was palpable.

Li Baolong clenched his jaw, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “Isn’t this a mockery of our city’s tournament?” he muttered under his breath, his words leaving his mouth heavy with disdain. His leg continuously bounced up and down impatiently. “Someone makes it to the semi-finals and hasn’t even bled once in the process? Not a single exchange of blows, no real effort. Why is everyone surrendering like this to this man? What’s his background?”

A steward standing nearby, his posture stiff with unease and the long hours of standing, quickly leaned in to answer. “Lord, he’s a man from Red Peak City. His name is Chen Ren and he has gained some notoriety for two reasons. First, he won a Trial by Might against Bai Shen, the young master of the Bai Hu Trade Association. Second, his businesses, particularly his perfumes, are becoming quite popular among mortal women in the region. However, the real reason behind the surrender is a rumor. It is said that Cang Rui of the Cang Clan has spread word that anyone fighting this man will earn the ire of his clan. According to the rumor, only Cang Rui is allowed to defeat him.”

Li Baolong’s face darkened further, the disbelief etched across his features twisting into a mixture of anger and incredulity. “That’s bullshit!” he snapped, his voice rising. “If that’s the reason, then what does it say about this tournament? A man who doesn’t even break a sweat in his victories, and people surrendering left and right? It’s all because of rumors?” His voice dripped with derision as he leaned forward, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the chair’s armrests. “This is disgraceful! Where’s the honor in this?”

His anger mounting, Li Baolong turned sharply toward the man seated to his right, a figure draped in deep purple robes and adorned with an air of reserved authority. “Lord Cang, is that true?” his voice carried a biting edge, the question less a query and more a demand for an explanation.

The man, Cang Huasheng, maintained his composure despite the pointed accusation. He inclined his head in a show of respect, though his expression betrayed a flicker of discomfort. “I must apologize, Lord Li,” he said. “It is true that my son, Cang Rui, has always been hasty in his words. He was deeply offended by this man, and perhaps his pride got the better of him. It seems he may have spoken out of turn, and for that, I take full responsibility. But rest assured,” he added, “there is no way this man will make it out of the semi-finals. I will personally ensure that whoever fights him doesn't hold back in their match."

Li Baolong’s anger simmered, his lips pressing into a thin line as he nodded sharply. “Do that,” he said curtly. “And next time, tell your son to keep his mouth shut. Spreading such rumors brings a very bad flavour to the tournament. At this rate, even someone entirely unworthy could make it to the semi-finals.”

Just as the tension in the room seemed to settle, a voice cut through the charged atmosphere. “Unworthy? I doubt that, Lord Li.”

The words came from Elder Yan Xiu of the Soaring Sword Sect, who had been quietly observing the proceedings from his seat. His voice was calm yet carried a weight of authority that commanded attention.

Li Baolong’s gaze snapped toward Yan Xiu, his brow furrowing in confusion and annoyance. “What do you mean?” he asked, his tone laced with scepticism. “Do you think a mere seventh-star body-forging realm cultivator is worthy of making it this far? Greater cultivators have failed long before reaching the semi-finals. Even the man who surrendered just now was at the ninth star.”

Yan Xiu nodded thoughtfully. “You are right, Lord Li, but cultivation realms aren’t everything.” He paused, eyes narrowing at parts of the crowd. “Despite the surrenders, that man’s entire body stance was fitted for battle as if he was prepared for even a fight rather than a surrender. His eyes—there was no fear in them. Moreover, one of his hands was very close to the pockets of his robes. He has planned things in advance. He might not have great cultivation, but I don’t think he’s here just because of circumstances. He might just surprise you.”

Lord Li Baolong opened his mouth to respond, but just then, another figure entered the box, cutting him off.

“I agree with that.”

Everyone turned as Tang Jihao, the esteemed elder from the Tang Clan, walked in. His complexion looked a little better than the last time they had seen him, and even his walk—exuded an air of dignity.

Li Baolong raised an eyebrow, a little surprised. “You look to be having better health now, Tang Jihao.”

Tang Jihao gave a modest smile, nodding respectfully. “My daughter’s success has made my illness much more tolerable,” he said. “I didn’t want to miss watching the tournament, so I came here in person.”

Everyone nodded in acknowledgment, and Tang Jihao settled into a seat beside them. Li Baolong, however, was still deep in thought. He turned toward him. “What do you mean, you agree with elder Yan Xiu?” he asked.

“Chen Ren lives with me.” His eyes were distant as he looked at the arena, seeing how people were mingling with each other. “And I must admit, I’ve been surprised by him every step of the way. I’ve seen him push through situations that would have broken most others. I have confidence in him. His abilities go beyond what others might perceive at first glance.”

Lord Li Baolong studied Tang Jihao closely. “Confidence is good, Tang Jihao,” he replied, “But I don’t think just that will help the young man. After all, soon there will only be four people left, and none of them will be weak enough to surrender. He’ll have to fight—really fight—and then we will see if he’s actually worthy.”

Tang Jihai turned in his seat slightly and looked at Li Baolong in his eyes. He offered a gentle smile and said, “We’ll see, Lord Li. We’ll see if my confidence in him is misplaced.”

The city lord snorted, clearly not convinced. “We shall, indeed! But when the real battle begins, only the strongest will remain. We’ll see how your young friend fares then.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

49. Semi finalist

Chen Ren kept his eyes fixed on the arena platform, maintaining his focus despite the noise coming from the crowd. The city official, serving as the referee, stepped forward, his voice loud and clear as it echoed across the massive arena.

"After many interesting and exciting battles, where cultivators displayed their strength, and willpower to challenge even the heavens, only four remain!" he announced, his jubilant voice drawing cheers from the audience. He looked around with his hands extending to the four corners where the four participants were being kept. "These four have caught the attention of not just the City Lord but also the esteemed elders of the Soaring Sword Sect. But the question is—can they make it to the finals and win the tournament? Let’s find out!"

The official paused dramatically, letting the crowd's energy build. A lot of people stood up from their seats and cheered for the competitors. "First up, we have Li Xuan! Last year’s champion and an inner disciple of the Soaring Sword Sect, his sword techniques are famous throughout the region. Will he defend his title, or will one of the others take the crown this year?"

All eyes shifted toward a corner of the arena, where Li Xuan stood with a calm and composed stance, his gaze fixed downwards and hands clutched behind. To Chen Ren, Li Xuan seemed indifferent, as if he already believed the victory was his.

Before Chen Ren could dwell further on Li Xuan, the official continued. "Challenging him foremost is the young master of the Cang Clan, Cang Rui! Known for his mastery of the void element, he’s considered the most dangerous contender among the semi-finalists. Rumor has it, he already has some unfinished business with the third contender. Can he dominate the competition? We’ll see soon!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, their excitement growing. Cang Rui, surrounded by a group of other young masters, smirked confidently. He shot a venomous glare at Chen Ren, but he simply ignored it, turning his focus towards the official once again.

"And now," the official said, his voice rising once more, "we have Chen Ren! An unexpected semi-finalist who has already shaken the betting market. Those who placed their faith in him are walking away much richer. We haven’t seen much of his abilities yet, but many are eager to see if he has more surprises up his sleeve. Will he rise to the occasion or falter here? That’s what we’re about to find out!"

At the mention of Chen Ren’s name, the crowd didn’t cheer. Instead, a wave of boos echoed through the arena. While it was true that he had made some people rich with unexpected victories, he had also caused many others to lose money—those who had bet on his opponents, confident that Chen Ren would lose.

He stood tall, unbothered by the noise. He didn’t show any emotions. The jeers didn’t faze him, but beside him, Tang Xiulan and the children from the noodle stall shifted nervously, their worry evident on their faces.

The official didn’t dwell on the crowd’s reaction, quickly moving on to the next name. "And now, the last semi-finalist—someone who has truly surprised us all! Regarded as the dark horse of this tournament, he is Gu Tian, a wandering sword cultivator! Though only at the sixth star of the body forging realm, his deadly techniques have carried him all the way to the top four. Let’s give him a well-deserved round of applause!"

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, their enthusiasm a sharp, bold difference from the reception Chen Ren had received. His eyes followed the official’s gesture to where Gu Tian stood and a flicker of surprise flashed on his face. This was the same man Chen Ren had locked eyes with earlier. The same man who’d given him an eerie feeling with a simple eye contact.

At first glance, Gu Tian didn’t seem particularly impressive, his aura plain and unassuming. Yet, as Chen Ren continued to observe him, he couldn’t fathom how this cultivator had managed to fight his way to the semi-finals.

Gu Tian, seemingly unaware of—or uninterested in—Chen Ren’s scrutiny, raised his hands in acknowledgment of the crowd. Their cheers grew louder, and the entire arena buzzed—no, shook with excitement. Chen Ren had’t watched any of Gu Tian’s matches, but judging by the crowd’s adoration, they must have been thrilling. He must’ve given something worthy to watch.

After all, everyone loved an underdog—a dark horse capable of taking down stronger opponents—and Gu Tian had clearly done justice to their expectations.

As Chen Ren continued to study Gu Tian, the official stepped forward again, holding a small bag in one hand while another man stood beside him with an assortment of chits inside. "Now," the official announced, his voice commanding attention, "let’s determine who will face each other in the semi-finals!"

The arena immediately went silent. The tension was palpable as all eyes turned to the official, waiting for the matchups to be revealed. Without another word, he reached into the bag, pulling out two chits.

He unfolded them and called out, "The first match will be between Chen Ren and Cang Rui! That means the second match will pit Li Xuan against Gu Tian. Let’s give a round of applause!"

The crowd soon started cheering, the chaos from before surfacing once again. Chen Ren’s eyes flicked toward Cang Rui, who stood grinning at him. It wasn’t a pleasant smile—it was bloodthirsty, filled with malice and confidence. Chen Ren didn’t react, brushing it off with no expression. This match was inevitable, and it was better to face Cang Rui now rather than later.

Still, Chen Ren couldn’t ignore what he had observed. During the tournament, he had made it a point to study Cang Rui’s matches. The man might have been an arrogant young master, but his strength was undeniable. The void element was incredibly rare, even rarer than Chen Ren’s own lightning element. It was swift, mysterious, destructive, and brutally efficient. Most of Cang Rui’s battles had ended quickly, his opponents became overwhelmed before they had the chance to mount a defense.

Chen Ren’s thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind him. "Thinking about something?"

He turned to see Qing He approaching, her arms crossed and a faint smirk playing on her lips.

"Senior Qing He," Chen Ren greeted, a bit surprised. "I never thought you’d leave your tea shop to come watch my match."

Qing He shrugged. "Eh, I felt trapped in there. Besides, I wanted to see if all that training of yours has paid off, or if you’re just going to eat dirt in this tournament." Her smirk widened as she added, "And it seems you’ve managed to get yourself a strong opponent. The difference in cultivation alone is quite the hurdle. Add the void element to the mix, and you’ve really outdone yourself this time. You have a talent for making your life difficult, kid."

Chen Ren ignored the jab, keeping his focus. "Do you have any advice for me? You must have seen void cultivators before."

Before Qing He could respond, another voice cut in from his left. "The void element may be rare and destructive, but it’s also unstable—especially for someone who’s not fully in control of it. If you can disrupt your opponent’s emotional stability, their element can spiral out of control."

Chen Ren turned toward the speaker and blinked in mild surprise. It was Anji, standing with her arms folded, her sharp gaze fixed on him.

Qing He chuckled. "The kid’s right. That’s your best bet to win this battle."

Chen Ren nodded, filing the information away. He looked back at Anji, curious. "How do you know that?"

Anji tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "I once served a cultivator who used void as his element. I learned it from him."

Chen Ren mimicked her action and tilted his head in return. "Can you tell me more about it?"

Anji’s face hardened, and she shook her head. "No. I’d rather keep certain things to myself."

Though her answer left him with more questions, Chen Ren respected her decision and gave a nod. As he glanced at Anji, his senses subtly probed to determine if she was a cultivator. Yet, as always, he found nothing. It was as though he was reading too much into her, but that was what unsettled him the most.

Anji’s knowledge of cultivation techniques and elements far surpassed what any commoner should know. Even Yalan, had been unable to provide any insight. When Chen Ren had asked about her, the cat had simply flicked its tail and replied that Anji displayed no signs of cultivation whatsoever.

Yet, here she was, speaking with confidence about the void element as if she had firsthand experience.

The mystery surrounding her tugged at the edges of his mind. Was she telling the truth, or was there more to her than she let on? Chen Ren couldn’t decide, and the unknown made him uneasy.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. His gaze shifted back to the arena platform, where the crowd literally moved as one. The match against Cang Rui was ahead, and that was where his focus needed to be.

***

Chen Ren sat quietly, meditating with his legs crossed, his mind focused on the energy stirring within him. His dantian, the center of his qi, felt as though it was bubbling up with power. This surge of qi had started after his recent ice cream and chips sales and only continued to grow from there. The energy felt different, like it had its own movements, but it was growing stronger by the day. Chen Ren knew he had to use this opportunity to grow stronger before the battle with Cang Rui.

As he closed his eyes, he felt himself slip back into his star space. The familiar sight of countless stars above him greeted him once again. He could feel the eyes of the stars watching over him, their light guiding his cultivation. He had unlocked two new stars recently, and now he focused on them, feeling their energy intertwining with his own.

Chen Ren turned his attention inward, observing the qi that was gathering inside his body. The energy, like a liquid, moved through his meridians, filling him with strength. It began to feel like his muscles were tightening, his bones growing stronger, and every part of him becoming more resilient. The sensation was intense, but it felt right—this was the progress he needed.

But as the energy grew inside him, so did the pressure. His dantian felt full, as though it might burst from the force of the qi. Sweat started to bead on his forehead, and his breath became shallow. He could feel his chest tighten, the strain building. It was almost overwhelming, but Chen Ren forced himself to stay calm, to keep his focus sharp.

Seconds soon bled into minutes and the energy only continued to grow, and swirl inside him in circles. It was hard, but he knew it was essential.

He reminded himself that this was part of the process. He reached for the Dao of Money, the connection that had always helped him find balance in his life. Drawing on this, he focused his mind on using the qi properly, making sure it flowed without spilling over or causing damage.

With each breath, he slowly absorbed more and more of the energy, his body growing stronger with every passing moment.

As the pressure built, he fought the urge to stop. His stomach churned, and his body felt as though it might burst, but he pushed through, focusing all his will on keeping the energy contained.

Slowly, gradually, the flow of qi began to settle, the intensity easing as he absorbed the power

Chen Ren’s breath steadied, his body relaxing as he reached the limit of the energy he could take in for now. He had done it.

I did it! He gasped out aloud.

The qi had settled within him, strengthening his body and mind. All the extra qi he felt were now… much calmer, under control.

I did it… he thought to himself again and slowly opened his eyes, the room around him coming back into focus. He looked down at his sweat-soaked body and clenched his fists. The power that coursed through him felt surreal. Even his fingertips—felt powerful. A quiet mutter escaped his lips.

“Ninth star of the body forging realm. I finally achieved it.”

The moment of win was brief, interrupted by a knock at the door.

“The semi-final is about to begin. They need your presence out there,” came a voice from the other side.

“I’m coming,” Chen Ren replied, and sighed. Relief filled his bones as he stretched his neck. Rising to his feet, he quickly pulled himself together, wiping away the sweat and shrugging off his clothes before stepping out of the room.

As he walked past the official, the muffled sounds of the arena grew louder until they became an overwhelming roar. Cheers and boos mixed together in a chaotic symphony, filling the air with energy.

Chen Ren stepped onto the arena platform, the ground beneath his feet solid and familiar. The crowd erupted with renewed fervor, some voices shouting for his defeat while others cheered him on. He ignored the noise, his focus remaining on what was about to come, and his eyes scanned the stands.

In the lower section, he spotted Yalan sitting calmly, her amber eyes locked on him. Catching her gaze, he gave her a slight nod and a confident smile.

She responded as she got the hint of his breakthrough and raised her paw. Chen Ren smiled at her and turned back to the arena.

He continued to walk, ignoring the slight stage fright as his ears buzzed with the shouts of the crowd. He had felt it before, but it was clearly hard to get used to it.

Chen Ren wondered if this is how performers must feel. Under so many eyes—Wait no, he couldn’t allow himself to get distracted. He pulled his focus back on the task at hand. The cheers and jeers around him soon blurred into the background.

Cang Rui stood in the center of the arena with his trademark arrogance, his eyes gleaming with contempt. When Chen Ren finally reached the platform, the young master's lips curled into a mocking smirk.

“I was wondering if you had already run off,” Cang Rui scoffed loudly. “You made me wait a long time.”

“Obviously not, Young Master Cang,” he replied, his words carrying just the right amount of sarcasm. “I wouldn’t dream of disappointing you—especially after you helped me reach the semi-finals by flexing the might of your family. Not even my own family has been so generous.”

Cang Rui’s smirk faltered, replaced by a flash of pure fury. A low murmur ran through the crowd as some of the onlookers caught the subtle jab, and a few began to cheer. It was clear from the shift in the atmosphere that they understood the implications of Chen Ren’s words.

The young master’s anger ignited when the crowd kept cheering for Chen Ren. His qi flared, swirling in dark, violent tendrils around him. The void element, dangerous and unpredictable, rippled in the air, crackling. He clenched his fists at his sides, and his gaze narrowed, turning icy.

Chen Ren didn’t know why it made him so angry, but was glad that it did his job.

“You dare speak to me like that?” Cang Rui hissed, “I will make you kneel before me and beg for mercy. Then I’ll kill you.”

Chen Ren didn’t flinch, instead he continued to look at him with the same stare. He had expected this—Cang Rui’s anger was his fuel, and it was precisely what he needed. The more enraged his opponent became, the easier it would be to unsettle him during the fight.

Just as Chen Ren thought of replying, the official stepped forward, raising his hand to silence the crowd. His voice rang out.

“Enough! Listen to the rules, both of you!” The official paused, allowing the words to settle in the air. “From this round onward, fatal strikes are allowed. You may cripple your opponent and kill them. If you manage to do so, whatever items the fallen cultivator has will be yours. Other than that, the same rules as before apply: once you’re out of the stage, you lose, once you surrender, you lose and well, once you are killed, you lose. Now, if both of you are ready…”

The official’s eyes moved between the two fighters, gauging their readiness. With a final sweep of his arm, he declared.

“Begin!”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

50. Trap

As Cang Rui rushed at him, his purple-coloured qi swirled around his legs, moving around like an eye-catching trail. It wasn't just for show—his speed was astonishing.

Chen Ren's eyes struggled to follow the movement. He couldn’t understand why it was happening, Was it because of their difference in cultivation realms? Or was the movement technique itself leagues ahead of his own? Likely both. He barely managed to twist his body, the wind of Cang Rui's attack brushing past his shoulder.

Cang Rui came dangerously close, his nose scrunched up. "You're too slow," he growled, thrusting his hand forward. Purple qi surged around his fingers, forming a pointy claw.

Chen Ren reacted on instinct. Lightning qi surged through his legs, and he pushed off the ground in a blinding leap backward. His feet hit the stone platform with a dull thud, the faint crackle of lightning still dancing around his calves. Fortunately, the arena was wide. He had plenty of space to move around. If there was one thing Chen Ren was good at, it was staying out of reach.

The purple claw slammed into the ground where he had stood moments ago, splintering the stone into small, spiky chunks.

Dust scattered everywhere, but Chen Ren kept moving. The purple claw seemed to have the strength to crush him in one slash. Therefore, his main intention was to not be caught. The claw kept chasing him, tearing through the platform. But he kept moving. Shards of rock flew past his face, but he didn’t stop.

Each dodge brought a faint stirring within his core, a sensation of his qi shifting, growing. It was almost as if a breakthrough was near—he wasn’t exactly sure, but he clung to the feeling. If he could hold out long enough, it might just tip the scales in his favor.

On the other hand, Cang Rui’s frustration was clear. His snarls grew louder with every failed attack and his movements—they were getting reckless.

"Why won’t you stand still?" he shouted, his voice echoing across the arena. The purple claw flickered and vanished. In its place, five violet Jian blades shimmered into existence, hovering in the air, menacingly.

Chen Ren’s heart sank. He had seen this technique before while watching Cang Rui’s previous fights. The blades were sharp enough to slice through iron and fast enough to catch an unprepared opponent. If even one hit him, it was over.

The blades shot forward without warning, streaking through the air. Chen Ren moved, lightning crackling through his legs as he dashed away. The first blade struck the ground behind him, an explosion of energy and stone following. The shockwave sent a wave of heat against his back, but he gritted his teeth and pushed forward.

The second and third blades came in rapid succession, forcing him to zigzag across the platform. Both the explosions sent shards of stone flying, grazing his arms and legs. By the time he dodged the fourth, sweat dripped down his face, his breaths coming in short, sharp bursts.

As the fifth blade closed in, Cang Rui suddenly appeared in front of him, moving faster than Chen Ren could process. His claw, burning with purple void qi, rose high, ready to strike the finishing blow.

Chen Ren didn’t hesitate. "[Lightning Frenzy]!" he yelled, letting his qi explode outward. Bolts of lightning erupted from his body in a storm of crackling, raw energy. The arena lit up with the blinding flashes, forcing Cang Rui to pause for a split second.

One of the bolts struck the claw directly, detonating in a small but powerful blast. The force knocked both of them backwards, Chen Ren skidding across the stone platform while Cang Rui staggered, his eyes lit up in shock.

The crowd roared around them, their cheers echoing through the arena, shaking the ground. The boo’s that had filled the air just some minutes ago were gone, now in its place were loud applause and shouts of excitement, just what the crowd had wanted. A thrilling fight that was worthy of their bets.

And it was clear now—this wasn’t just a one-sided fight. Cang Rui’s attacks were undeniably stronger, his cultivation and techniques overpowering, but Chen Ren’s ability to endure and fight back showed a skill that couldn’t be ignored.

Even Cang Rui seemed to acknowledge it. A void blade materialized in his hands, its edges shimmering with purple qi. He smirked, his eyes filled with arrogance. "You’ve already exceeded my expectations," he admitted. Then his grin widened. "But I’m not going to hold back anymore."

Chen Ren wiped the sweat from his brow, his lips curling into a smile. "You can try all you want," he said and shrugged. "I’d be damned if I lost to someone like you."

The words, as cliché as they were, seemed to ignite a fire in Cang Rui’s eyes. His smirk twisted into a scowl, and without another word, he launched himself forward. His sword moved so fast that it seemed to multiply, slashing at Chen Ren from every direction at once.

Chen Ren felt the pressure immediately. Lightning qi surged through his veins as he planted his feet firmly on the ground, choosing not to dodge this time. He countered with his fists, the punch crackling with lightning electricity as it met the void blade head-on.

The clash of their techniques sent sparks flying through the air. Chen Ren’s punch connected with the blade mid-swing, but the sheer force behind Cang Rui’s strike was overwhelming. The impact hurled Chen Ren backwards, his body skidding across the rough stone.

Before he could fully recover, Cang Rui was already closing in, his sword raised high for a finishing blow. Chen Ren rolled to the side just as the blade came crashing down, the impact shattering the stone where he had been moments before.

Fuck, that was a close call.

Gritting his teeth, Chen Ren pushed himself up, but another void Jian blade appeared in the air, its purple energy vivid as it shot toward him. He barely had time to react, his movement technique activating in a burst of lightning. His body blurred out of the way just as the blade slammed into the ground, leaving behind a deep, smouldering crater.

Cang Rui gave him no chance to breathe. He rushed forward, his sword moving in a flurry of strikes while his movement technique made him faster than ever. The void qi from his attacks filled the air, making it feel like blades were coming from every direction at once.

Chen Ren was forced on the defensive, dodging frantically. His lightning qi flared with every movement, his body a blur as he avoided strike after strike. But the pressure was immense. Every swing of Cang Rui's blade brought him closer to death.

Then Chen Ren remembered Yalan’s advice: Don’t just watch your opponent—feel the qi in the air. Let it guide you.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, trusting his instincts. The air around him felt heavy, filled with a murky, destructive qi that carried the essence of the void. It wasn’t random—there was a pattern to it. He shifted his focus, feeling for the direction the qi was flowing.

As another strike came, he moved—not away from the blade, but toward the gap where the qi felt weakest. The void blade missed him by inches, slamming into the ground behind him.

Chen Ren opened his eyes, suddenly feeling twice as confident as he was before. He could feel it now. The destructive qi swirled like a storm, but within the chaos, there were moments of stillness—openings he could use.

Within the next few strikes, he moved with more accuracy, narrowly avoiding Cang Rui’s attacks.

The crowd erupted again, their cheers growing louder as Chen Ren turned what seemed like an impossible situation into one of survival.

But the battle was far from over. Cang Rui’s attacks showed no sign of slowing, and the void qi in the air only grew heavier. Chen Ren clenched his fists, his lightning qi sparking around him as he prepared for the next move.

It would have been far harder to dodge if Cang Rui had used a qi aspect like wind or fire. Those elements mixed too easily with the atmosphere, making their flows harder to detect. But Void qi was different—its destructive, hollow nature stood out sharply against the natural energy around them. Chen Ren used this to his advantage, dodging them.

In hindsight, every missed strike made Cang Rui’s frown deepen.

Veins began to bulge on his forehead, his frustration turning into visible rage. To make it worse, the crowd was having even more fun, watching Chen Ren avoid Cang Rui’s attacks. He would narrowly miss the latter’s attacks, or they would brush past his skin without causing real damage.

Despite the increasing pressure, Cang Rui couldn’t land a single solid hit. His voice finally burst out in anger. "Why the fuck are you moving so much?"

Chen Ren smirked, his breathing steady. "Do you really expect me to just stand here and let you kill me?" he asked in a mocking tone. "It seems like your brain’s stopped working in all that anger."

The jab struck deeper than the blade ever could. Chen Ren’s sharp eyes noticed the void qi surrounding Cang Rui’s weapons and techniques beginning to flicker and lose cohesion. Anji had been right—anger made it harder to control qi, especially one as volatile as void. This was true for all elements to some degree, but void was particularly unforgiving.

Seeing the cracks in Cang Rui’s focus, Chen Ren decided to finally make his move. He relaxed his stance, letting his arms fall to his sides as he took an intentional step backwards. "Alright," he said, his voice carrying clearly over the noise of the arena. "You want me to stand still? Fine. I’ll stay in one place for you."

Cang Rui’s eyes lit up with fury, his lips curling into a vicious smirk. "You’ll regret that," he snarled, void qi surging around him as he dashed forward. His speed was blinding, the oppressive energy of his attacks crashing toward Chen Ren like a tidal wave.

But just as he was about to strike, Chen Ren muttered, "Idiot."

Before Cang Rui could react, he found himself slamming into an invisible wall. The force of the impact made him stagger back, and his gaze shot upward to see a shining barrier trapping him inside. He pressed his hands against the glowing surface, confusion turning into disbelief.

He looked down where he saw a white line surrounding him.

The announcer’s voice boomed across the arena. "Incredible! Chen Ren seems to have created a barrier array while dodging those strikes! Who could have seen this coming? He’s an array learner! But the question remains—can Cang Rui break through it?"

Cang Rui’s shock quickly gave way to anger as he drew his sword and began slashing at the barrier with all his might. He continued his thrashing with powerful attempts, Void qi crashing against the glowing barrier like a hammer on glass. After a few strikes, a thin crack appeared, and a confident smirk spread across his face.

"Do you really think something this flimsy can stop me?" he shouted. "I’m far too powerful to lose to a trick like this!"

Chen Ren stood calmly outside the barrier, his arms crossed as he watched Cang Rui struggle. He tilted his head slightly and frowned. "You’re really stupid," he said flatly.

Cang Rui paused mid-swing, his smirk faltering.

"Why do you think I’m just standing here while you’re busy breaking the barrier?" Chen Ren continued, "Do you really think I created it just to hold you?" He gestured downward with his chin. "Look at your feet."

Cang Rui stared in confusion, his brows furrowing as his gaze shifted downward. His eyes widened in alarm when he spotted multiple fire talismans stuck to his body. They clung to his robes and armour, their dim light throbbing forebodingly.

Panic set in, and he scrambled to rip them off, but before he could, Chen Ren acted.

"Too late," Chen Ren muttered.

He thrust his hand forward, and unleashed his attack, Lighting Frenzy, his most reliable technique, roared to life. Massive arcs of lightning surged from his fingertips, crackling with raw energy as they slammed into the barrier. The lightning travelled through the crack that Cang Rui’s sword had made moments earlier, weaving its way toward one of the talismans. The talisman sparked and ignited instantly, its flame spreading like wildfire.

Cang Rui reacted instinctively, summoning void qi to form a barrier around himself. But his anger and desperation made the energy wild and unstable. The void qi clashed with the igniting talismans, triggering a violent chain reaction.

Boom!

The explosion ripped through the air, shaking the entire arena. Flames and dark, murky void energy swirled together, creating a storm of destruction that made the audience gasp and recoil in shock.

The ground trembled beneath the force, and smoke shot upward, obscuring the centre of the arena.

The man was hurled into the air, limbs flailing helplessly at his sides. The sound of bones cracking cut through the chaos, and the nasty stench of burning flesh filled the air. Soon, with a sickening thud, Cang Rui’s charred body crashed to the ground. The force of the body rolled lifelessly before coming to a halt.

Chen Ren didn’t hesitate. He moved towards Cang Ruin immediately, his breathing heavy but controlled. The crowd watched in stunned silence as he got closer. Suddenly, it was almost as if everyone had collectively lost their voice.

The man lay sprawled on the ground, his body battered, bloodied and broken. His once-pristine robes and leather armour were nearly gone, reduced to smouldering scraps. Burn scars covered his face, and his chest rose and fell weakly as he groaned in unconscious pain. He tried to move, but his hands faltered every time he made an attempt.

Chen Ren looked down at him, and stared at the man for a moment. "I won," he whispered.

Straightening up, he turned his attention to the announcer, who stood frozen, mouth slightly agape. Realising the match was over, the announcer quickly snapped out of his daze.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" the announcer’s voice was loud, trembling with excitement. "Cang Rui is out! Chen Ren has won the round and is advancing to the finals! Let’s hear it for this budding array and talisman master who has shocked everyone in the arena today!"

The crowd immediately stood up, cheering for Chen Ren and it was far louder than anything he’d heard before. There were no boos this time, no insults hurled his way, no accusations of cheating. Only pure admiration and excitement filled the air as they chanted his name.

Chen Ren’s eyes swept across the stands, taking in the sea of cheering faces. But he wasn’t looking for his friends or allies. His eyes locked onto the VIP section, where the city lord and other dignitaries sat.

Among them was a man with the shade of purple hair as Cang Rui—his father. Cang Huasheng’s face had gone pale. Yet when their eyes met, Chen Ren gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod.

It was a message: I could’ve killed him, but I didn’t. Consider this a favor.

The latter’s lips tightened, his fists clenched at his sides. But he nodded back, acknowledging the unspoken gesture.

Without another glance, Chen Ren turned and walked away from the arena.

***

Chen Ren trudged back to his assigned room in the arena, his legs heavy with fatigue. The cheers of the crowd still echoed faintly through the hallways, but he barely registered them—his mind was already clouded by exhaustion and the lingering adrenaline of the fight. Pushing open the wooden door, he stepped inside and shut it behind him, finally allowing his shoulders to sag.

The room was small and sparse, with a single chair, a bed, and a basin of water on a stand. He made his way to the chair and sank into it heavily. For a moment, he sat still, staring blankly at the floor, before a sharp twinge of pain reminded him of the toll the battle had taken.

"Hsss!" He let out a painful yelp as he leaned back too quickly, aggravating the wounds he had sustained. Gritting his teeth, Chen Ren reached up to untie his robe. Blood had seeped through the fabric in several places, sticking it to his skin. Peeling it off was excruciating, but he managed, tossing the torn and bloodied garment onto the floor.

His torso was a mess. Cuts crisscrossed his chest and arms, some shallow, others deep enough that fresh blood trickled from them. Bruises had begun to form along his ribs, dark patches that ached with every breath. He grimaced as he touched a particularly deep gash on his shoulder, the edges ragged where Cang Rui’s Void-enhanced blade had grazed him.

Chen Ren rummaged through a pouch at his side, looking down briefly at the medallion he had kept close after getting it from Feng Ming, and pulled out a small vial. Inside were the pills Yalan had given him before the match—healing pills that were designed to accelerate recovery and bolster his body. He popped one into his mouth, grimacing at the bitter taste that spread across his tongue as he bit down.

"Ugh, disgusting," he muttered, swallowing it with a wince. Almost immediately, a warm sensation spread through his chest, dulling the pain and slowing the bleeding. He let out a sigh, leaning back in the chair, though the motion still made him wince.

His mind wandered to the fight. One wrong move, one misstep, and he would’ve been dead. Cang Rui hadn’t held back, and Chen Ren doubted the man would have hesitated to kill him if he’d gotten the chance. But sparing him had been the right call.

Cang Rui’s clan would’ve come for my head if I killed him, Chen Ren thought, his fingers brushing absentmindedly over the gash on his side. But that doesn’t mean I’m safe. He won’t forget this, but with his father owing me a favour, he wouldn't try anything.

He sighed again, running a hand through his sweat-matted hair. His eyes flicked to the remaining pills in the vial. One more fight.

If his assumptions were correct—and they usually were—he’d be facing Li Xuan in the finals. The man had fought with clinical precision in every match so far, barely breaking a sweat. Unlike Cang Rui, who relied on brute strength and fury, Li Xuan was methodical, dismantling his opponents piece by piece.

Chen Ren clenched his fist, bringing it back from the hair, his nails digging into his palm at the thought of what was about to come. It’s going to be hard. Probably the hardest fight of my life—

"I never expected you to win against Cang Rui,"

Chen Ren’s head shot up at the voice, his tired eyes narrowing as they landed on the figure in the doorway. Li Xuan stood there, his arms crossed, his posture relaxed yet exuding confidence.

"Especially after the last time I defeated you."

Chen Ren blinked, surprised. Of all people, Li Xuan was the last he’d expected to see right now. I was just thinking about him, he thought. But it wasn’t just the man’s unexpected appearance that caught him off guard—it was the realiSation that Li Xuan remembered him.

"You… remember me?" Chen Ren asked.

"I remember everyone I fought against," Li Xuan replied, his tone matter-of-fact. "It’s just that not many of them show such rapid improvement in a couple of months."

Chen Ren couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips. "You yourself have advanced. Reaching the qi refinement realm since the last time we met is no small feat."

Li Xuan’s eyes gleamed with confidence. "You and I aren’t the same," he said dismissively, the air around him practically radiating superiority.

"Yes, I know that," Chen Ren said, leaning back in his chair. "And as you saw, I’ve learned some tricks to make up for my… lack of talent. Trained hard for this." He paused, tilting his head slightly. "But I don’t understand. Why are you here? To remind me of the last time we fought, when I lost?"

Li Xuan shook his head. "No. I’m here to tell you to prepare." He took a step closer, his voice dropping slightly. "My match is next. Once I defeat Gu Tian, we’ll be fighting in just a couple of hours."

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow.

Li Xuan’s gaze sharpened, his tone steady but firm. "I held back a lot the last time we fought. But I won’t be doing the same this time, especially not after seeing how much you’ve improved. I don’t want to end up like Cang Rui." He paused, a small smirk playing on his lips. "So, make sure you’ve got more tricks lined up. Because I’ll be prepared for the ones you’ve already shown."

With that, Li Xuan turned on his heel and walked out, leaving Chen Ren staring after him, his expression caught between amusement and exasperation.

"What’s with him?" Chen Ren muttered, shaking his head. His lips quivered into a hesitant smile. "Is he actually a Xianxia protagonist, spouting those cliché lines?"

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before leaning back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly as his smirk grew.

"Bad for you, Li Xuan," he murmured. "I haven’t even shown half the tricks I’ve prepared."

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

51. Thousand Poison Tongue

As the pills did their work, Chen Ren moved to the arena stands where his people were sitting for the second round of the semifinals. The matches were all scheduled for the same day, largely due to the mounting tension from recent demonic cultivator attacks and the city wanting to wrap up the tournament quickly.

As Chen Ren moved through the crowd to where Tang Xiulan and others should be, a few spectators recognised him. Not only did they do, but some cheered for him with their fists in the air.

He also noticed a group of kids looking at him with wide, sparkling eyes. Some kids among them had their mouths hung open. Cultivators were revered in Cloud Mist City, thanks to the proximity of the Soaring Sword Sect, and these children undoubtedly dreamed of one day reaching such heights.

Their sparkly eyes filled him with an odd sense of pride and awkwardness as if he were a fabled hero plucked from a storybook. Heavens, he was not.

Still, he offered them a small wave and moved past, scanning the stands for familiar faces.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to search for long. Tang Xiulan stood near an improvised stall, selling ice cream and fried chips alongside Anji. Qing He and Tang Yuqiu sat nearby, with Yalan sprawled lazily on Qing He’s lap. Despite her relaxed posture, Yalan stirred the moment Chen Ren approached, cracking one eye open. Chen Ren gave a small nod to her and looked around. The kids stood on their seats, craning their necks for a better view of the arena grounds.

Everyone was excited for what was about to come, and so was he. When he got closer, Xiulan approached. Her eyes widened in concern as she looked for any scratch or injury on his face. “Young Master! Are you okay? Congratulations on your victory, but are you really uninjured?”

“Minor scratches,” Chen Ren replied with a faint smile. “I took a pill. I’ll be fine before the next match. Don’t worry about it now. Did you close the noodle stall?”

Xiulan nodded. “Yes, young master. The kids were begging me to let them watch the semifinals and finals. They’ve been working hard, so they missed all the earlier rounds. Besides, most people are here to see the end of battles anyway.”

“That’s okay,” Chen Ren said with a shrug. “I’m curious about who I’m going to fight next, too.”

Xiulan smiled, pulling out a scoop of ice cream and holding it to him. “Then you should sit and watch. Relax for a bit and eat this. The heat’s unbearable.”

He considered brushing it off—the heat didn’t bother him much thanks to his cultivation—but thought better of it. Ice cream is ice cream, and it takes a fool to say no to it. Taking the scoop, he moved to sit next to Qing He and Tang Yuqiu.

“Congratulations on your victory,” Yuqiu greeted him, smiling “Thanks to you, I’m going to make a killing in the betting market. Don’t forget to win the finals too.”

“Against Li Xuan?” Chen Ren arched a brow, biting into the ice cream. “Even I’m not sure I can win against him.”

Tang Yuqiu laughed, waving off his doubts with a dismissive hand in the air. “Just do your best and don’t lose within the first five minutes. I’ve got my reputation as a savvy bettor to maintain!”

Qing He leaned back, her eyes never leaving the arena grounds as she spoke in a very pointed tone. “It’s not decided that you’re going to fight him. People who assume things before they happen often find themselves... surprised.”

Chen Ren glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “Are you saying Li Xuan’s going to lose? Or is this just another one of your old lady proverbs?”

Qing He scoffed, her lips tightening to a thin line. “Take it however you want.”

Yalan, still draped lazily on Qing He’s lap, chimed in without opening her eyes fully. “She’s right, though. Even if I think Li Xuan should win, you never know what an opponent might have up their sleeve. You surprised Cang Rui, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Chen Ren admitted, his gaze drifting toward the arena below.

His thoughts raised questions and possibilities about the way these women looked at the tournament. He couldn’t blame them—there was some truth in their words. No one knew what would come, and every fight seemed to reveal different beasts hidden in these cultivators. However—

A loud clap echoed through the air, drawing their attention. The official stepped into the centre of the arena, his booming announcement silencing the crowd. Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed as he spotted Li Xuan and Gu Tian entering from opposite sides, their auras already clashing as they looked at each other with narrowed gazes.

Soon, the official spoke. “After the first semifinal, only one spot remains to challenge Chen Ren! Will Li Xuan maintain his title as the city’s prodigy, or will Gu Tian, the dark horse of the tournament surprise us all with an upset? Let’s find out!”

After the introduction that got him a lot of cheers, the official launched into an explanation of the rules—the same ones that were announced before he fought, but Chen Ren’s focus remained on the two competitors. Li Xuan stood on one end, his blade glowing faintly. Gu Tian stood on the other end, the man’s face devoid of any emotions, only primal hunger in his eyes.

By the end of the rules, both of them were gripping their weapons tightly, eager to begin the fight.

“Begin!” the official yelled, stepping back.

Gu Tian wasted no time. With a devastating shout, he dashed forward, his sword raised high. “I’ve been waiting to fight the city’s genius! Let’s see how long you last!”

Li Xuan smirked, raising his own sword to block the strike. Sparks danced along his blade as lightning surged to meet the impact.

“You talk too much for someone this weak,” Li Xuan said and smiled. “Credit where it’s due—you’ve made it this far. But this is the end.”

With a sharp twist of his wrist, Li Xuan deflected the blow and surged forward, his blade crackling with lightning as he countered with blistering speed. The air thrummed as his sword arced toward Gu Tian—but the strike found only empty space.

Chen Ren blinked, his breath catching as Gu Tian’s figure blurred, reappearing a split second later behind Li Xuan. The sharp clang of steel echoed as Li Xuan twisted just in time to intercept the next strike.

“He moved so fast,” Chen Ren muttered under his breath, his eyes fixed on Gu Tian’s fluid movements.

“It’s not an ordinary movement technique,” Qing He explained while squinting her eyes to take a better look at what was happening. “I’ve seen something like it before. Cultivators who specialize in stealth use it. That one’s at least Earth grade.”

Chen Ren frowned. An Earth-grade technique? Where did he get that?

Back in the arena, the battle intensified.

Lightning surged from Li Xuan’s blade—sharp and crackling, making the air thick static as the ground scorched beneath his attacks. But Gu Tian moved between the strikes, his movements seamless, each dodge bringing him closer to his opponent. It was clear that Li Xuan wasn't able to keep up with Gu Tian's movements and was blindly attacking him.

With a sudden burst of speed, Gu Tian finally closed the gap, his sword cutting a clean line through the air and striking Li Xuan’s side. The crowd was suddenly on their feet, and the entire arena erupted into gasps and cheers as the prodigy staggered, his face scrunched up with disbelief.

Chen Ren leaned forward as he tried to analyse the incoming strikes. The fight was far from over, but one thing was clear—this battle was going to be much closer than anyone had expected.

Gu Tian’s blade connected, but instead of tearing flesh, a golden light flared around Li Xuan’s body. The impact reverberated through the arena, and Gu Tian was forced to leap back as sparks scattered from his strike.

Li Xuan sneered, his sword glowing as he stepped forward. “You think brute force is enough to pierce my shield?” His voice was loud, and his confidence flared, making the crowd roar in response.

Without hesitation, he raised his blade high, lightning crackling along its edge. “One Slash Strike!”

The air seemed to split as his sword came down, a blazing arc of energy tearing toward Gu Tian. But just as the strike neared, Gu Tian’s body twisted impossibly. With a burst of acrobatics, he vaulted into the air, flipping over Li Xuan’s head with breathtaking precision.

As he landed, Gu Tian spun and lashed out with a sharp kick, his heel slamming into Li Xuan’s back. The force pushed the prodigy forward several steps, and his eyes burned with fury as lightning began to surge wildly around him.

“You’ll regret that!” Li Xuan roared.

The storm intensified, streaks of lightning shooting out from his body, moving through the ground and forming a shimmering cage around the arena. The electricity crackled menacingly, the energy radiating so fiercely that the ground beneath their feet began to scorch visibly.

Chen Ren leaned forward, his fingers gripping the edge of his seat. “He’s trapping him,” he murmured.

Gu Tian’s movements faltered as the lightning struck him from all directions, crackling against his skin. His eyes narrowed, as if he was surprised for a moment by Li Xuan’s tactic. But instead of collapsing, his body began to change. A dull sheen coated his form, his skin hardening like tempered steel. It glistened all of a sudden, making the man look unnatural.

“Impressive,” Li Xuan said, closing the distance between them in an instant. “But it won’t save you.”

With a shout, he swung his blade in another One Slash Strike, the power radiating from his weapon enough to send visible ripples through the air.

Then, just as the strike was about to land, Gu Tian smirked. In one swift motion, he tilted his head back and spewed a dark, viscous liquid from his mouth.

The crowd gasped as the black substance splattered across Li Xuan’s body. His movements faltered instantly, his limbs trembling as his sword dropped slightly.

“What is this?!” Li Xuan growled, staggering back. His previously fluid movements became sluggish, his breathing labored.

“Out of nowhere, Gu Tian has sprayed what appears to be poison on Li Xuan!” the official shouted, his voice echoing across the stunned arena. “Will the reigning champion recover?”

The lightning cage dissipated, its crackling energy fading as Li Xuan’s control wavered. Gu Tian wasted no time. He lunged forward, his blade a blur as it slashed into Li Xuan’s stomach.

Li Xuan gasped, blood staining his robes as his glare locked onto Gu Tian. Lightning surged from his hand in a desperate strike, but the once-deadly arcs fizzled weakly, lacking their usual precision and force.

Gu Tian sidestepped the attack with ease, his movement technique allowing him to flow like water. He struck again and again, each blow chipping away at Li Xuan’s defenses.

Chen Ren watched in tense silence, his eyes darting between the fighters. “That poison... it’s affecting his qi flow. He can’t channel his energy properly.”

Gu Tian pressed his advantage, raising his blade for the finishing blow. Just as the sword came down, Li Xuan’s head in its path, Gu Tian froze.

For a moment, the arena was silent except for the faint hum of dissipating lightning. Gu Tian’s expression hardened, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. Then, with a growl, he stepped back and drove his foot into Li Xuan’s chest, sending the champion sprawling out of the bloodstained arena floor.

The official, his face a mix of shock and awe, stammered. “Gu Tian... wins! Last year’s champion, Li Xuan, has fallen!” He yelled the last part.

The crowd erupted, their cheers shaking the arena. “It’s been a tournament full of surprises!” the official continued, his voice climbing over the noise. “For the first time in years, two young cultivators will face off in the finals. Who will claim victory?!”

Chen Ren sat back, his heart pounding as he stared at the battered form of Li Xuan being carried off the field. He kept the ice cream bowl away and inhaled deeply. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from the bloodied spot where Li Xuan had been dragged off moments ago. His mind churned with questions as he turned to Qing He and Yalan, his brow furrowed.

"What kind of poison was that? And why didn’t it affect Gu Tian, considering it was in his mouth all this time?"

Qing He crossed her arms. “It’s likely Black Veil Poison. It’s infamous for paralyzing the body and making it nearly impossible to channel qi. It’s hard to defend against, especially when applied like that—directly to the skin.” She paused. “As for why Gu Tian wasn’t affected, it might be because he—”

Yalan cut her off. “Thousand Poison Tongue,” she said, drawing Chen Ren’s attention. “It’s an alchemical technique. Rare, dangerous, and borderline insane to practice. The method is basically exposing your tongue to countless poisons over the years, forcing your body to develop immunity. Eventually, the tongue becomes numb to toxins, allowing the practitioner to handle deadly substances like they’re nothing.” She purred as if this was an interesting topic of conversation. “Mastering it means walking a thin line between life and death countless times. Gu Tian must have gone through hell to achieve that level of immunity.”

Chen Ren’s jaw tightened as he processed her explanation.

Yalan’s voice broke through his thoughts. “You need to be prepared. Li Xuan is strong, but he’s predictable. He fights with overwhelming power, and that works—most of the time. Gu Tian, though… I can’t fathom how he clawed his way to the finals, but he’s not someone to underestimate. Against him, it’ll come down to tricks. Your tricks against his. Whoever has the better surprises will win.”

Chen Ren nodded. He looked back at Gu Tian, who now met his gaze with an unsettling calm, a faint smirk playing on his lips. He soon turned around and waved at the raging crowd with an eerie calmness.

The crowd’s cheers echoed in Chen Ren’s ears, but all he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat.

***

Gu Tian's gaze followed the city guards as they carried Li Xuan’s paralyzed body from the arena. The defeated champion still managed to glare at him, his eyes burning with anger. But Gu Tian had already stopped caring. Li Xuan was a nuisance, no more. What truly gnawed at him now was the bitter frustration of being denied the kill.

His jaw tightened as he thought, “Why did you stop me from killing him? It’s allowed in these matches. And by the rules, his possessions would’ve been mine. That sword of his… It's a good one.”

A voice echoed in his mind, ancient and rough. “You’re an idiot,” his master spat. “That’s the city lord’s son you just fought. Killing him would’ve brought the entire city down on your head. And don’t forget the Soaring Sword Sect—do you want them hunting you too?”

Gu Tian’s lips curled into a sneer. “Aren’t we already against the righteous sects? What’s one more enemy? Besides, you’ve always said I’m like a cockroach—hard to kill. Let them come. I can always run and grow stronger.”

His master’s voice was cold and cutting. “Cockroach or not, you’re overestimating yourself. Do you truly think you can escape if a group of Foundation Establishment cultivators comes after you? You’re not invincible. Not yet.”

Gu Tian chuckled darkly. “You weren’t saying that when I survived eating all those poisons to master the Thousand Poison Tongue.”

“Surviving doesn’t mean thriving,” his master shot back. “Stay focused. The real target is within your grasp. We’ve finally located the medallion, and I’m not about to let you ruin this opportunity with your arrogance. One mistake, and we’re back to square one or worse.”

Gu Tian’s grin faded as he exhaled deeply, his gaze sweeping over the stands. “It’ll be soon,” he thought to himself.

His mind drifted to the moment of revelation. His master had sensed the medallion during a casual stroll through the arena stands, its faint, unique qi signature unmistakable. Fate, it seemed, had aligned perfectly. It was with the one opponent standing between him and victory: Chen Ren.

Gu Tian’s eyes darkened. He had infiltrated countless clans, risked his life in the shadows, and endured endless failures in his quest to find the medallion. Yet now, it was right in front of him, within reach.

“One battle,” he thought, his fists tightening. “One fight, and I’ll have it. Then the gate to immortality will open for me. I’ll ascend, grow stronger, and claim my place at the apex of all realms. As an immortal.”

He whispered aloud, a smirk tugging at his lips, “Just one battle more.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

52. Vs Gu Tian

Chen Ren sat cross-legged in the room that was allocated for him. The faraway muffled noise of the crowd in the arena could be heard and felt by him due to the sheer number of people cheering even before the fight had started.

Yet, he managed to ignore all of them. Instead, he focused on his dantian. His steadied his breath, his qi flowing smoothly through his meridians. He inhaled the herbal scent from his pills and slowly deepened his focus. His injuries had already healed, therefore, he had no physical distraction, leaving him powerful.

By now, the idea of losing to a sixth-star body forging realm cultivator would have been laughable. His strength, his techniques, his strategies—they had all carried him through countless battles. But he knew this wasn’t just any opponent.

It was Gu Tian.

The man carried surprises, much like himself.

Chen Ren could sense it—Gu Tian walked a unique path, just like him. His fight against Li Xuan had revealed glimpses of those secrets— Earth-grade techniques, the infamous thousand poison tongue. Regardless, there was something dangerous about him, something that gnawed at his instincts.

He tried to calm his thoughts, to focus on his breathing and to remind himself of his abilities. He had faced danger before—Cang Rui had been an annoying opponent, a formidable one at that, and Chen Ren had outmanoeuvred him with wit and tactics.

But this was different. Against Gu Tian, for the first time in a while, he wasn’t sure of his victory.

The faint sound of rustling broke his focus. His eyes snapped open, and he found Yalan sitting in front of him.

“The fight is going to start soon,” she said.

“Did you find anything more about Gu Tian?”

Yalan shook her head. “No. He kept to himself since the last fight, locked in his room. My senses picked up a conversation, but I couldn’t hear much from outside. He wasn’t alone, though. Whoever he’s talking to… it’s someone important. Right now, my theory is that he belongs to a major clan and that's why, he has Earth grade techniques in his arsenal.”

Chen Ren’s jaw tightened. “You think he’s from a major clan?”

“It’s possible. There’s a Gu Clan on the western side of the empire, but they don’t deal in poisons. And I doubt they’d be generous enough to grant Earth-grade techniques to a wandering member. He might have gotten those techniques from elsewhere.”

“Like a ruin or some legacy from a rogue cultivator?” Chen Ren suggested.

“Maybe,” she admitted. “Young cultivators with inherited legacies do appear from time to time. But knowing his background won’t give you much of an advantage. Focus on what you’ve seen. The man is cunning, and he’s not above using underhanded tactics.”

Chen Ren nodded at Yalan's words. "I know that. He uses poisons and Earth-grade techniques. It’s unfortunate I never practiced any body fortification techniques," he said, his tone tinged with regret.

Yalan gave him a small, encouraging purr. "Just be quick. You’re light on your feet, and unlike Li Xuan, you’re clever enough to keep an eye out for the poison. Use that to your advantage."

"I’ll handle it," Chen Ren replied and pushed himself up from his meditative stance.

Together, they walked to the arena grounds, the echoes of the crowd’s jubilant cheers growing louder with every step. The shouts and clamour swelled like a tidal wave as Chen Ren came into view, the energy of the audience washing over him. His eyes scanned the sea of faces, and he noticed something different this time—more people were cheering for him.

Was it his win against Cang Rui? His resourcefulness? Whatever the reason, he couldn’t let them down now.

As he approached the stage, his gaze locked onto Gu Tian, standing at the opposite end. The man offered a simple nod, calm and unbothered, as though this was just another sparring match.

Chen Ren returned the nod and turned his focus to the official in the center of the stage. The man raised a hand, signaling the crowd to quiet down.

"Before the final match begins, we are honored to hear a few words from our esteemed city lord, Li Baolong," the official announced, his voice booming across the arena.

All eyes turned to the city lord, who rose from his elevated seat. He looked over the crowd and waved at them, calming down the cheers that came his way.

"When this tournament was announced, Cloud Mist City was shrouded in dark clouds," Li Baolong began. "Demonic cultivator attacks had left us shaken. Many advised me to cancel this event, to avoid gathering so many people in one place. But I was stubborn. I believed in the resilience of the people and cultivators of Cloud Mist City and the surrounding regions. I believed that a mere demonic cultivator would not be able to scare us into submission. And all of you—every single one of you—have proved me right."

A thunderous cheer erupted from the crowd, echoing his sentiment.

Li Baolong raised a hand to quiet them once more. "Hundreds of young cultivators gathered here to prove their mettle. We have seen great battles, acts of courage, and strategies that rival even the most experienced warriors. And now, only two remain. Two cultivators who have surprised us all and earned their place here today."

His gaze briefly swept over Chen Ren and Gu Tian.

"Whoever wins today, know this: both of you are talented and determined. I have no doubt that you will rise through the realms and make your names known across the Empire. With that, I leave the stage to you. May the final fight of this tournament be a spectacle that we will remember for years to come."

The city lord’s words hung in the air, the crowd roaring their approval once more. Chen Ren took a deep breath, his focus narrowing as he stepped onto the stage, ready for the battle that would define the tournament.

As the city lord took his seat, the official stepped forward, his voice calm but authoritative as he addressed the arena.

“The rules for the final round are clear, the same as before! Fatal strikes are allowed. You may cripple or kill your opponent, and any items the fallen cultivator possesses will be yours. Beyond that, the same criterias for disqualification apply: leaving the stage means defeat, surrender means defeat, and, of course, death means defeat. Now, let the final battle of this year's tournament begin!”

The gong rang, a deep, reverberating sound that seemed to shake the ground beneath Chen Ren's feet.

He barely had time to prepare when a wave of killing intent washed over him, freezing him in place for a heartbeat. It wasn’t just pressure; it was suffocating. Unlike anything he’d felt before—not even in Gu Tian’s fight with Li Xuan. The crowd let out a collective gasp, their cheers momentarily silenced.

Chen Ren’s instincts screamed at him as he met Gu Tian’s eyes. In that one second, every thought he had about his opponent changed.

No, this wasn’t some lucky cultivator who’d stumbled upon a legacy. This was someone who had killed—a lot. And now, Gu Tian looked at him with the same gaze a predator reserves for its prey.

That moment of hesitation nearly cost him. A glint of steel flashed in the air as Gu Tian's blade descended. Chen Ren barely managed to leap aside, the sharp edge carving through the spot where he had just stood.

But there was no reprieve. Gu Tian vanished and reappeared beside him in a blur, his Earth-grade movement technique making him impossibly fast. Chen Ren reacted on instinct, activating [Lightning Frenzy], unleashing crackling arcs of electricity in every direction.

Gu Tian jumped back with an almost casual grace, weaving through the chaotic lightning as though it were no more than an inconvenience. The gap he created was gone in an instant as he closed the distance again, his blade coming down in a relentless blur.

Chen Ren gritted his teeth as he narrowed his eyes and tracked the sword’s peculiar, almost hypnotic movements. It wasn’t a simple attack—this was a sword technique, one designed to confuse and overwhelm. He deflected one strike, then another, each one coming closer than the last, until—

A sharp pain shot through his shoulder as the edge of Gu Tian’s blade grazed him, slicing through his robe and leaving a shallow wound. Blood trickled down, but Chen Ren didn’t flinch. Instead, he slammed his palm into his pouch, pulling out several fire talismans.

With a surge of qi, he activated them, channelling the power through his lightning. The air around him exploded in a wave of searing heat as flames erupted, forcing Gu Tian to stumble back.

The flames licked at Gu Tian’s robe, scorching his hand, but he didn’t falter. Instead, his expression darkened as he reached into his robes, pulling out three small blades. With a flick of his wrist, they shot toward Chen Ren, each one whistling through the air with deadly precision.

Chen Ren’s eyes widened, his mind racing. He had no time to dodge all three.

His reflexes kicked in as the daggers shot toward him. Instead of dodging, he reached into his pouch and flung a handful of white powder into the air, chanting quickly under his breath. A translucent barrier shimmered into existence just in time to block the incoming projectiles.

One dagger, however, phased partially through the barrier. The mystical shield slowed it just enough for Chen Ren to sidestep, snatching the weapon midair. His eyes darted to its edge—dripping with a slick, dark liquid. Poison. Fuck!

Before he could react further, Gu Tian closed the distance, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. Chen Ren countered, activating [Thundering Fist] as his fist crackled with lightning, surging forward to meet the attack. His punch landed squarely on Gu Tian’s chest.

But instead of the satisfying impact of flesh and bone, it felt like striking solid stone. Gu Tian didn’t so much as flinch. His grin widened, teeth flashing as he licked his lips like a dog.

"You won't get past my techniques," Gu Tian taunted. "I'll kill you and take the medallion."

Chen Ren’s brow furrowed. "Medallion?" he muttered, but there was no time to process the cryptic statement. Gu Tian's blade was already coming down on him.

Chen Ren darted back, only to feel the cold edge of the platform beneath his heels. Trapped—nowhere to dodge forward without meeting Gu Tian’s blade or throwing himself off the stage.

Gu Tian smirked, lunging for the kill.

Desperate, Chen Ren pulled out another talisman, its glowing edges catching Gu Tian’s attention. The grin on his opponent’s face widened.

"Another fire talisman?" Gu Tian scoffed, sidestepping smoothly. "Your tricks won’t work—"

Before he could finish, Chen Ren burned the talisman with his lightning. "I don’t only carry fire talismans," he muttered.

In an instant, a brilliant flash of blinding light engulfed the battlefield. Gu Tian cried out, staggering as he covered his eyes, momentarily disoriented.

Chen Ren, who had closed his eyes before activating the [Blinding Talisman], claimed the opportunity. He charged forward, his fist crackling with lightning again. This time, his [Thundering Fist] connected squarely with Gu Tian’s jaw, sending him flying back.

Gu Tian crashed heavily onto the platform, the force of the impact sending cracks spidering across the surface. But Chen Ren didn’t hold back. He surged forward and continuously punched his face. Each blow echoed across the arena, drawing gasps from the crowd.

Gu Tian gritted his teeth, forcing himself to regain his footing.

With a swift motion, he threw a flurry of daggers, the deadly blades gleaming as they shot toward Chen Ren.

Seeing the attack, Chen Ren propelled himself into the air. His movements were agile as he dodged the projectiles. Yet, as he hung momentarily in the air, his body twisted mid-flight, he realized the leap had left him wide open to a counterattack.

Gu Tian retrieved his blade, lunging forward to cover the distance between them. His speed was terrifying, but just as he closed in, Chen Ren’s eyes began to glow faintly.

Gu Tian froze mid-charge, his instincts flaring as he sensed an incoming attack.

Gu Tian muttered something incomprehensible under his breath, stepping back cautiously, his blade poised.

But nothing happened.

Chen Ren smirked. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the poisoned dagger he’d caught earlier straight at Gu Tian.

"Who said glowing eyes meant an attack?!" Chen Ren quipped.

The dagger flew true, striking Gu Tian square in the chest. For a moment, Chen Ren saw victory on the horizon. Without hesitation, he launched forward, his movement technique propelling him toward his downed opponent. His fist shot out, crackling with lightning, ready to end it.

But just as his first punch landed, Gu Tian’s body convulsed violently. A foul, dark liquid erupted from his mouth, spraying out in a torrent of poison. Chen Ren barely managed to twist away in time, but the poison splattered across his arm, sizzling against his skin.

He quickly jumped back, shaking his arm free of the venom. But Gu Tian wasn’t finished. The man almost seemed to revel in the chaos he created. The poison kept spraying, jetting from his mouth in a continuous stream, and the stage below them began to melt, the once sturdy stone now eating away into nothingness. Chen Ren’s eyes widened. There was nowhere to run.

Every inch of the arena was being consumed by the toxic spray. The crowd’s collective gasp echoed as the platform began to crack and decay, unable to withstand the powerful venom that Gu Tian expelled with such ease.

Chen Ren looked back at his opponent, and the sight almost froze his blood.

Despite blood dripping out from the wounds he had given him, Gu Tian’s grin only widened—a bloodthirsty, maniacal smile that radiated with a terrifying, almost psychotic rage. It was the kind of grin that made Chen Ren’s instincts flare with unease. Poison dripping down his mouth just added to the effect.

Something was really wrong with this man. Really, fucking wrong.

The air grew heavier as Gu Tian, blood dripping from his wounds, lunged forward again.

His movements flickered like a shadow, impossibly fast and hard to follow. Chen Ren struggled to track him, but he didn’t waver. His mind sharpened, blocking out the pain and the poison that surrounded him.

He thought of a way out of it. There was no way to run with the poison melting the stage and it gave Gu Tian a big advantage. As his mind ran to find a way out, a plan formed.

Chen Ren quickly pulled out a handful of talismans, his fingers moving with precision as he threw them into the air. The paper strips fluttered before igniting with flashes of lightning as their power activated. Energy surged in the air, crackling like a brewing storm. Just as Gu Tian’s blade swept toward him, Chen Ren acted.

He dashed forward, stepping onto the talismans, which solidified into stone under his feet. Without pause, he used the makeshift platforms to launch himself high into the air. The crowd erupted as he soared over Gu Tian, who looked up in surprise.

Chen Ren didn’t waste the opening. From above, he unleashed [Lightning Frenzy], a rapid flurry of electric strikes that rained down on Gu Tian. Lightning crackled as the blows landed. And it left Gu Tian stunned and struggling to defend himself. His hands came to his face, trying to avoid the attacks, but his body convulsed with each hit.

Before the latter could recover, Chen Ren landed in front of him, his fist crackling with raw energy.

With one swift motion, he drove it into Gu Tian’s stomach. The impact sent shockwaves rippling across the platform, hurling Gu Tian through the air.

He crashed past the edge of the arena, falling hard and motionless.

The crowd roared as Chen Ren stood at the center of the stage, breathing heavily but victorious. The poison sizzling on the platform no longer mattered. Gu Tian lay outside the ring, bloodied and defeated.

Chen Ren, though battered, stood tall, a rare sense of calm washing over him.

It had been a difficult fight, but he had won. Yes, he had finally won.

The arena trembled, the ground beneath them shaking as the official's voice rang out. "Gu Tian is out of bounds and disqualified. Chen Ren wins the match and the tournament! Give a loud applause for him!"

The roar of the crowd surged around him again, deafening in its intensity. The applause was overwhelming, each clap like a thunderous wave crashing against the walls of the arena. The stadium was alive with jubilant celebration, the energy of thousands of voices echoing through the air.

But for Chen Ren, it all felt distant. His legs buckled, and he fell to his knees, exhausted beyond belief. The adrenaline that had carried him through the battle was beginning to wear off, leaving him with the weight of his own fatigue. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, the aftershocks of the fight still rippling through his body.

Slowly, his eyes drifted across the arena. The cheers. The people celebrating. The knowledge that he had won. His mind tried to catch up with the reality of it, and a small, disbelieving smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He had done it. He had won the tournament.

But then, a faint whisper reached his ears, something cold and malicious. "No, it can't be like this. I can't lose. Not to you. Not to such trash."

Chen Ren’s heart skipped a beat, and his gaze snapped downward. His eyes locked onto Gu Tian, lying in a pool of blood and poison, the remnants of their fight still hanging heavy in the air. Despite the state he was in, Gu Tian's eyes burned with a hatred so intense it felt like it could consume everything around him.

Chen Ren’s blood ran cold as he watched the man, whose body should have been limp and unconscious, begin to twitch.

A low growl escaped from his throat, and before Chen Ren could react, something inside him snapped.

The man's eyes, once dark and full of malice, shifted—turning a deep crimson. An immediate wave of energy seemed to ripple out from Gu Tian's form, extremely dark and repulsie like an entire storm brewing beneath his skin. The bloodied figure stood, impossibly, his robes simmering as dark chains erupted out of it, wrapping around Chen Ren like tendrils of doom.

Dark energy emanated from Gu Tian, rolling outward in waves, coating everything with an oppressive aura. The entire arena seemed to freeze for a moment, the temperature dropping, and Chen Ren’s skin prickled as though he were standing in the presence of something he shouldn’t.

His eyes widened, his body instinctively tensing. "What... is this?"

Before he could make sense of it, a familiar voice cut through the air. Yalan. "Chen Ren, get back! He's a demonic—!"

53. Heavenly qi

Life was unfair, and the heavens even more so. They always tried to shoot down anyone who dared to rise too high, as though they despised those who challenged their fate. Gu Tian had learned this bitter truth long ago, back in his childhood, when his cultivation had been destroyed—not by an enemy, but by his own cousin.

His cousin, the young master of the main branch of the Gu family, had been his equal once. Gu Tian, a rising star from one of the lower branches, had shone brightly, his talents praised by all and had rivalled him. But in one fateful moment, it was all taken away. Crippled and humiliated, he was cast aside like broken pottery, no longer useful or admired.

Instead, he was bullied. The clan sneered at him, his peers mocked him, and even his fiancée publicly broke off their engagement, leaving him in disgrace.

That was his life—broken, unfair, laughable. Until he found the ring.

The old, worn ring he had stumbled upon by chance held his salvation. Inside it dwelled the spirit of a legendary alchemist and demonic cultivator. The master within the ring had shown him that the heavens could be defied, that there were ways to claw back what fate had stolen. Gu Tian, who was mentally exhausted from everything that was going on with him, didn’t hesitate to abandon what was called the ‘righteous path’.

And like he’d expected, things changed for him—for good.

His master healed him, painstakingly rebuilding his shattered cultivation. In return, Gu Tian offered his loyalty, embracing the darkness that had given him a second chance. His revenge was swift and brutal. The cousin who had destroyed him fell to his blade, and with bloodied hands, Gu Tian severed his ties to the Gu family forever, banished but finally free. That was all that mattered, didn’t it?

He soon started wandering the vast lands of the Kalian Empire, and with every challenge that was thrown his way, he grew. Each victory reinforced his belief that he could rise above the heavens themselves, just like his master had told him.

When he joined a demonic sect hell bent on breaking apart the heavens to reach newfound realms, his master approved. Slowly, he had proven his worth in the sect until he had been looked upon as someone promising and had been tasked with finding the medallion that would unlock the Gate of Immortals.

His master had already intended to look for it, so the decision was made quickly.

That quest led him to Cloud Mist City, a place brimming with danger and opportunity. Though obstacles arose, he overcame them, his confidence growing with every success.

Defeating Li Xuan, a prodigy of the Soaring Sword Sect, had been his crowning achievement so far. In that moment, standing over his fallen opponent, he had felt invincible.

The medallion also had been within his grasp with his next opponent Chen Ren being in possession of it. The heavens trembled before him, and Gu Tian was certain of one thing: he would seize immortality and make the heavens kneel.

But just as he was one step away from claiming the medallion after supposedly killing Chen Ren, everything fell apart. Gu Tian had lost—lost to tricks and deceit, to the careful concealment of power that Chen Ren had used and a lapse of judgment.

And as the official declared Chen Ren the victor, something inside Gu Tian snapped.

He remembered the humiliation of his youth, the day his cousin had shattered his cultivation. Back then, it hadn’t been a head-on fight but a web of schemes and traps. And now, here he was again, standing on the edge of greatness, only to be dragged down by trickery. After becoming a demonic cultivator, Gu Tian had never truly lost. Yes, there were times when he had to flee, but he always called it a strategic retreat, never a defeat.

But now, with Chen Ren basking in the crowd’s cheers, something dark and primal clawed its way to the surface. Gu Tian clenched his fists, his voice low and venomous. “I haven’t lost yet,” he whispered, just loud enough for Chen Ren to hear.

Inside his mind, his master’s voice echoed urgently. By now he knew that his master had a good idea of his personality and quirks; how far his anger could go, and what he could do when he would snap.

“Gu Tian, calm yourself. This is not the time. There are too many cultivators here. Revealing yourself now will be disastrous. Do you hear me? Don’t do anything.”

Gu Tian’s face twisted with fury, his eyes locked onto Chen Ren’s triumphant figure. “I won’t get another chance!” he hissed, saying the words out loud. “You said it yourself—there’s a strong presence around him. If I wait, I’ll never be able to reach him. I’ll kill him now and make him suffer for this disgrace. Then we’ll run.”

“Gu Tian, no!” his master’s voice rang in his mind, loud and clear. “This is reckless—”

But his words fell on deaf ears. Gu Tian unleashed the demonic qi sealed within him, the dark energy radiating outward in waves, big and harmful. His eyes darkened, their colour shifting to crimson.

“I’ve hidden for long enough,” Gu Tian growled. He raised a trembling hand. The air around him grew heavy as he whispered, “Chains of Confinement.”

Dark chains burst from his body, writhing like living tendrils, their sharp edges gleaming in the air. The crowd gasped in shock, their cheers turning to cries of alarm.

A loud laughter escaped Gu Tian’s lips when he saw Chen Ren. The man, caught off guard, could only watch as the chains shot toward him. He tried to call upon his lightning qi, his body crackling with energy, but the chains moved faster. They wrapped around his arms and legs, pulling him down to the ground and pinning him in place.

Gu Tian rose to his feet, his eyes cold and unrelenting. He tilted his head mockingly and grinned.

He walked towards Chen Ren, and with every step, the air grew thicker with his demonic qi, suffocating those nearby. The crowd scrambled back in panic, some shouting in terror, others frozen in fear.

The official who had just declared the match hurriedly fled the arena, abandoning any pretence of maintaining order.

The cultivators in the audience began to stir, their weapons drawn, but Gu Tian didn’t stop. He glared at Chen Ren, his voice low and menacing. “Who the fuck do you think you’re? You thought you could humiliate me? Just like that? You’ll pay for this with your life.”

The stage trembled under the preparations of his unleashed power as he was about to strike, uncaring of the consequences that would follow.

As the demonic qi swirled, a dark silhouette emerged above Gu Tian, growing larger and more defined. His master’s ghostly form materialized—a tall, lean figure with hollow, glowing eyes that radiated a red glow.

The ghostly figure raised a hand and a barrier of shimmering black energy formed around the entire stage. The barrier pulsated with malevolent energy, exuding an impenetrable aura.

Gu Tian laughed again, knowing that his master was strong enough to hold back any cultivator in the arena.

“Nowhere to escape,” he said with a smirk.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw a daring cultivator leapt forward, summoning a blazing spear of fire imbued with spiritual qi, and hurled it toward the barrier. The spear crashed into the dark shield, the collision sending shockwaves through the air, but the barrier held firm. The flames were swallowed whole, leaving no trace of their existence.

His master’s deep, otherworldly voice boomed, echoing across the arena. “I can hold this for five minutes, no more. Do what you must, quickly.”

Gu Tian sneered, his gaze locked onto Chen Ren. “I won’t need more than a minute,” he said coldly, striding toward his immobilized foe.

Chen Ren glared up at him, his body still bound by the dark chains. Gu Tian saw the fear and anxiety in his eyes, but there was something else—something that made his blood boil. It was resilience—defiance that refused to die, even in the face of certain death.

Gu Tian leaned closer, his voice dripping with malice. “Your tricks won’t save you now. The medallion will be mine, and you’ll die here, humiliated, with the whole city watching your execution.”

Chen Ren struggled against the chains, his lightning qi flickering weakly around him. “Get me out of these,” he spat. “If you want a fight, I’ll give you one.”

Gu Tian laughed, the sound echoing like a death knell. “A fight?” he repeated mockingly. “No, that’s the way of the righteous—a path I abandoned long ago. For me, a kill is a kill. It doesn’t matter how it’s done.” He straightened, gripping his sword tightly. “You should close your eyes. That way, you won’t have to see your own body cut in half.”

With those words, Gu Tian raised his sword and plunged it into Chen Ren’s stomach. Blood splattered across the ground as Chen Ren screamed in pain, his body writhing against the chains.

Gu Tian smirked, savouring the moment. Pulling the sword free, he turned his attention to Chen Ren’s belongings. Kneeling, he rummaged through the pouch tied to his waist and withdrew the medallion. It glimmered faintly in his hands.

His master’s voice resonated beside him. “Finally. The medallion. The way to the Gate of Immortals.”

Gu Tian studied the medallion, his brow furrowing. “You’re sure this is the right one? Doesn’t look remarkable.”

“It is,” his master said confidently. “I don’t lie about these things. It matches the descriptions in the old legends. Now, finish him. I’ll propel you into the sky to escape.”

Gu Tian scoffed as his master’s words echoed in his ears. “What do you mean he’s already dead?” he muttered. Turning back to Chen Ren, his eyes narrowed.

Chen Ren lay in a pool of his own blood, the sword still embedded in his stomach, but he was still alive. His chest rose and fell, shallow breaths escaping his lips.

As Gu Tian moved to use his sword to slice his neck off to give him a final rest, something gave him pause. The defiance, the fear, the resilience he had seen earlier—all of it was gone from his eyes. What remained in Chen Ren’s gaze wasn’t the emptiness of death but something entirely different.

Hollow.

No. Not hollow.

It was something completely different. Inside the empty gaze, something seemed to simmer.

It was as if the man before him had become a vessel—an empty shell brimming with something incomprehensible.

Before he could process the thought further, Chen Ren’s body convulsed, and his pupils began to change. The dark irises shimmered, a light spreading outward. In moments, they turned gold.

Gu Tian felt his demonic qi recoil as if struck, the pressure around him shifting violently. The air grew dense and suffocating, as an unfamiliar and overwhelming presence filled the stage.

From Chen Ren’s mouth, a voice unlike his own rang out—deep, resonant, and filled with a power that seemed to shake the heavens themselves.

“You dare harm my chosen, filthy demon.”

***

Yalan’s heart plummeted as her claws scraped against the invisible wall that separated her from the platform. Her amber eyes blazed with fury as she watched Gu Tian loom over Chen Ren’s barely conscious form, his demonic qi spilling forth like a suffocating tide.

The barrier shimmered ominously, a translucent dome of dark energy that repelled every strike she unleashed. Her claws lengthened instinctively, the razor-sharp tips gleaming under the flickering flames of her tail. She snarled, slamming her burning tail against the barrier with all her strength, the impact resounding through the air.

But the barrier held firm.

Her rage only deepened as she pressed her paw against the cold surface, feeling the pulse of powerful energy rippling through it. It didn’t budge, not even a crack or a flicker of weakness.

“How is this possible?” she growled, her voice trembling with frustration. She was in the meridian expansion realm—her strikes should have been enough to destabilize any ordinary barrier.

Yet, this wasn’t ordinary.

It was created for the purpose of ensuring that all the cultivators in the arena would be kept out of it. This barrier wasn’t something Gu Tian could have created on his own.

Yalan’s sharp eyes scanned the stage, her breath catching as she saw the faint silhouette forming above Gu Tian.

A ghostly figure hovered in the air, its shape wavering as if struggling to maintain its presence in the physical realm. Despite its ethereal weakness, its aura was unmistakable—formidable, ancient, and suffused with the terrifying power of a nascent soul realm cultivator.

Her claws retracted slightly as shock momentarily overtook her rage. A nascent soul spectre? she thought, her mind racing.

Nascent soul cultivators had vanished from the mortal world centuries ago, their power so immense that the heavens themselves seemed to conspire against their existence. Yet here one stood, or at least its lingering shadow, bolstering Gu Tian with its unholy strength.

How could Gu Tian have aligned himself with such an entity?

There was no time to dwell on the answer. Every second wasted was another second Chen Ren lay bleeding on the stage, bound and vulnerable. Yalan’s gaze snapped back to him, her chest tightening as she saw the blood pooling around his body.

“Chen Ren… hold on,” she whispered, her fury reigniting.

Flames surged down her tail as she struck the barrier again, the inferno roaring with her resolve. She didn’t care if her strikes didn’t break through. She didn’t care if her attacks left her drained.

All she cared about was finding a way to save him, no matter what it cost.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, each pulse driving home a dreadful reality: she was watching it happen again.

The sight of his pale face, blood spilling freely from his wounds, tore through her resolve. Memories flashed unbidden of the previous Chen Ren that she had failed to protect. She clenched her fists, her claws digging into her paws as guilt and despair warred within her. Was she truly this week?

Her hair bristled as her eyes burned with fury. She had always thought herself strong. Yet here she was, standing powerless while the one she swore to defend teetered on the edge of death.

Her head snapped to the side as a familiar presence approached. Qing He appeared, her usually serene face etched with a fury that matched Yalan’s own. The elder’s squinted eyes fixated on the barrier, and the faint wrinkles on her face seemed deeper under the strain of her anger.

“This is no ordinary construct,” Qing He muttered, her voice heavy with frustration.

Yalan let out a howl. “We need to combine forces. Together, we might be able to crack it enough to get through.”

“We should.”

Qing He didn’t hesitate, already preparing to channel her qi. Yalan mirrored her, flames rippling along her tail and claws as the two pooled their strength.

But just as they moved to strike, Yalan froze, her sharp instincts picking up something in the air—something emanating from Chen Ren himself.

Her gaze whipped back to him, and her amber eyes widened.

Golden light began to seep from his eyes, an otherworldly glow that seemed to pierce the demonic qi surrounding him. The light grew stronger, radiating from his battered form with an intensity that made the platform tremble.

Then she felt it.

Her breath caught, and her flames wavered as a sensation long buried resurfaced—a power she hadn’t sensed in years.

Heavenly qi.

Pure, untainted, and overwhelming, it rolled off Chen Ren in waves, clashing with the oppressive darkness of Gu Tian’s demonic energy. Yalan’s heart pounded as she stared at him, her disbelief mingling with a glimmer of hope.

“Heavenly qi,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Qing He paused as well, her attack forgotten as she turned to Yalan. “What did you say?”

Yalan didn’t answer. Her eyes remained fixed on Chen Ren, her lips parting in astonishment as the golden light grew brighter, illuminating the stage.

Perhaps… all was not lost.

***

Chen Ren's consciousness drifted like a leaf caught in a murky current. His thoughts were sluggish, fragmented, and disjointed.

The last thing he could recall was the crushing weight of Gu Tian’s chains binding his limbs, his body sapped of strength. He’d stared up at the demonic cultivator, his heart pounding with defiance and despair, just before the cold bite of a blade plunged into his gut. Pain had exploded through him, and he threw up a lot of blood. It had been bitter, and painful. But then endless darkness had taken over him.

Now he stood in a void.

No ground beneath his feet, no walls or sky to confine him. Just an infinite expanse dotted with light, stars twinkling faintly above and around him.

He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers sluggishly. There were no wounds, no blood soaking through his robes, but the memory of the pain still lingered, sharp and biting.

I’m back in my star space. But why?

The question echoed hollowly in his mind. A bitter taste rose in his throat as fragments of his failure swirled together. He had doubted Gu Tian’s façade of mediocrity, and suspected the man’s techniques weren’t as simple as they seemed. Yet he’d done nothing, ignored the signs, and now here he was—caught between life and death, alone in the star space.

Is this where cultivators come before they die, their star space?

The thought sent a chill down his spine, but there was no one to answer him. He tilted his head upward, scanning the stars above.

It was different.

His star space had always been sparse, a cold expanse with only four stars burning dimly in the void. But now… now the sky was alive, teeming with countless lights. The stars blazed fiercely, their glow raining down over him and filling the void with a warmth he hadn’t felt in what seemed like ages.

A rumble broke through the stillness.

Chen Ren’s heart jumped as the ground—or whatever it was he stood on—shuddered beneath him. The stars seemed to tremble as something massive shifted in the space above. He turned, his body moving sluggishly as though underwater, and froze.

A presence loomed above him.

It was vast, shadowy, and incomprehensibly large. As the rumble grew louder, the shape resolved into something unmistakable. Scales, luminous and shimmering like liquid golden, caught the light of the stars as the creature descended. Its form coiled endlessly, a serpent wreathed in celestial radiance.

The dragon.

The stars seemed to bow to its presence, their light dimming as the dragon’s maw opened. The stars themselves formed the dragon’s fangs, sharp and radiant, and its voice rolled through the space, vibrating through his chest.

The beast’s eyes, glowing like molten gold, bore into him with an intensity that made his legs tremble.

“Chen Ren… I choose you, yet you stumble so quickly toward death.”

Chen Ren swallowed hard, unable to muster a reply, his gaze fixed on the creature’s immense, gleaming fangs. A tornado of questions swirled in his mind and he resisted the urge to prostrate himself in front of the entity.

But rather than ask about what was going on, he answered the dragon's question.

“I didn’t expect Gu Tian to be a demonic cultivator. Even then… those chains—” He looked down at his hands, flexing them uselessly. “I couldn’t break through them.”

The dragon’s eyes narrowed, and a sharp exhale escaped its nostrils, like the sigh of a storm. “There’s no excuse for weakness. This is the way of the world. Strength determines survival, and you are far too close to death. My slumber has lasted long enough—I cannot let it be.”

The words struck like a hammer, but Chen Ren barely had time to absorb them. His thoughts churned in frustration and confusion. His fists clenched, trembling. “I know…” he muttered, his voice barely audible. Then louder, more resolute: “But how can I defeat Gu Tian? With his chains and that ghost at his back—it’s too strong.”

The dragon tilted its head, a faint glow rippling across its scales. “I know it is. Hence, we are taking over. Your fight is no longer yours alone.”

Chen Ren’s breath hitched in his throat. “What… what does that mean?”

The dragon didn’t answer. Instead, its form began to shift, its body unravelling into streaks of radiant light. Chen Ren’s eyes widened as the dragon unfurled from the heavens, descending upon him with a terrible grace.

The stars in his space flickered and dimmed, their light snuffed out one by one. Cracks formed in the void beneath him, jagged lines racing outward with every rumble of the dragon’s approach.

“No—” Chen Ren stumbled back, his voice caught in his throat. The dragon surged forward, its golden eyes blazing brighter as it filled his vision.

The last thing he saw was the beast’s maw opening wide, its fangs shimmering like starfire as it swallowed him whole.

The void shattered.

Chen Ren gasped, his eyes snapping open.

The platform stretched beneath him, Gu Tian standing below with a sneer that faltered as he looked up. Chains still bound Chen Ren’s arms, but they felt lighter now, their weight insignificant compared to the power coursing through him.

It was unlike anything he’d felt before—consuming and powerful. Extremely powerful. Heat rushed through his veins, igniting every nerve as golden light spilt from his eyes.

A low rumble escaped his throat, growing louder until it built into a deafening roar that echoed through the arena.

The voice wasn’t his alone.

From within the roar, Chen Ren felt it—something bursting free. His qi surged outward, enveloping the platform in waves of radiant energy. Gu Tian’s eyes widened, and he stumbled back, shielding himself from the force.

Above them, the sky tore apart.

A golden dragon emerged, its massive form coiling and twisting as it rose into the heavens. It roared again, a sound that shook the very ground and sent waves of fear through the onlookers.

Chen Ren looked up, his body trembling from the sheer intensity of the power. It felt alien and unstoppable, yet somehow… It was him.

Or was it?

As he tried to grasp it, the dragon turned its gaze downward, its golden eyes locking onto Gu Tian, whose expression had turned to one of terror.

Chen Ren felt his lips curve into a faint smile, though he wasn’t entirely sure it was his own. The golden light in his eyes flared, and the platform trembled as his qi surged again.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

54. Primordial descent

City Lord Li Baolong’s breath hitched in his throat as he looked at the sight before him in pure horror. He knew that the chaos below was something that wouldn’t leave his mind anytime soon. The arena stands rumbled with the weight of countless footsteps, the crowd scrambling to escape the nightmare before them. The once-exuberant tournament, a celebration of youthful talent and strength, had devolved into sheer pandemonium.

And it had all happened too quickly, he didn’t even get time to blink twice when Gu Tian turned into a… demonic being.

His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms as he tried to steady his nerves. The whole event had been a series of shocks, but none struck as deeply as this. Even his son, Li Xuan, losing had been a hard truth to face—one that bruised his pride as a father and City Lord. Yet now, knowing the identity of the man who had bested Li Xuan, he felt a strange relief. One he was guilty of.

Chen Ren’s skill had proven formidable, even praiseworthy. But that same young cultivator now hung in chains, bloodied and helpless, his life ebbing away under the demon Gu Tian’s blade. Blood gushed out from the gaping wound in Chen Ren’s stomach, pooling all around him. The sight churned Li Baolong’s stomach, his heart sinking further with every droplet lost.

To make things worse, he couldn’t do anything.

The barrier encasing the platform was thick, its translucent surface unmoved. All the powerful cultivators that were around the premise started attacking, attempting to break the surface with their best techniques but failed miserably. The barrier stood as a cruel mockery to their attempts, separating them from saving Chen Ren, leaving the latter to a grim fate.

Li Baolong turned abruptly to the sect elder standing beside him, the man’s imposing aura as steadfast as ever despite the chaos and the anxiety in the air. “Elder Yan Xiu,” he began, his voice tight, almost desperate. “We need to break that barrier. A promising cultivator like Chen Ren cannot die at the hands of a demon. It would be a disgrace to us all.”

Elder Yan Xiu stroked his long, silvery beard, his sharp eyes narrowing as he regarded the shimmering barrier. His calm demeanour betrayed nothing of the tension in the air. “Lord Li Baolong, it’s not that simple. None of us here—none, I tell you—have the strength to shatter that barrier.”

Li Baolong frowned. “You can’t mean that.”

The elder gestured toward the cultivators scattered across the stands, all of them hurling their mightiest attacks at the barrier. Fire, lightning, and blades of qi crashed against it in vain, leaving not so much as a crack. “Look around you,” Elder Yan Xiu said. “The strongest among us have tried and failed. That demon… somehow, he has created a barrier beyond even the reach of meridian expansion cultivators. Perhaps only a core formation cultivator could break through, but we have none here.”

Li Baolong’s jaw tightened. “So, we’re to stand by and watch him die?”

Elder Yan Xiu sighed, his eyes flickering with a rare glint of regret. “I cannot save him. But the barrier won’t last forever. When it falls, I will ensure that Gu Tian pays for his crimes with his life.”

Li Baolong turned back to the platform, his heart heavy as he watched the futile attempts to breach the barrier. Every strike against it sent faint ripples across its surface, but not a single fracture appeared. His gaze shifted to Chen Ren, his pale face, the blood-soaked chains holding him aloft, and the smirk plastered on Gu Tian’s face as he revelled in his victory.

The implications of it all rang like alarm bells in Li Baolong’s mind. A demonic cultivator infiltrating the tournament, killing its winner, and wreaking havoc—there would be no hiding this disaster. The news would spread like wildfire, reaching even the imperial court. Punishment was inevitable, and the city’s reputation would be in shambles.

Li Baolong’s hands trembled, as his mind chanted one word. Failure.

As his eyes moved once more to the place where Gu Tian’s blade had plunged into Chen Ren, he could only hope—desperately—that some miracle would intervene before it was too late.

Li Baolong’s focus remained fixed on Chen Ren, his mind a whirlwind of regret and self-recrimination. The young cultivator had proved him wrong in the most astonishing of ways, rising above his initial doubts and showing a brilliance few could match. Yet now, chained and bleeding, his life hung by a thread—a thread that frayed with every drop of blood spilling onto the platform.

This was his fault.

The city guards had failed to vet participants thoroughly, and that failure now rested squarely on his shoulders. Chen Ren’s life—no, his death—would be an indelible stain on Li Baolong’s record.

As these thoughts gnawed at him, a ripple of qi brushed against his senses. It wasn’t just any qi—it was primordial, pure, and made him lose track of what he was thinking. He glanced toward Elder Yan Xiu, whose usually composed expression had shifted to one of shock. He hadn't been the only one to sense it.

“What’s going on?” Li Baolong muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before an answer could form, the world itself seemed to respond.

The skies darkened with unnatural speed as clouds coiled above the arena, their swirling mass deepening to a foreboding shade of black. A low rumble rolled across the sky, growing louder with each passing second until it sounded like the roar of an impending storm. Lightning forked through the clouds, illuminating the ominous scene in brief, blinding flashes.

More ripples of qi radiated outward, stronger and more concentrated. Li Baolong’s gaze snapped to Chen Ren, his instincts screaming that the source of this power was none other than the young cultivator.

“What… is this?” he muttered again, his voice trembling now.

Suddenly, a roar tore through the chaos—a sound so primal and overwhelming that it seemed to shake the very air. The platform trembled, cracks spider webbing across its surface as the ground beneath it groaned in protest. Gu Tian, who had stood confidently over his chained prey moments ago, staggered back, his expression betraying the first flicker of unease.

Then, it happened.

A golden light erupted from Chen Ren, flooding the arena so intense that many shielded their eyes. Within the brilliance, something formed, rising higher and higher into the sky.

Li Baolong’s breath caught as the shape solidified—a colossal golden dragon, its scales shimmering like polished gold and its eyes burning with ancient wisdom and fury. Lightning danced along its sinuous body, the flashes framing its silhouette against the roiling clouds. The sheer majesty of the beast stole every ounce of air from Li Baolong’s lungs.

The dragon roared again, and this time the sound carried an unearthly power, shaking the very heavens. The darkened clouds parted in deference to the creature, exposing a brilliant shaft of sunlight that bathed the dragon in a divine glow.

Hovering above the platform, the dragon lowered its gaze to Chen Ren, its massive form exuding both ferocity and reverence. The demonic cultivator Gu Tian stumbled further back, his smug confidence evaporating like morning dew under the sun.

Li Baolong’s hands trembled as he took in the sight. His lips moved on their own, forming the words he scarcely believed. “A cultivator… blessed by the golden dragon himself. I… I can’t believe it.”

***

The surge of power was overwhelming.

Chen Ren’s entire body felt like it was being pushed to the edge, stretched so thin it might tear apart. It was as if liquid lightning poured through his veins, crackling with power, threatening to rip him open. Each pulse of energy surged like a tidal wave, filling him up until he thought he might explode into nothingness.

Above him, the sky growled with thunder, lightning dancing across the dark clouds like veins of the heavens themselves. Chen Ren raised his head, his breath catching in his throat.

The golden dragon, no longer just flashes in his vision, was there in all its glory. Its enormous form coiled through the stormy skies, its scales glowing with an unearthly brilliance. The air around it shimmered with its power, and even the heavens seemed to tremble in its presence.

Squinting, Chen Ren tried to focus, but the dragon's sheer size and majesty left him in awe. It wasn’t just a creature—it was a force of nature.

Chen Ren glanced down at himself and froze. The blade that had impaled him was sliding out, its edges slick with blood. He gasped softly, but no pain followed.

Instead, he watched as the wound in his stomach began to heal, the torn flesh pulling together, glowing with the same golden light as the dragon above. The pain that had threatened to consume him moments before was gone, replaced by a surging power roaring inside him like a raging storm. His qi wasn’t his own anymore—this was something far greater, far wilder—and it sent a shiver through him.

His golden eyes snapped toward Gu Tian. The man who had once stood so confidently now looked frozen in place. His arrogant sneer had vanished, replaced by wide eyes darting between Chen Ren and the dragon above. For the first time, fear crept into Gu Tian’s face, making him seem smaller, weaker.

“What... what are you?” Gu Tian stammered, his voice trembling with disbelief.

Chen Ren’s lips curved into a faint, almost amused smile. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “But I know one thing—you’re going to die.”

The chains binding Chen Ren glowed with golden cracks, light spilling out like molten gold. A loud crack echoed as the chains shattered, the fragments disintegrating into sparks. Free at last, Chen Ren stepped forward. Each movement hummed with energy, sparks flickering around him. He wasn’t just wielding lightning anymore—he was lightning, his body alive with raw power.

Gu Tian’s face paled, and he took a step back. Then another. Panic filled his eyes as he turned and ran, desperate to escape. But Chen Ren was faster.

With a burst of speed, he closed the distance in an instant, his body a blur. His fist slammed into Gu Tian’s stomach with the force of a boulder, the impact echoing through the arena. Gu Tian’s body flew like a ragdoll, crashing into the barrier with a deafening thud before crumpling to the ground, limp and broken.

Slowly, Chen Ren walked toward him, his footsteps calm and deliberate. Gu Tian groaned, trying to push himself up, but his body wouldn’t respond. He looked up at Chen Ren, his eyes filled with desperation and fear.

“You can’t do anything,” Chen Ren said, his voice cold and steady. “You’ve already lost. You’re already dead.”

Gu Tian opened his mouth to speak, but before a single word could escape, a new voice filled the arena. It was deep and guttural, vibrating with fury and hatred, the kind of sound that made the air itself feel heavy. The arena seemed to darken, the oppressive energy thickening around them.

“No! You can’t hurt my disciple!”

The arena grew even darker, as if all the light was being pulled away. Chen Ren could feel something terrible before he saw it. The demon that had been floating behind Gu Tian began to change. Thick black smoke oozed from its body, and its shape became more monstrous. Its face twisted unnaturally, sharp horns grew from its head, and its eyes burned a fiery red. Its hands turned into claws, crackling with dark flames and surrounded by black energy.

The demon roared, a deep and terrifying sound, and threw itself at Chen Ren. Dark flames followed it like a shadowy trail, and the air around it seemed to grow heavy and foul, like it was alive and full of hatred. Just as the flames were about to reach Chen Ren, the golden dragon sprang to life.

With a roar that shook the ground, the dragon shot down like lightning, glowing brighter than the sun. Its golden energy smashed into the dark flames, sending sparks flying in all directions. Light and darkness collided in a loud explosion, shaking the arena. The demon staggered back, its eyes wide with shock.

The dragon’s voice filled the air, echoing across the battlefield. "You used to have strength," it said, its golden eyes locked on the demon. "But now, you are nothing. Just a broken piece of evil clinging to life. You can’t even touch my power."

Golden lightning surged forward from the dragon, swallowing the dark flames completely. The smell of burning filled the air as the black fire died out. The demon let out a scream, its ghostly form shaking under the dragon’s overwhelming power.

Desperate, the demon turned and darted toward Gu Tian.

Gu Tian screamed, his voice full of panic. "What are you doing, Master?"

The demon’s cold voice answered, trembling with desperation. "I will take your body. It’s the only way for me to survive."

Gu Tian’s face twisted in horror as the demon’s smoky form rushed into his chest. He gasped, his body stiffening as if it was fighting the demon off. Then he collapsed, shaking violently on the ground. His body twitched and cracked, his bones shifting unnaturally. Black smoke poured from his skin, wrapping around him like a living shadow.

With a sharp, painful crack, horns erupted from Gu Tian's head, twisting upward like those of a beast. His skin darkened, splitting apart, and glowing red light seeped from the cracks like molten lava. His fingers clawed at the ground as razor-sharp talons replaced his nails. His body shuddered violently, sending waves of dark energy rippling outward, scorching and cracking the ground beneath him.

A guttural roar tore from his throat—loud, raw, and filled with a mix of agony and fury. The sound was inhuman, a terrifying blend of the man he had been and the monster he had become. When the transformation ended, Gu Tian’s eyes snapped open, glowing an intense red. Hatred and a consuming thirst for destruction burned within them. He was no longer human or a demon. He was something much worse.

With newfound strength, Gu Tian turned toward the barrier surrounding the arena. With a deafening cry, he unleashed a surge of power, shattering the barrier into fragments that dissolved into the air. Without hesitation, he prepared to flee.

But Chen Ren was already in motion.

Fury ignited within Chen Ren, his golden eyes blazing like fire as he roared, “You won’t escape—not while I’m here!”

He raised his hand toward the stormy heavens, and the dragon above roared in harmony with him. The storm responded to his call, bolts of lightning crashing down to form an electrified cage around Gu Tian. The demonic cultivator flinched, his escape route blocked.

This barrier was similar to the one Li Xuan had used before, but now it was stronger, infused with the full might of his qi and the dragon’s energy.

“Impossible!” Gu Tian snarled, his voice filled with rage and disbelief as Chen Ren closed in.

Chen Ren’s body crackled with lightning, and he surged forward like a streak of light. Gu Tian lunged, desperate to counterattack, but Chen Ren was faster. His palm struck Gu Tian’s chest with the force of a thunderbolt, breaking through every defense the demonic cultivator could muster.

Gu Tian staggered, gasping as terror filled his glowing red eyes. “No! Please, forgive me! I... I don’t want to die! I don’t want to lose my chance at life!”

Chen Ren glared down at him, his golden gaze unwavering. “You would have killed me—twice. You’ve murdered countless others, showing no mercy to anyone. Tell me, why should I show mercy to you? Tell me!”

Gu Tian stammered, but his words were cut short as Chen Ren channelled a final surge of power into his palm, driving it deeper into Gu Tian’s chest. The impact shattered Gu Tian’s dantian, sending a wave of demonic qi spiraling into the air before dissipating entirely. Blood erupted from Gu Tian’s wounds, and his body convulsed violently.

A cry of agony echoed through the air, the last sound Gu Tian made before his lifeless form crumpled to the ground. His eyes, now dim, wept blood as his body lay still.

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the arena. But Chen Ren’s instincts screamed at him that it wasn’t over. His golden eyes scanned Gu Tian’s broken body until they landed on the faint glint of a ring on his finger.

Chen Ren noticed movement as dark mist began to seep from the ring on Gu Tian’s finger. The mist twisted and grew, forming into the shape of the ghostly spectre that had been controlling him. The figure thrashed in the air, letting out a terrible scream as it broke free from Gu Tian’s body.

The spectre flailed wildly, its shadowy arms reaching out in all directions as it tried to escape. It surged upward, desperate to flee the arena and save itself.

But before it could get far, Chen Ren felt something shift above him. The golden dragon, still floating in the stormy sky, moved. Its massive form glowed with lightning, and its glowing eyes locked onto the fleeing spectre.

The dragon opened its huge mouth, lightning crackling around its jaws as it dove toward the ghost.

“No! You can’t!” the spectre screamed, its voice filled with fear and panic. It lashed out with dark tendrils, clawing at the air in a desperate attempt to escape.

The dragon roared, the sound like rolling thunder, and with one swift motion, it devoured the spirit. The spectre disappeared completely, leaving nothing behind but a ripple of golden sparks.

The dragon lifted its head, its glowing eyes turning to Chen Ren. He stood frozen, watching in awe and confusion.

“It’s finally over,” Chen Ren thought, still catching his breath. He looked up at the dragon’s massive form, but all he could focus on were its glowing, golden eyes.

Gathering his courage, he asked, “Thank you… but who are you? And why are you inside my star space?”

The dragon’s gaze remained calm. Even though the chaos had started to dissipate around him, the dragon was… unnaturally calm. “You are not ready to know. You are still too weak to handle my full presence outside your star space. When the time is right, all will be revealed.”

As it spoke, the dragon’s body began to break apart, turning into shimmering particles of golden light. The glowing fragments rose into the stormy sky before gently descending back toward Chen Ren. The light sank into him, and the faint golden glow around his body grew stronger for a moment before fading.

As the last of the golden light merged with Chen Ren, it flowed through him one final time, filling him with a warm, powerful energy. The golden glow shimmered across his body, lighting up every cut and bruise, making it look like they were healing for a moment. Slowly, the light began to fade, breaking into tiny streams that drifted away like sparks before disappearing into the air.

The bright aura around him shrank until it was just a faint glow, then sank deep into his core, leaving his body empty and weak. Without the dragon’s energy, his body shook, and his legs buckled. He fell to his knees, crushed by exhaustion that felt like a giant weight pressing down on him.

Above him, the stormy sky began to clear. The dark clouds parted, revealing a calm blue sky. The golden light that had filled the arena was gone, leaving only silence for a moment. Then, the crowd’s shouts grew louder, cutting through the fog in Chen Ren’s mind.

He turned toward the noise, but his vision was blurry, and the people in the crowd looked like shadows. His body swayed, and the edges of his sight turned dark. Before he could stop himself, the darkness closed in completely.

Chen Ren collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud, and the arena, which had been so loud moments before, went quiet once again.

***

A/N - One thing I got is a lot of comments on Deus ex machina and even if I understand why readers think so, think of it as more of a counter against Gu Tian's sceptre (which obviously is a different take on the famous ring grandpa trope). Anyway, the golden dragon is a character that won't be always there to deal with Chen Ren's problem. He will get a lot more powerful in the coming volume 2.

You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

55. Dragonheart

Chen Ren dreamt of home.

Not the chaos of Cloud Mist City, not the noise of markets or the sharp clash of blades, but home. The small apartment with peeling wallpaper, the aroma of instant noodles in the air, and the old, secondhand couch where he spent countless hours.

He wasn’t dreaming of the grind this time—the endless string of part-time jobs he juggled to keep the lights on and the rent paid, nor the late nights studying as a struggling business management student. No, this dream wasn’t about the struggle. It was about the moments in between.

Chen Ren saw himself sitting on that lumpy couch, a box of cheap pizza on his lap, the TV flickering with a cricket match. He could almost taste the greasy cheese and hear the roar of the crowd as someone hit a six.

Then the scene shifted. He was standing at the counter of one of his part-time jobs, leaning casually as he chatted with the girl from the next shift. He could hear his own awkward laughter as he tried to work up the courage to ask her out. Her laugh echoed faintly, soft and teasing, before fading into the next memory.

He was back outside his apartment building, crouched on the cold concrete, feeding the stray cats that gathered around him like tiny, furry shadows. One cat—a scruffy tabby with a half-missing ear—pushed closer. He reached out, scratching its head, feeling the soft fur beneath his fingers. He chuckled, a giddy warmth bubbling up inside him.

But something was off.

As Chen Ren scratched the cat, a strange unease crept in. A nagging feeling that something was missing, something important. He wanted to stay in this world, to savour these small joys, but the sensation tugged at him like an unanswered question.

The cat purred beneath his touch, and the streets around him began to shimmer unnaturally. The cars, the lights, the faint chatter of distant pedestrians—they all felt... distant, like echoes from another life.

Chen Ren looked up, and in the sky, he saw something streaking toward him. At first, it seemed like a shooting star, a bright light cutting across the dark canvas of the night. But as he squinted, focusing on the light, his breath caught.

It wasn’t a star.

The figure grew larger, its shape clearer with each passing second. Wings stretched wide, scales shimmering like molten gold, and glowing eyes piercing through the haze of the dream. It was a dragon, descending from the heavens.

Chen Ren stared, his heart racing as the world around him began to crumble. The buildings disintegrated, the ground beneath him cracked and fell away, replaced by a void of endless light.

As the dragon loomed closer, its immense presence pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe. It didn’t roar, didn’t move with fury. Instead, it gazed at him with calm, commanding eyes.

"You have slept a lot, Chosen One," the dragon said.

The words struck Chen Ren like a hammer. In an instant, memories flooded back—the bustling streets of Cloud Mist City, the taste of noodles he sold to its people, Yalan’s purr and attitude, the thunderous applause of the tournament, and the fight against Gu Tian. The weight of his life came crashing down, vivid and undeniable.

Chen Ren’s knees buckled under the realisation. The world around him broke further, the dream crumbling into nothingness. He looked back down at the tabby cat, his last anchor to this fleeting dream, but it was gone.

All that remained was the dragon and the endless void.

A sudden pull, like an invisible thread yanking him back, jolted Chen Ren awake. His eyes snapped open, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as he adjusted to the dim light around him. Blinking a few times, he looked up, and a familiar sight greeted him—a wooden ceiling with faint cracks that he had come to know well.

The Tang Clan. My room.

The same place where he had woken up every morning since arriving in this strange, Xianxia world. His heart settled as he took slow, calming breaths, grounding himself in reality. But his hand instinctively moved to his chest, to the spot where Gu Tian’s blade had pierced him. His fingers traced the area, expecting pain, a scar, something.

There was nothing.

The skin was smooth, unblemished, and warm to the touch. He was whole, alive, and no longer on the brink of death. Relief flooded him, but it was quickly followed by confusion.

How am I healed?

Before he could dwell on it further, a soft presence stirred beside him. Turning his head, Chen Ren’s gaze fell on Yalan, curled up on his bed. Her tiny frame looked peaceful, her paws peeking out from under the blanket she had wrapped herself in.

A small smile tugged at his lips. She looked adorable like this, vulnerable in a way that belied her sharp tongue. Almost on instinct, he reached out to pat her head.

But just as his hand was about to make contact, her eyes flicked open.

“It looks like you’ve finally woken up,” Yalan said, her voice calm but sharp as her amber eyes locked onto him.

Chen Ren froze, his hand hovering in mid-air, his smile awkward. “Uh, yeah. I guess I have,” he replied, lowering his arm. “It feels like I’ve been out for a long time. What… what happened after I passed out?”

Yalan stretched lazily, her tail flicking to the side. “After you lost consciousness—”

Before she could finish, the door to his room opened with a faint crack and Lihua, the maid, stepped in. As soon as his eyes matched with her, shock plastered on her face.

“Young Master Chen Ren is awake!” She shouted, her voice ringing out like a bell.

“Wait, no! Don’t—” Chen Ren tried to stop her, but the damage was already done.

Within moments, the room was packed with people. Tang Xiulan was the first to arrive, her usual composed expression softened with concern. Yuqiu followed close behind, barely managing to hide the relief in her eyes. Even Qing He shuffled in, her sharp gaze scanning him from head to toe. The children who helped around his stall also peeked in through the doorway, their wide eyes filled with curiosity and awe.

“Everyone…” Chen Ren started, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of visitors.

Before he could get a word in, Senior Qing He stepped forward, her wrinkled hands reaching for his arm. Her touch was firm yet gentle as she closed her eyes, a faint ripple of qi passing through him.

After a moment, she opened her eyes and gave a small nod. “You should thank the heavens,” she said. “You’ve come out of your ordeal with that demonic cultivator stronger than before. Truly, you have the resilience of a cockroach.”

Chen Ren blinked at her, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to respond. Finally, he let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “I just woke up, and you’re already calling me a cockroach?”

“I’m praising you, kid,” Qing He said matter-of-factly, crossing her arms.

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the pillows. “You need to work on your delivery, Senior Qing He.”

Her eyes narrowed, but there was a faint hint of a smile on her lips. “And you need to work on staying out of trouble. But I suppose that’s too much to ask.”

The room erupted into laughter, the tension breaking as Chen Ren shook his head, a smile finally spreading across his face. Despite everything, he was alive. And in this moment, surrounded by friends and allies, he couldn’t help but feel grateful.

Chen Ren shook his head with a wry smile and turned his attention to the others. “Alright,” he said, his voice still a bit hoarse. “What exactly happened after I was out?”

Tang Yuqiu stepped forward and gave him worried eyes. “You collapsed. And after that, the city guards took over to bring the situation under control. They moved you to the chambers of the City Lord’s personal healer. At the same time, they burned the body of the demonic cultivator and raided the inn where he had been staying. Everything in his possession was destroyed as a precaution.”

Chen Ren nodded, listening intently as Yuqiu continued.

“It wasn’t a quiet matter,” she added. “It was a public event. The whole city is in an uproar. Rumours are flying everywhere—some say you died valiantly while fighting the demonic cultivator, while others are hell-bent on the fact that you’ve been permanently crippled.”

Chen Ren blinked, his lips twitching. “Crippled? Really?”

“That’s not even the most outrageous one,” Tang Xiulan interjected, stepping forward.

“Oh? What’s the top rumour, then?”

“They’re calling you Dragonheart,” Xiulan said from the side. “Everyone in the city saw the golden dragon in the sky. People are saying you’ve been blessed by the fabled dragons themselves. That’s why they’ve given you the title.”

“Dragonheart, huh?” Chen Ren repeated, leaning back into the pillows. The name rolled off his tongue, and for a moment, he considered it. “Well,” he said with a shrug, “it’s a little early for me to have a title, but I’m not complaining. Dragonheart sounds just the right amount of edgy.”

The room chuckled lightly, though Chen Ren’s thoughts turned inward. He couldn’t help but reflect on the dragon that had appeared in his dream. Blessed by dragons? He shook his head. No, that wasn’t it. Even he had no clue what the dragon’s presence meant, let alone why it had appeared.

His musings were interrupted by Senior Qing He’s sharp voice. “So, tell us, boy—are you blessed by dragons?”

Chen Ren glanced at her. “No,” he replied truthfully. “Even I know nothing about the dragon that appeared.” He paused, his gaze dropping to his hands.

The dragon called me a chosen one. Is it some world saving nonsense? He groaned internally. I hope not. That’s way above my pay grade.

Fortunately, no one pressed him further about the dragon. Sensing the shift in the conversation, Chen Ren straightened. “You’ve talked about all this like a lot of time has passed. How long was I out?”

Tang Xiulan exchanged a glance with Yuqiu before answering. “A week.”

Chen Ren’s eyes widened slightly. “A week? That’s… a lot of time!”

Qing He clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “You should be glad it was only a week, boy. With all the heavenly qi that filled your body, it’s a miracle you didn’t break apart. A week of rest is nothing. And it wasn’t wasted—you’ve made another breakthrough.”

Chen Ren blinked, caught off guard. “Breakthrough?”

“Yes,” Qing He confirmed, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. “Check it yourself.”

Chen Ren frowned, closing his eyes as he focused inward. He quickly sat cross-legged on the bed as he moved his qi through his dantian.

He could feel it—his core had changed. He hadn't realised it before but the energy also flowed smoother, and stronger, almost as if the air itself had become a reservoir of power he could tap into. When he opened his eyes, his senses expanded beyond what he had ever known. Qi wasn’t just a subtle force anymore; it was tangible, a current in the air, swirling and flowing with life.

“I broke through,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Qi refinement realm.”

Qing He nodded approvingly. “Yes, but don’t get ahead of yourself, boy. You still need rest, and I’ll not have you running off to test your newfound strength like some brash fool.”

“I wasn’t planning to.” Chen Ren chuckled at that thought. He didn’t feel like testing his strength right away, not after the fight he’d had.

“Good,” she said, though her tone suggested she didn’t believe him for a second.

Before Chen Ren could respond, Tang Yuqiu spoke up. “You’ll have to wait until you’re summoned anyway.”

Chen Ren tilted his head. “Summoned? For what?”

“The award ceremony. Due to the attack and your… unconscious state, it was delayed. The other participants received their rewards three days after the incident. But the City Lord wanted to personally meet you and reward you for defeating the demonic cultivator.”

Chen Ren frowned slightly. “Personally?”

Tang Yuqiu nodded. “You’ll get the summons any day now. And before you meet him, you’ll need to prepare.”

“Prepare what?” Chen Ren asked, confused.

“An outfit,” Yuqiu replied with a smirk. “You can’t meet the City Lord looking like an ordinary cultivator, can you?”

Chen Ren glanced down at his plain robes. “What’s wrong with this?”

Xiulan almost rolled her eyes. “Everything, young master. You’ll need something formal. Something that makes you look like the hero they’re calling Dragonheart.”

Chen Ren sighed. “I didn’t ask for that name, you know.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tang Xiulan said. “You’ve got it now, and you’ll have to live up to it.”

***

Chen Ren remained on the bed for three more days under Qing He’s strict supervision. Her sharp gaze left no room for argument, ensuring that he fully recovered before she finally allowed him to move freely. By the end of the third day, when she was convinced his condition had stabilised, a formal summons from the City Lord arrived.

Without delay, Chen Ren prepared himself, donning the new outfit tailored for him. No one accompanied him to the City Lord's estate, uncertain about the nature of the meeting. Even Yalan refused, citing the reason that she would be patrolling around the city, making sure that no other demonic cultivator had made their way in.

The carriage ride through the city was an experience in itself. His recent achievements were still being talked about, raising his stakes in the city significantly.

Even from inside, he could hear whispers of “Dragonheart” and snippets of stories about his supposed feats. The tales had grown with each retelling, painting him as a heroic figure blessed by the dragons.

Chen Ren shook his head, amused yet resigned to the title he hadn’t asked for.

When they arrived at the City Lord’s estate, the grandeur of the place did little to faze him. What caught his attention, however, were the expressions of the guards and maids stationed outside. Their eyes literally sparkled with admiration, and some even seemed starstruck, as though they were in the presence of a legend.

He was instructed to wait downstairs until a guard came to escort him. The short wait was filled with curious glances from the staff, some discreet and others outright gawking. Chen Ren ignored most of them, focusing instead on keeping his composure.

Then, he heard footsteps approaching him.

When he turned, he froze momentarily, recognising the man—the same guard captain who had interrogated him. Cai Tao, he remembered the latter’s name correctly. The man’s facial expressions were entirely different this time. He wore a genuine smile and, to Chen Ren’s surprise, bowed before addressing him.

“Young Master Chen Ren,” Cai Tao began, his voice respectful yet tinged with hesitation. “I wanted to apologise for suspecting you as a demonic cultivator and for interrogating you. It was a grievous mistake on my part and the guards. I hope you can accept my apology and my gratitude for ridding the city of Gu Tian.”

Chen Ren took his words with a bit of surprise. He hadn't expected anything like that even with his newfound glory. Still, he was in no mood to accept it.

“Okay, but I don’t think an apology will cut it. You were ready to send me to my death in the Purity Chamber. Don’t act like you don’t know what that means.”

The guard captain flinched slightly, his smile faltering. He looked down for a moment before replying, “You’re right. That’s not something an apology can fix. I understand your anger. I was following orders from my superiors, but I didn’t join the guards to force innocents to their deaths. If it’s any consolation, I deeply regret my actions.”

Chen Ren studied the man, his gaze searching for signs of deceit. Unable to tell if the regret was genuine or simply a show, he finally nodded. “Fine. I won't hold it against you. That's the only thing I can say right now.”

Cai Tao bowed again, his voice steady this time. “That’s more than enough.” The tension eased slightly as the captain straightened up. “Now, if you’ll follow me,” he said, gesturing toward the stairs.

Chen Ren nodded and followed the captain deeper into the City Lord’s estate silently.

He decided not to press the issue with the guard captain. It wasn’t worth burning bridges, not when he still had plans in Cloud Mist City. Maintaining a good relationship with the guards would be far more beneficial. After today, he was certain they’d owe him a debt for taking down the demonic cultivator—a debt he could call on if needed.

With that thought in mind, he followed the guard captain through the winding halls of the City Lord’s estate.

Eventually, they stopped before a pair of ornate doors flanked by two guards.

“This is it,” the guard captain said, nodding toward the doors. “Please go inside. The City Lord is waiting.”

The guards pushed the doors open, revealing a grand chamber lit by a massive chandelier. As Chen Ren stepped inside, his gaze immediately landed on City Lord Li Baolong.

He sat on a chair, wearing long white robes with rings donning his fingers. His eyes briefly landed on them before noticing that the City Lord wasn't alone.

Beside him sat an old man with a long, flowing, silver-coloured beard that cascaded down his chest. His wise eyes gleamed with a sharp intelligence that seemed to see through everything. He wore simple but elegant robes that bore the emblem of the Soaring Sword Sect.

Chen Ren recognised him immediately, Yan Xiu—an elder of the sect who had overseen parts of the tournament. Though they hadn’t interacted directly, Chen Ren had seen him back then.

Suppressing any sign of unease, Chen Ren followed the etiquette Yuqiu had drilled into him and bowed deeply.

“Raise your head,” City Lord Li Baolong said. “There’s no need for formalities today.”

Chen Ren straightened, meeting the City Lord’s gaze.

“I would like to thank you,” he continued, “for the great service you have done to this city by ridding us of that filthy demonic cultivator. To be honest, when the first rounds of the tournament began, and I saw how you moved through without engaging in direct combat, I thought you were nothing more than a schemer. A hack who relied on tricks rather than skill.”

Chen Ren kept his face neutral, though the bluntness of the statement almost made him twitch.

“But,” he added with a small smile, “as the tournament progressed—through the semifinals, the finals, and, of course, your battle with that vile cultivator—you proved me wrong. You showed not only your strength but also your righteousness. You are deserving of the title the people have given you: Dragonheart.”

Hearing the title again, Chen Ren resisted the urge to grimace. It seemed there was no escaping it now.

Before he could respond, the City Lord Li Baolong continued, “For your deeds, I have decided to double the amount of spirit stones you were to receive as the winner of the tournament. Consider it a token of this city’s gratitude.”

Chen Ren blinked, momentarily caught off guard. That was no small reward, especially when spirit stones were a vital resource for cultivation.

“Thank you, City Lord,” Chen Ren said, bowing slightly. He chose his words carefully. “I only did what any cultivator should when faced with such evil.”

The City Lord’s smile widened. “Humble as well. Good. That will serve you well in the future.”

The elder beside him nodded slightly, his wise eyes fixed on Chen Ren as though evaluating him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this meeting was about more than just gratitude.

Chen Ren smiled and bowed politely at the words, but before he could say anything, the City Lord added, “Not only that. Sect Elder Yan Xiu also has a reward for you.”

Chen Ren turned to the elder, unable to keep his gaze away.

The old man chuckled warmly, the sound deep and rich like an ancient bell. “I won’t offer you flowery praise like Baolong,” he said. “I have a feeling you’re the sort who already knows your capabilities and takes pride in your accomplishments.”

The elder’s gaze sharpened slightly, as though testing Chen Ren with his next words. “You know, one of the rewards for winning the tournament is being granted core disciple status in the Soaring Sword Sect. But I would take it a step further. I am Yan Xiu, the Vice Sect Leader of the Soaring Sword Sect, and I offer you the opportunity to become my personal disciple. I will ensure that you are not only an exceptional cultivator but that you will receive every priority and resource the sect can offer.”

Chen Ren blinked, taken aback. He had no idea this man was the Vice Sect Leader. His thoughts raced. This was an incredible offer—one most cultivators would dream of. Core disciple status was prestigious on its own, but being taken under the wing of a the man just below the sect leader? That was on an entirely different level.

The Chen Ren who had first transmigrated to this world would have accepted immediately. Even the previous Chen Ren, desperate to find his footing, would have jumped at the chance.

But now?

He had come to trust his instincts and his chosen path. While the offer was tempting, Chen Ren knew it would tie him to the sect’s rules and politics, constraints he wasn’t prepared to accept.

Making his decision, Chen Ren bowed deeply to the sect elder. “I am deeply honored by your offer, Vice Sect Leader Yan Xiu, but I must decline. I have no intention of joining a sect at this time.”

The City Lord’s eyebrows shot up, his expression one of surprise. “Are you certain? This is a rare opportunity!”

Yan Xiu, however, didn’t look surprised. If anything, he seemed amused. “Very well,” he said with a nod. “So be it. I had a feeling you might refuse.”

Chen Ren straightened, watching as the man’s smile grew.

“But,” the elder continued, “a debt is still a debt, and I cannot let your contribution to the city and the sect go unrewarded. How about this: aside from the rewards for winning the tournament, I will allow you to select one item of your choice from the inner sect treasury. Do you accept that?”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

56. Dead egg

To Chen Ren’s relief, neither the City Lord Li Baolong nor the Sect Elder Yan Xiu asked him about the golden dragon. They focused solely on praising his efforts and rewarding him for his actions. He'd no idea why it was so. Were they simply making their own guesses or was it something else.

Either way, it was a blessing in disguise, as he still didn’t know how to explain what had happened.

True to their word, his rewards were presented immediately. He received a hundred spirit stones, an assortment of potent pills, rare herbs, and a vial of beast essence. He was also given a plot of land situated to the north of Cloud Mist City, near the border of this part of the empire. The location was remote, but Chen Ren saw potential in it. Even if it was some abandoned land, it was more than enough for him.

Afterall, he earned it and he deserved to use every bit of it.

For his cultivation manual, Chen Ren had already discussed his options with Yalan. They agreed on selecting a defensive technique. His current skill set lacked a solid method for blocking or mitigating attacks, and Yalan didn’t have a suitable technique to teach him. This reward filled that gap and would round out his fighting style.

When it came to picking a weapon of his choice, he went along with a spear. While he had initially considered a bow, remembering his original plan of focusing on ranged combat, he decided against it. The spear was more versatile—it offered range in close combat and the ability to keep opponents at bay. Furthermore, Chen Ren had been formulating ideas for creating a better-ranged weapon in the future, so a spear felt like the right choice for now.

Once the rewards were finalized, the Sect Elder wasted no time. “Come,” Yan Xiu said. “We’ll head to the sect now so you can choose your reward from the inner sect treasury.”

At those words, his excitement hit the roof. A sect’s treasury wasn’t a simple storehouse. The treasury of the Soaring Sword Sect would undoubtedly hold treasures of immense value—artefacts, rare cultivation techniques, and priceless materials that few could even dream of obtaining. Even in that, it wasn’t the outer treasury, rather, the inner one.

However, in his enthusiasm, one critical detail slipped his mind: how were they going to get there?

The Soaring Sword Sect was deep in the mountains, a three-to-four-day journey by carriage. Traveling on foot was faster, but Chen Ren doubted he could keep pace with someone as powerful as Yan Xiu. The elder could likely cover the distance in a fraction of the time, but Chen Ren wasn’t sure he could endure such a pace unless the elder deliberately slowed down.

As they stepped outside, Chen Ren glanced at Yan Xiu, who wore a calm expression. The elder’s confidence only deepened Chen Ren’s curiosity about what kind of journey this was going to be. For better or worse, he knew one thing: it wouldn’t be ordinary.

In fact, he kept mulling over the logistics of their journey until Elder Yan Xiu gestured for him to follow. The elder led him through the busy halls of the City Lord’s estate, finally stopping at the courtyard.

But as soon as they stepped outside, his eyes widened in disbelief.

There, shining under the sunlight stood a medium-sized ship, painted pristine white with the crest of the Soaring Sword Sect prominently engraved on its side. His first thought after disbelief was confusion—What’s a ship doing here? There’s no sea for miles.

Then, a fragment of the previous Chen Ren’s memory clicked into place. This wasn’t just a ship. It was a skyship, a marvel of cultivation engineering designed to float in the air. In other words, it was an open-air airplane, only powered by spirit stones and qi rather than engines.

Elder Xiu turned to him with an expectant look. “Get in.”

Chen Ren didn’t need to be told twice. He hopped inside, still gaping at the interior and the sleek, almost futuristic design of the vessel. The Elder followed him in, settling at the helm where a glowing red stone was embedded.

Without wasting another second, he placed his hand on the stone, and a swirl of qi emanated outward. The stone glowed faintly, and the ship shuddered for a moment before lifting off the ground.

As the skyship began to ascend, Chen Ren instinctively gripped the edge of his seat. The wind whipped past them, and the sensation of leaving the ground sent a surge of both excitement and anxiety through him. He felt his stomach churn in nervousness due to the open roof and lack of safety. Even as a cultivator, if he fell from such a height, he would suffer grievous injuries.

But within a minute, he realized his fears were useless.

The ship sailed smoothly, unaffected by turbulence. Despite the high speed, there was no sensation of jarring movement, and the wind, though present, didn’t disrupt his balance.

Relaxing slightly, Chen Ren turned to Elder Yan Xiu and asked, “Is there a [Balancing array] on the ship?”

The elder rubbed his long beard, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve guessed right. There are several arrays, actually. One for balance, another to shield against any storms or tornadoes, and a few more to ensure no one accidentally falls off.”

Chen Ren nodded, his interest piqued. “That’s fascinating.”

Yan Xiu’s smile widened. “It’s one of the treasures of our sect. Only top elders and disciples are allowed to use it.”

Chen Ren acknowledged the statement with a brief nod, though a small part of him wondered if this was another subtle attempt to sway him into reconsidering his decision about joining the sect. Still, he decided to let the comment pass, focusing instead on the breathtaking scenery below.

As the skyship glided effortlessly through the air, he looked down at the forests, rivers, and villages that passed beneath them. From this vantage point, the world felt vast and serene, and the experience was undeniably better than any airplane ride he remembered from his previous life. Especially with the wind hitting him in the face, and the clouds shifting when it moved through them.

The journey, however, was short-lived. Less than an hour later, the ship began to ascend sharply, heading toward the towering peaks of the mountains. Situated among the clouds, the sprawling expanse of the Soaring Sword Sect came into view.

Chen Ren leaned forward, captivated by the sight.

He didn’t know why most sects chose mountaintops for their bases, but one thing was clear: the panoramic view alone was worth it. If he were to guess,the choice of location had something to do with the potent qi this high in the air.

The ship soared effortlessly through the mountain peaks, and as they passed different summits, he noticed figures in flowing red robes moving along narrow paths or practicing on top of platforms. The robes matched what he recognized as sect wear, similar to what Elder Xiu had worn, and their vibrant colour stood out against the serene backdrop of the mountains.

He kept observing everything from afar when the view got closer.

Soon, the ship approached what Chen Ren assumed was the inner peak, its significance evident in the grandeur of the buildings and the intensity of qi emanating from the area.

With a wave of Elder Yan Xiu’s hand, the ship began to descend, the hum of its arrays softening as it lowered gently toward a wide courtyard in front of a grand three-story building.

Two figures stood waiting for them at the entrance. Their robes were a deeper, richer shade of red compared to the ones worn by the disciples Chen Ren had seen earlier. He immediately pegged them as inner disciples. As the ship came to a halt and they got off, both disciples bowed deeply to Elder Yan Xiu.

“Raise your heads,” Elder Yan Xiu said in a commanding voice. It wasn’t the usual friendly mask he had with Chen Ren. He gestured toward Chen Ren, who stood slightly behind him. “This young man here killed the demonic cultivator that plagued Cloud Mist City and earned the right to choose an item from the inner sect treasury.”

Both disciples straightened and turned their gazes toward Chen Ren. Their eyes widened slightly as they sized him up, a mix of curiosity and respect flickering in their expressions. After a moment, they nodded in unison and stepped aside, granting them entry into the building.

Elder Yan Xiu stepped forward, and Chen Ren followed, his eyes wandering as they entered. The interior had an ancient, almost timeless quality to it, similar to the aircraft. The wooden beams were covered with carvings and faint traces of qi emanated from the walls. Protective arrays, probably. Chen Ren continued to look around but a voice took his attention.

“This way. The second floor holds artefacts appropriate for your level.”

Chen Ren nodded, trusting the elder’s guidance. He trailed behind as they climbed a spiraling staircase, his hand brushing against the smooth wooden railing. The craftsmanship of the building was exquisite, blending functionality with artistry in a way that only innovative cultivators could achieve.

But so was the silence and solace in the building. There were no guards, no bustling activity—just the two of them and the faint hum of qi-infused air. His eyes darted to the details around him: the glowing runes etched into the walls, the faint glimmers of light that danced across the ceiling, and the subtle hum of power that seemed to resonate from every corner.

“Elder Yan Xiu,” he began as they ascended, his curiosity getting the better of him, “why is it so quiet here? I’d expect a place like this to be heavily guarded.”

The elder glanced back with a knowing smile. “The arrays embedded in this building are more than enough to deter anyone foolish enough to try and steal from it. Only those with permission can pass beyond the first floor. Without it, the building itself will defend what’s inside.”

Chen Ren swallowed, nodding. It made sense, and the faint pressure of qi in the air served as a constant reminder of the power housed within these walls.

When they finally reached the second floor, the elder clasped his hands in his front.

For a treasure trove as significant as this, he had expected at least a few disciples stationed outside. Yet the elder didn’t seem concerned, stopping only when they reached a massive, intricately carved wooden door.

“Take your time,” Yan Xiu said. “Choose wisely. Every artefact here has been curated for disciples like you—practical, powerful, and invaluable in the right hands. But know that, you may choose only one artifact. Just one. Whatever you walk out with will be yours, but no more than that.”

Chen Ren nodded, swallowing his rising excitement. The elder pushed the door open, and as it creaked aside, Chen Ren stepped in—and froze.

Right in the center of the vast room, an enormous pile of coins shimmered in the faint light, glinting like a golden sea. His eyes widened, and for a moment, he could only stare in awe. It was almost as if he’d walked into a gold mine. But no, they weren’t the most valuable thing in the room.

Around the room, neatly arranged on shelves, pedestals, and stands, were weapons, manuals, and artefacts. His eyes wandered towards them, knowing they were the real treasures.

Forcing himself to focus, Chen Ren walked toward the section with manuals first, reasoning that these might hold the key to unique cultivation techniques. He picked up a random scroll, unrolling it to read its name aloud.

“[Eternal Tide Barrier].”

He frowned, setting it aside and reaching for another. “[Storm Saber Technique.]”

One after another, he scanned through the names, his curiosity growing.

“All the manuals here are Earth-grade,” Elder Yan Xiu said, stroking his long beard. “Whatever you pick will aid your cultivation greatly.”

Chen Ren nodded, his eyes still glued to the books at hand.

Still, after reading through a few more of them, he set the manuals back on their pedestals. He was tempted, but his current goal was survival. He needed something practical—something tangible that could protect him in a fight.

Turning his attention to another section, he wandered over to the artefacts and weapons. Swords, staffs, copper disks, and even what looked like ninja stars were displayed neatly, each radiating a faint, mysterious glow.

As he inspected them, Chen Ren couldn’t help but hesitate. A part of him wished Yalan were here to offer advice. But he quickly dismissed the thought; there was no way the elder would have allowed her to enter, and hiding her presence would have been impossible.

His gaze roamed over the items until they landed on a piece of armour tucked away in the corner. Intrigued, he approached it and picked it up. To his surprise, it was lighter than it looked. The armour gleamed a dull silver, its surface etched with intricate runic inscriptions that pulsed faintly with power.

Elder Yan Xiu stepped closer, a hint of approval in his eyes. “That piece is called the Shatterguard Plate. Earth grade armour. A sturdy piece of armour, heavily enchanted. It’s resistant to most qi-based attacks and provides excellent physical protection. But that’s not all.”

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow, waiting for the elder to continue.

“It has a unique enchantment,” Elder Yan Xiu explained. “In dire situations, you can activate it to… explode.”

“Explode?” Chen Ren echoed, his tone incredulous.

The elder chuckled. “Yes. Many cultivators who face demonic beasts or enemy cultivators find such enchantments useful. If they’re certain of their demise, they can activate it to take their foe down with them. A last resort, but a potent one.”

Chen Ren looked at the armour again, his fingers tracing the runes thoughtfully.

“Interesting,” he said. “I do need good armour, but I’m not sure if this is the right one for me.”

Elder Yan Xiu nodded, letting him mull over the decision. “Take your time. Choose wisely. An artifact is only as useful as its wielder’s intent.”

Chen Ren set the armor back gently, still unsure. There were so many options, and he only had one chance to pick the right one. He sighed quietly. It was a good piece, no doubt, but something gnawed at him. Could he really not do better?

His thoughts turned to the logic of countless Xianxia tales he had read in his previous life. In those stories, protagonists always seemed to stumble upon legendary artifacts in the most unassuming corners of treasure rooms like this.

A spark of inspiration lit in his mind. Turning away from the central displays, his eyes roved over the room, searching for something less obvious. That’s when he noticed it—a dusty box shoved into a dimly lit corner, its contents haphazardly strewn about. Necklaces and trinkets spilled over the edges like discarded junk.

Curiosity piqued, Chen Ren walked over.

“Those are just one-use enchanted items,” Elder Yan Xiu said, waving a dismissive hand. “Talismans in necklace form. They’re not worth much and certainly not suitable for someone like you.”

“It’s fine,” Chen Ren replied with a shrug. “I’m just looking.”

Kneeling by the box, he began sifting through its contents. As expected, most of the items were unimpressive—necklaces with faint enchantments, likely intended for quick escapes or minor attacks. Still, he didn’t stop. He rummaged deeper, his hands brushing against cold metal, worn leather, and fragile beads.

And then, something hot touched his palm.

Chen Ren froze. His fingers closed around the object instinctively, and he pulled it out.

It was a large, irregularly shaped black gem, its surface glossy yet veined with faint red lines that glowed dimly, like embers smoldering in the dark. The heat emanating from it wasn’t searing but enough to make him grip it carefully.

“What’s this?” he muttered, turning the gem over in his hands.

Elder Yan Xiu’s gaze sharpened as he stepped closer, squinting at the gem. After a moment, he reached out and took it from Chen Ren, holding it up to the light.

“I… don’t know,” the elder admitted, his voice tinged with surprise. “I’ve never seen this before. It doesn’t seem to be a typical artifact. Judging by its shape and faint aura, it might be… a dead beast egg.”

“A beast egg?” Chen Ren repeated, his brow furrowing.

The elder nodded. “Yes, though if it’s here, it must have been considered useless. Likely dead for centuries, its energy long dissipated. I’ve no idea who would have placed such a thing in the treasury, or why.”

Chen Ren turned his attention back to the gem, now identified as a possible beast egg. His mind churned with possibilities. Could it really be dead? Something about it tugged at him, a faint, inexplicable feeling that there was more to this object than met the eye.

If the elder’s assessment was correct, why hadn’t anyone discarded it? Why was it even here among Earth-grade treasures?

His instincts screamed that this wasn’t ordinary. If Xianxia logic held true, then an overlooked “dead” egg could very well turn out to be something extraordinary.

Chen Ren turned the gem over in his hands, still feeling the faint warmth emanating from it. An idea struck him, and he glanced at Elder Yan Xiu. “What are you planning to do with this?”

Elder Yan Xiu furrowed deeply. “That thing? I’ll throw it away. It doesn’t belong here. Useless clutter in the treasury.”

Chen Ren smiled. “Then… can I take it? Not as my reward, but as a souvenir. I study alchemy, and I might be able to use it for something. Even if it’s dead, it could have its uses.”

The elder studied him, his gaze thoughtful. “You’re an odd one, aren’t you? Fine, take it. Better than letting it gather dust or tossing it out.”

Chen Ren’s face lit up with a grin. “Thank you, Elder Yan.” He took it from his hand and carefully slipped the black gem into his pocket before striding back to the armour he had examined earlier. Without hesitation, he picked it up and said, “I’ll take this as my reward.”

Elder Yan Xiu’s lips curved into a slight smile. “A wise choice.”

Without wasting any time, Chen Ren donned the armor. Its snug fit surprised him, as if it were tailored for him, and its lightweight made it feel almost like a second skin. He rolled his shoulders, testing its flexibility, and found it perfect for combat.

Once satisfied, he turned to Elder Yan Xiu and gave a deep bow. “Thank you for this opportunity, Elder. I’ll make the most of it.”

He nodded, a rare flicker of respect in his eyes. “You’ve earned it. Few young cultivators are as brave—or as resourceful—as you.”

As Chen Ren straightened, Elder Yan Xiu hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “Do you truly not wish to study under me? My guidance could help you learn more about the golden dragon that aided you.”

Chen Ren froze, the mention of the dragon sending a chill through him. He had known this would come up eventually, but not like this. Keeping his expression neutral, he responded with a question of his own. “How do you know I don’t already know about the golden dragon?”

Elder Yan Xiu chuckled, the sound deep and knowing. “I looked into your background. Nothing about it suggests you should possess the blessings of something so powerful. Dragons are legends, lost to time. For you to have formed a contract with one makes you... unique.

“One reason I offer you my discipleship is because the legend of the Dragonheart will spread. When it does, more sects will come looking for you. While I am amiable, many in the Soaring Sword Sect are not. They will use threats and force to claim you for themselves.”

The words settled heavily in Chen Ren’s mind. He had hoped to keep his connection to the golden dragon quiet, but with the tournament and its reveal, things were turning messy. He hesitated, weighing Elder Yan Xiu’s words about the other sects. The stories he’d heard of their politics and schemes didn’t sit well with him.

A sect backing might help stop anyone trying to take advantage of him, but did he really want that? He didn't think so. Joining a sect meant getting trapped inside it and not being able to progress his Dao of Money.

He met Elder Yan Xiu’s gaze firmly. “I appreciate your warning and your offer, Elder. But for now, I prefer to walk my own path.”

Elder Yan Xiu studied him for a long moment before nodding slowly. “Very well. Just know that when the time comes, the doors of the Soaring Sword Sect will remain open to you. Though, what's your reason to reject my offer? I know City Lord Li hasn't offered you anything.”

Chen Ren nodded, debating whether he should tell the truth or not, but in the end, he decided that there was no use hiding the information since it would be easily accessible to someone like him. “Actually, I’m already part of a sect… though it’s an unofficial one that I’m building myself. So, I can’t enter any others.”

Elder Yan Xiu raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “A sect of your own?”

Chen Ren nodded. “Yes. I know other sects might come for me, but I believe my path is one I need to walk with people who truly trust me. If someone comes with bad intentions… Well, it just means I need to get stronger, faster.”

After a moment of thought, Chen Ren added with a wry smile, “Besides, I can’t run my businesses if I’m tied to a sect. Sect economies are a headache I don’t want to tackle right now.”

“Businesses?” Elder Yan Xiu asked, tilting his head and stroking his beard.

Chen Ren’s grin widened. “It’s something I’m passionate about. A legacy from my ancestors, you could say. I enjoy creating things, trading, and watching them grow. It’s a different kind of cultivation for me.”

Elder Yan Xiu thinned his lips. “You’re… unique, Chen Ren. I can respect your decision, even if it’s unconventional. Very well, walk your own path. One of the disciples guarding the treasury will escort you back to the city.”

Chen Ren bowed deeply. “Thank you again, Elder Yan.”

As he turned to leave, the elder’s voice stopped him. “Wait. What’s the name of your sect?”

Chen Ren paused, a glint of pride in his eyes. “Divine Coin Sect.”

With that, he walked out, the treasure room’s grand doors closing behind him.

***

Elder Yan Xiu remained in the treasury, gazing thoughtfully at the now-quiet room. His fingers brushed the carvings of the nearest artifact as he muttered, “Divine Coin Sect… and the Golden Dragon. A rogue cultivator who rejects the offer of a Soaring Sword elder to walk his own path.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. It’s the first time anyone’s turned me down like this. What an intriguing young man.

Turning his gaze toward the array of treasures, his lips curled into a faint smile. “Interesting times are ahead of us. I suppose I should keep my eyes open and do some studying of my own.”

With that, he strode out of the treasury, the name of the Divine Coin Sect lingering in his mind.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

PS - Sorry for delay. I have been sick. I know the whole end of tournament arc got a lot of varied views and I understand the arguments against what I went for. But let me clarify that the golden dragon isn't going to be there to solve Chen Ren's every problem. If he gets in his body again currently, he would blast off. And yes, the story is gonna end volume 1 in two three chapters and next volume will have a lot more buisness building, sect recruitment for his company, expansion etc. And Chen ren will get more stronger, but I will try to make sure I understand the criticisms.

Thank you for reading.

57. Future

Chen Ren was able to get back to Cloud Mist City surprisingly fast. A part of him had wondered if the old elder might attempt to keep him as a disciple by any means necessary, but the man had been honourable.

Despite returning with a trove of rewards, Chen Ren couldn’t seem to sit in peace. News of his recovery spread quickly, and within days, dozens of invitations from both merchant and cultivation clans flooded in, each seeking his presence as a guest.

He rejected them all.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to build connections—he did. But his mind was preoccupied with questions about his future and the reality of his recent battle with Gu Tian. On the other hand, his businesses were flourishing, especially after the tournament, yet it didn’t feel like enough.

The memory of that fight lingered, a constant reminder that his strength had been insufficient. He had survived, yes, but only because of the dragon that was within him. And even that power came with uncertainty. He had no means of calling on it at will, no assurance it would come to his aid again. Worse, he couldn’t guarantee his body would survive the strain if it did. The thought left him restless.

There was only one path forward—he had to get stronger.

His cultivation was intertwined with his businesses, so the decision was clear. It was time to look beyond Cloud Mist City. His heart raced at the prospect. Expanding both his sect and his business wasn’t just a goal—it was a necessity. And it was exactly what he had to do next.

“You’re leaving?” Tang Jihao’s voice rang with disbelief, his eyes widening.

Chen Ren nodded. “I’ve decided not to trouble the Tang Clan anymore.”

At his words, Tang Yuqiu, who had been sitting nearby, interjected, “You know it’s no trouble. A few months ago? Maybe. But now, a lot has changed. You staying here isn’t just fine—it’s a boon.”

Chen Ren offered her a small smile. “I understand, but I stayed here because I had nowhere else to go. That’s not the case anymore. I have responsibilities—both to my sect and my businesses—and Cloud Mist City is starting to feel too small for me.”

Tang Jihao crossed his arms, studying him carefully. “Too small? How so?”

Chen Ren leaned back and sighed. “I’ve done well with my stalls and perfumes, and I could keep creating similar products, but the growth would be slow. Until now, I’ve focused on the mortal market here, and it’s been successful. But I don’t want to be confined to one city. I want to expand across the empire and for that…”

“And for that?” Jihao asked, though his expression suggested he already knew the answer.

“For that, I need to build a factory, diversify my products, and, most importantly, establish my sect. Cloud Mist City isn’t the place for that. There's already Soaring Sword Sect here and there's no way I can take on it right now,” he said, having already thought about it in the last few days. “If I try to make pills or talismans here to sell, I’d be directly competing with them and as you know, I can’t take them on. I’d be crushed quickly. So, I need to look elsewhere in the empire—a place from which I can expand everywhere.”

Yuqiu opened her mouth to argue, but her father spoke first. “Are you going to the land you got?”

Chen Ren nodded. “That doesn’t mean I’m abandoning Cloud Mist City. I still have Heavenly Fragrances here, along with my stall. I’ll have people to manage them, and I’ll keep visiting to check on their progress. As you know, it’s not that far from the city, so I’ll be able to come and go easily. Especially with my cultivation, I’m far faster than any cart. But before I leave, I wanted to ask for something and talk more about the expansion plan.”

Tang Jihao tilted his head. “What do you want to ask?”

Chen Ren smiled sheepishly. “Tang Xiulan and Lihua. Mostly Xiulan since I want to take her with me as the manager of the sect. And in her absence, Lihua has agreed to stay behind and take care of the stall.”

The old, sickly man raised an eyebrow. “A manager, huh? That kid sure is talented, has a good head on her shoulders. When I first brought her to you, I didn’t expect things to take such a turn. But I believe it’s for the best.” He paused, then nodded. “Sure, I’ll let her go and give Lihua the freedom to manage your stall. You’ve helped Yuqiu a lot and killed that demonic cultivator. It’s the least I can do. But this sect of yours? When you first told me about it, I was apprehensive. Honestly, I still am. I don’t know how you’re going to make it work.”

Chen Ren smiled confidently, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “You’ll know soon enough,” he said, leaving Tang Jihao to shake his head in bemusement. Then, he chuckled, turning his attention to Tang Yuqiu, who wore a faint frown. “I thought you disliked me, but now you look sad about me leaving.”

Tang Yuqiu’s cheeks flushed faintly as she quickly looked away. “I’m not sad,” she retorted, her tone defensive. “I’m just... too used to seeing your face around.”

Chen Ren’s grin widened. “Don’t worry. You’ll still see it—just less often.”

He shifted topics seamlessly. “Either way, before I leave, I wanted to discuss the expansion plans for Heavenly Fragrances with you.”

At that, Tang Yuqiu’s expression shifted, her usual sharp focus returning. As Chen Ren laid out his plans—strategies to increase production, establish trade routes, and expand Heavenly Fragrances’ influence beyond Cloud Mist City—her frown deepened, though this time with thoughtful consideration.

She leaned forward, asking sharp questions and offering occasional suggestions. By the time the conversation wrapped up, her earlier embarrassment had vanished, replaced by a serious, professional demeanour.

“That’s ambitious,” she said finally. “But with the right resources and people, it could work.”

Chen Ren nodded, his confidence unwavering. “That’s the plan. I’ll leave the foundation in capable hands here and focus on building the next step.”

Tang Jihao, who had been watching quietly, folded his arms with a smirk. “Looks like you’ve thought this through. I’ll be keeping an eye on how far you can take it.”

Chen Ren met his gaze with a smile. “You won’t be disappointed.”

***

Chen Ren moved through the quiet, somber halls, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished stone floor. The place where urns were kept—lingtang—was both imposing and serene, with corridors that seemed to stretch endlessly, lined with niches in the walls. Each compartment housed an urn, the final resting place for the ashes of someone who had once lived, laughed, and loved in the city.

A few others roamed the halls, their expressions a mix of grief and reverence. The muted murmurs of visitors filled the air, a backdrop to the faint scent of incense that lingered in every corner.

The priest walking beside him stopped abruptly, turning to him with a gentle smile. “It’s here,” he said, gesturing toward one of the walls.

Chen Ren nodded. “Thank you.”

The priest’s smile deepened, kind yet knowing. “I’ll give you time with it, Dragonheart,” he said softly before retreating down the corridor, leaving him alone.

Chen Ren let out a wry chuckle, unused to the title. His gaze swept across the compartments, each a reminder of lives lost and memories preserved. The lingtang was a public place, directly controlled by the city lord’s office, where the ashes of the departed were kept for families and visitors to honour them.

Today, Chen Ren was here to visit the urn of a man he hadn’t shared a good relationship with, Feng Ming.

Standing before the niche, he hesitated. A swirl of conflicting emotions churned within him.

Feng Ming had been no more than another arrogant young master, someone who had antagonized him in their every meeting. Yet, even as Chen Ren recalled their less-than-pleasant interactions, one thought remained firm in his mind—Feng Ming’s death had been unfair.

Did he deserve to die?

Chen Ren sighed. No, he didn’t. Feng Ming, like Cang Rui or Bai Shen, had been frustrating and pompous, someone Chen Ren had clashed with repeatedly. But for all his flaws, Feng Ming hadn’t deserved more than a lesson or a beating to humble him. Death was too cruel an end.

He stepped closer, his eyes lingering on the urn nestled within the wall, a silent testament to the fragility of life.

Chen Ren stood in front of the small, unassuming urn, his expression unreadable.

He believed that every person had the capacity to change if given the opportunity. Sadly, Feng Ming had never gotten that chance. Gu Tian had taken that away, cutting down a life before it could take a new direction. Chen Ren didn’t feel guilt—Feng Ming’s death wasn’t his fault—but he felt a weight nonetheless.

“I know we didn’t have great interactions,” Chen Ren began. “And you would never know it, but I’m not the Chen Ren you knew. Still, even if I didn’t think of you as a friend, I couldn’t let Gu Tian’s actions go unpunished. I killed him. If your soul is still out there somewhere, I hope you find peace knowing that.”

He lit the candle in front of the urn, the flickering flame casting fleeting shadows on his face. Giving the urn one last look, he added with a faint, almost wistful smile, “Maybe we’ll meet in the next life and have a better relationship. I can at least attest to the fact that there is a next life. Until then... goodbye.”

Turning around, Chen Ren slowly made his way out of the lingtang.

In his previous life, he hadn’t believed in souls or reincarnation. Such ideas had seemed fanciful and far-fetched. But here, in this world of cultivation, spirits and souls were some of the most normal things he would encounter.

As he left, he silently hoped Feng Ming would find his rest.

When he stepped outside, the sight waiting for him brought a flicker of surprise to his face. A large carriage was parked near the entrance, its interior already bustling with familiar faces.

Tang Xiulan stood by it, managing the group of children he’d taken under his wing, Mei Lin, Chun and Jian. But what caught his attention most was someone unexpected—Anji. She stood on the side against the carriage, her eyes following him with a blank emotion in them.

Chen Ren’s gaze shifted to the young woman, his eyebrows raising slightly. Before he could say anything, Tang Xiulan followed his line of sight and smirked. “She wanted to tag along,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Is that true?” Chen Ren asked, his tone tinged with curiosity as he looked at Anji.

Anji nodded confidently. “Yes. I have no reason to stay in the city anymore. Miss Xiulan told me about your plans to establish a sect and how you’ll need more hands. So I volunteered.”

Chen Ren stared at her for a few seconds before shaking his head. “Bringing you along means one more mouth to feed. I would need a good release to allow you to do so.”

Anji rubbed her arms, not knowing what to say for a while before she lowered her head in an awkward bow. “I know a bit of hunting, so food won't be a problem and I know numbers, how to read and write, so I will be able to help out with the accounts. I know you have no obligation to bring me along, but I promise I won't be a burden, so please can I join you?”

Chen Ren looked at Anji, feeling a strange, unplaceable sensation as her words hung in the air. He wasn't sure about letting her come with him. He had ignored the signs with Gu Tian, but he wouldn't this time. Whatever he had observed of Anji told him that the woman had a past and it wasn't ordinary. Just her knowing how to hunt and being literate meant that she was from a good family or even part of a sect. So why had she been living as a beggar? Her appearance also confirmed the fact since he could see that she looked far better than the average woman.

A lot of time cultivation had a way to improve your appearance as you remove impurities from your body, but despite that, Anji was a mortal. He couldn't deny the fact. But it simply made the mystery around her far harder to discern.

Should I let her in? Well, I doubt she can be a threat and before I do anything, I would need to know more about her.

As he thought more and more about his decision, Anji stood there with a mix of determination and vulnerability, waiting for his response. Finally, he nodded, his expression softening. “Okay. You can come along. Take a seat inside.”

Anji gave another small, awkward, but grateful bow before climbing into the carriage.

“She’s hardworking,” Xiulan remarked from beside him, her tone light yet approving. “I think she’ll fit in just fine.”

“Hopefully. We will need to learn more about her though,” Chen Ren replied, his gaze shifting to the three children gathered nearby. “What about the others?”

“Not everyone wanted to tag along,” Xiulan explained. “Most of them have spent their entire lives here, so I left them under Lihua’s care. She’ll need help with the stall anyway, and they’re already settled in the servants’ courtyard at the Tang Clan.”

Chen Ren’s brow furrowed slightly. “And Qing He? She didn’t agree to come either?”

Xiulan shook her head. “No. She said she likes her tea stall too much to leave, especially for a village that hasn’t even been properly set up yet. Something about her old bones not wanting to take the journey.” She paused, then added with a small smile, “But she sent you books on cultivation disciplines and told me to remind you to visit her if you need anything.”

Chen Ren chuckled. “I’ll definitely need to see her once we move into the next phase of our plans.” He glanced back at Xiulan. “Did you pack everything?”

“Of course,” Xiulan replied with a confident nod.

Chen Ren smiled. “Then, let’s go.”

He reached for the carriage door and opened it, only to find Yalan already lounging inside. She looked up at him with a mix of boredom and irritation.

“You took forever in there,” Yalan said, yawning. “I got tired waiting for you.”

Chen Ren arched a brow. “Tired? You’re literally lying around doing nothing.”

Yalan scoffed and purred gracefully. “I’m preserving my energy in case some idiotic beast decides to attack us on the road,” she said in her usual elegant tone. “Anyway, enough talk. Let’s get going. We have a sect to build!”

Chen Ren chuckled, shaking his head as he climbed into the carriage. Questions, mysteries and a lot of thoughts filled him as he took his seat, but right now, he knew one thing.

His path on the Dao of Money had just begun and there was a lot for him to explore. But before that, it was finally time to build his own company.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Epilogue 1

The sun broke through the soft mist covering the mountains. Step by step, a lone figure climbed the stone stairs carved into the ancient rock, each step echoing gently in the quiet air. The man dressed in plain yet refined robes moved slowly, as though he wanted to enjoy every moment of the ascent.

He climbed until he reached the peak, where the world opened into a stunning view. Before him stretched a vast, serene land with swaying trees and crystal-clear lakes sparkling under the sunlight—a paradise that could leave any ordinary person breathless.

At the center of the peak sat another figure, his back turned, hands gliding over the strings of an old guqin. The mournful notes floated through the air, both beautiful and sorrowful, as if the instrument itself grieved its solitude in this heavenly place.

The man stopped and took in the sight. For a moment, time seemed to freeze, until the musician finally turned, a small smirk breaking the calm on his face. "I knew you’d come," he said. "But I didn’t expect it to take so long to find me. The cultivators of the Immortal Path aren’t as capable as I thought."

The man scoffed. "Your tricks around the mountains misled them. I killed those who couldn’t see through the illusions," he replied, his voice sharp. The air grew heavy with tension at his words, as though bracing for the fight to come. "Now, it’s your choice: join them in death, or hand over the medallion. I prefer talking before a fight, but my patience is running out. Don’t waste my time, Silver Jade. Give me the medallion, and I’ll spare you. I don’t want to kill you now that you’ve retired."

Silver Jade laughed softly, shaking his head. "Two hundred years in solitude, and people think you’re retired,” he said, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "I can’t give you the medallion. That’s why I hold it, not you. In your hands, it would destroy the world. I’m sorry, but my answer is no."

"I thought you’d say that," the intruder replied, his voice cold. "Looks like I have no choice but to fight you."

As he spoke, the air buzzed with energy, and his body began to change. Shadows curled around him, his skin darkened and cracked like old stone, and horns twisted grotesquely from his forehead, reaching toward the sky. In moments, the man was gone, replaced by a fearsome demonic figure, radiating power and ready to bring destruction to the once-peaceful peak.

Silver Jade didn't even flinch seeing the transformation. “Every time I see that face, Jun, it makes me sick,” he spat, his voice steady but laced with contempt. “I should’ve ended you three centuries ago. But your master saved you when you chose the demonic path. Today, that mistake will be corrected.”

Setting his guqin gently to the side, Silver Jade’s eyes narrowed in focus. A jade sword began to form in his hands, its crystalline surface shimmering under the sun, its razor edge promising swift death. Without another word, he lunged at Jun, his movements fluid and precise, the strike aimed straight at his opponent’s chest.

Jun dodged effortlessly, a sly grin spreading across his face as he soared upward, his mocking laughter ringing through the air. “Oh, is this all you’ve got? That swing couldn’t even touch me!” he jeered, his tone dripping with disdain.

Silver Jade refused to be baited, maintaining his composure as he launched another flurry of strikes, each more calculated than the last. The two clashed high above the ground, their figures blurring as they danced among the clouds. Jun’s every dodge seemed almost lazy, his smugness infuriating as he continued his taunts. “Have you truly fallen this far? Where’s the strength you once wielded? You’re making this far too easy.”

But then, Silver Jade’s blade found its mark. The sharp edge slashed across Jun’s shoulder, and for a brief moment, triumph flickered in Silver Jade’s eyes.

That moment was fleeting.

Dark flames erupted from the wound, racing up the blade toward Silver Jade’s hands. He recoiled, dropping the sword as pain seared through him. “The dark flames…” he whispered, realising dawning. “You… you killed one of the phoenixes to refine them!”

Jun’s laughter echoed once more, darker this time, almost melodic in its cruelty. “Clever, but not quite right. It wasn’t one of the elders—it was one of its hatchlings. A small price to pay for power.” He raised his hand, flames curling and twisting around it with an almost sentient hunger. “These flames don’t just burn, Silver Jade. They heal.”

To prove his point, Jun flexed his shoulder, and the flames consumed the wound, stitching it together as though it had never existed. His grin widened. “Watch closely now—this is the power you’ll never have!”

With a flourish, Jun unleashed a barrage of dark fireballs, each crackling with destructive energy as they sped toward Silver Jade.

Acting quickly, Silver Jade conjured massive jade shields to block the onslaught. The fireballs collided with the barriers, their impact sending shockwaves through the air. But the dark flames burned too fiercely, melting through the jade like it was paper, forcing Silver Jade to twist and dive, narrowly evading the molten destruction.

Jun didn’t let go. A blade of dark fire formed in his hand, glowing ominously as he closed the distance between them. He pursued Silver Jade relentlessly, his strikes gaining speed and ferocity, flames trailing in his wake like a comet. Each clash of their weapons sent ripples of energy tearing through the sky, shaking the mountain below. Rocks crumbled, and the landscape buckled under the force of their battle.

Silver Jade, now pushed to his limits, could feel the strain bearing down on him. Jun’s relentless assault and the regenerative power of his flames tipped the scales heavily in his favor. For every strike Silver Jade managed to land, Jun’s dark flames restored him, erasing the damage and leaving Silver Jade struggling to keep up.

Realizing he was going to lose like this, Silver Jade gritted his teeth and decided to unleash his full power. He dodged another strike and shouted, “Jade Cage Domain!”

The world around them changed instantly. Large ripples of qi blasted out from the man, transforming the world around them. Jade crystals shot up from the ground, forming a glowing yet suffocating cage that surrounded Jun. Silver Jade smirked, confident that he had finally trapped his enemy. But as the jade crystals closed in, Jun’s face shifted. “Your domain is impressive, as always,” he admitted, even as he felt the danger growing closer.

Then Jun raised his arms, flames bursting forth with a fierce energy. “But my domain is nothing to underestimate either,” he countered.

As his power surged, flames spiraled around him, shaping into a terrifying figure—a massive, grotesque phoenix made of dark fire.

The dark phoenix let out a roar, its fiery wings spreading wide as it devoured the jade, turning it to ash in a brilliant blaze that lit up the sky. It rushed toward Silver Jade, ready to engulf him in its fury. The battle’s balance shifted at that moment, their domains clashing to decide their fates and the future of the realms they sought to either protect—or destroy.

The phoenix screeched, its blazing wings scorching the air as it dove toward the jade barriers, its fiery talons tearing through the constructs like molten blades. Energy crackled through the air as Silver Jade summoned a massive green barrier, using the last of his qi reserves to form a glowing shield.

“Burn!” Jun’s voice rang out, triumphant, as the phoenix tore through the shield. Flames consumed the jade domain’s core, and shattered fragments rained down like a storm. Silver Jade fell through the sky. The jade-covered mountain below crumbled, burying the instrument that the man had been playing under piles of rubble.

Jun stepped forward, the phoenix shrinking into a wisp of flame that returned to his hand, taking the shape of a dark, fiery sword. He smiled slowly, his sharp grin full of confidence, as he surveyed the destruction. But as the smoke cleared, his amusement faded.

From the wreckage, Silver Jade rose, encased in a full suit of jade armor. The armor shimmered with a soft glow, power that had saved his life radiating off it.

Jun tilted his head, his blade humming with dark energy. “Still alive? I’ll give you credit—I didn’t expect that. But you must know, this armor of yours—” he gestured with his blade, “—only delays the inevitable.” He stepped closer, his every movement deliberate and heavy with intent.

Silver Jade’s voice broke the silence, strained yet unyielding. “Demon, you can kill me, but you’ll never get the medallion!”

Jun laughed, low and cruel, the sound curling through the air like smoke. “Why not?” He spread his arms, his flame sword hovering near Silver Jade’s throat. “I only want it because it’s holding me back. Progression is my sole purpose—the reason I get up every morning. To ascend. The feeling of reaching the next level of power, breaking past limits... It's the greatest pleasure in the world. Better than any drink. Better than any whore in my harem.” His eyes burned with hunger. “I’ve been starving for that feeling for so long. And now, I’m finally about to have it again. Your righteousness won’t stop me.”

Silver Jade scowled, his fingers twitching as he growled through gritted teeth, “Die!”

June moved to cut off his head, but froze mid-step, his eyes narrowing as he caught the subtle shift in the man’s expression and the power stored within them. Realization dawned on him. “A forbidden technique, is it?” he asked, amusement lacing his voice. “You’re planning to self-destruct. How noble.” He tilted his head mockingly, his grin returning. “But here’s the thing: I’ve got artifacts strong enough to survive it. And when you’re dead, I’ll go straight for your disciples—ah, yes, Lilan and Daomi, wasn’t it? Lovely names. I’ll make sure to hunt them down and kill them, one by one.”

Silver Jade flinched, his moment of hesitation betraying his resolve.

Jun’s smile widened, his blade flaring with dark fire as he prepared to strike. “So, tell me, hero—will you still throw your life away knowing I’ll rain hell on everything you’ve ever cared for?”

Jun’s blade hovered inches from Silver Jade’s throat, the dark flames licking the edges of the man’s shimmering armor. Silver Jade’s gaze hardened, his lips moving silently as if reciting a final prayer. Jun’s eyes narrowed, watching every twitch and flicker of emotion.

“Ah,” Jun said, his tone suddenly light, almost conversational. “You’re thinking of your disciples, aren’t you? Have you heard of them? You know Daomi, that little brat recently became a marquis. Got a shiny, new title, a wife and even have a daughter on the way. How charming.” Jun’s smile darkened. “Do you want me to go there and wreak havoc? Burn their estate, watch their lives crumble? I’m very confident I can escape before the other domain holders arrive.”

The latter’s expression shifted, the anger giving way to something else—fear. He clenched his fists, his armor dimming slightly as his aura faltered.

Jun took a step closer, his smile widening as if savoring the man’s torment. “Ah, even for someone as old as you, someone who has seen more death than most, your disciples are still precious, aren’t they? How dramatic. So, what’s it going to be?” He leaned in, his blade tilting to reflect Silver Jade’s face. “You know me well enough to know I’m fully capable of keeping my promises. Just give me the medallion... and die. You’ve got five seconds.”

Jun raised his hand, counting down with deliberate slowness. “Five... four... three...” He sang the numbers.

“Wait!” Silver Jade’s voice cracked. “I’ll give it to you.”

Jun stopped counting, his grin returning. “Good. A wise choice.”

Silver Jade’s trembling hands reached into his robes, pulling out a medallion that glowed faintly. It bore unique carvings, its energy palpable even at a distance. He extended it toward Jun, who snatched it eagerly.

Holding the medallion up to the light, Jun’s eyes gleamed with triumph. “Finally...” he murmured, his thumb tracing its surface.

“You don’t know what you’re doing, Jun,” Silver Jade said, his voice heavy with regret. “Your master picked you out when you were just a commoner, raised you to a position of power, and now you’ve betrayed everything he stood for—all for the sake of—”

Before the man could finish, Jun’s flaming blade swept through the air, cutting cleanly through his throat. Blood sprayed as Silver Jade’s body collapsed, the jade armor cracking and fading into dust.

“Immortality,” Jun said, finishing the man’s sentence with a smirk. He shook his head, muttering to himself, “I really need to stop killing everyone. My body count must be in the tens of thousands by now.” He chuckled darkly, his eyes returning to the medallion.

As he held it up, studying its patterns, a smile crept across his face. “Finally, I have one piece. Now, if only I can get the others fast enough...”

His words trailed off as a strange sensation washed over him. Jun’s eyes darted to his spatial ring, his smile fading slightly. Something was stirring inside.

With a flick of his wrist, he retrieved a small lantern from its depths. The artifact, made of dark metal and engraved with ancient runes, shimmered faintly in his palm. Inside, a tiny flame flickered, its light dimming with each passing second.

Jun frowned, holding the lantern up to his face as the flame sputtered, shrinking to a faint ember before vanishing completely. A sharp crack echoed through the air as the lantern’s surface split, thin fractures racing along its once-pristine surface.

His eyes widened slightly, his expression unreadable. “Well,” he muttered, his voice low, “that’s... surprising.” He turned the cracked lantern over in his hands, as if searching for answers. “Someone managed to kill Gu Tian and that old master of his. I didn’t expect that.”

Jun chuckled softly, the sound devoid of humor. “Guess you really do see something new every day, even at my age. But the question is...” He stared at the broken lantern, a spark of curiosity gleaming in his dark eyes. “Who could’ve managed it? A master cultivator, perhaps? Some wandering genius? Or...” His lips curled into a wicked grin. “The one who holds the medallion.”

His gaze fell to the lifeless body of Silver Jade, still sprawled on the ground amidst the shattered remnants of his armor. Jun’s voice dropped to a whisper, filled with quiet malice. “Well, whoever it is that holds that medallion... their fate will be the same as his.”

He stepped over the body, his flaming blade dissipating as he slid the medallion into his robes. The air around him grew heavy with his oppressive aura as he glanced toward the horizon, his thoughts already racing ahead to the next step in his pursuit.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Epilogue 2

Li Xuan’s fists were clenched at his sides as he tried to calm his raging qi. He forced himself to focus inward, but the violent energy refused to settle—which meant that his mind was far from balance. But his feet didn’t halter.

He had learned a long time ago that a cultivator’s qi mirrored their emotions, and this unruly force revealed a truth he didn’t want to face—he was not at peace. For the past two weeks, the turbulent energy had followed him like a shadow, throughout his recovery period in his home.

The city lord’s estate, his home, should have been a place of comfort.

His mother had tended to him herself, applying medicinal herbs to his wounds, her soft hands working on him as they always did. She had even gotten pills from an affluent alchemist to help him overcome the paralysis that had gripped him after the battle. They’d worked on him efficiently.

“You did well, my son,” she had said, her voice filled with pride. “You stood tall against a demon. Few could say the same. You will grow stronger, I know it.”

It wasn’t the first time she had spoken such words. As a child, whenever he lost a sparring match against older or more skilled opponents, her voice had been his anchor, a balm for his wounded pride. Yet this time, her encouragement felt hollow, unable to reach the depths of his unease. He’d given her a nod, not commenting on the fact that no matter what, he had still lost.

His father’s reaction had been different. The disappointment in the city lord’s eyes had been subtle but undeniable, like a cold wind cutting through Li Xuan’s fragile sense of accomplishment. Though his father had accepted the truth—that his opponent had been the demonic cultivator who had terrorized the city and wasn't an easy opponent to face—Li Xuan knew the man had expected more. Expected victory, like he always did.

And perhaps that was what stung the most. His mother’s reassurances, his father’s quiet judgment, neither could quell the storm within him. The demon’s mocking laughter still echoed in his mind, the memory of his defeat replaying with merciless clarity.

He sighed as he paused mid-thought, his qi flaring for a moment before settling into its calm state. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he tried to steady chaotic thoughts. But annoyingly, the qi flared up once again.

This won’t work…

He needed control—over his qi, over his emotions, over himself. But the harder he tried, the more calmness seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers.

This wasn’t like him. The Li Xuan he had been before the battle, before the defeat, would never have let himself falter. But the Li Xuan of now—he wasn’t sure who that was anymore.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had let his mother down. No matter how much he thrived to grow stronger, in the end, he had been weak. That realization gnawed at him, leaving an ache deeper than his injuries. In truth, he had also disappointed himself.

Hence, as soon as he had recovered, he had left for the sect, not wanting to stay in bed any longer.

The steps carved into the mountain shadowed before him, and he climbed them at an uncharacteristically slow pace.

He mulled over his defeat, the demon, his parents, and most of all, what his master would say when they met.

His qi flared wildly at the thought of his master, and it took every ounce of focus to suppress it. His master had entrusted him with a simple yet monumental task—kill the demonic cultivator, bringing glory to the sect and himself. But instead, Li Xuan lost. Lost in front of thousands, and he knew the sect would be buzzing with the news. A core disciple like him, bested by a body-forging realm demon, was nothing short of disgraceful, no matter the tricks the demon had employed.

What stung even more was the person who had killed the demonic cultivator in the end.

Less than a year ago, Li Xuan had defeated Chen Ren with ease. Yet now, Chen Ren had slain the demon Li Xuan couldn’t. And not just slain it—Chen Ren had gone further, forming a spirit contract with a dragon, a heavenly creature revered above all else.

It felt unreal, like a tale spun by drunken storytellers. But the traces of heavenly qi lingering in the air during his recovery had been undeniable. His father’s confirmation only solidified it. Chen Ren had done the impossible.

Step by step, Li Xuan climbed, his qi lashing out as his thoughts spiraled.

By the time he reached the sect gates, he felt drained, both physically and mentally. He barely remembered flashing his sect token to the disciples guarding the gate or the brief nod they gave him. He trudged through the inner sect towards his residence, his mind heavy with unease.

On the way, whispers reached his ears—disciples murmuring about his defeat. The rumors were exaggerated, painting his battle in horrifying detail. Some claimed the demon had nearly killed him. Others added embellishments, like how he had begged for mercy. He heard it all, though no one dared approach him.

Li Xuan knew why. They were afraid to be the first to step forward. But beneath that hesitation, he could sense the undercurrent of excitement. His defeat meant they could challenge him, using the excuse of "trading pointers." It was inevitable.

He had been in their place once, a fresh disciple eager to climb the ranks. Back then, he had fought and won every challenge with unshakable confidence. Now, that confidence was a distant memory. As he entered his quarters, Li Xuan clenched his fists, unsure if he had the strength to face the trials that awaited him.

Li Xuan's steps eventually brought him before the imposing doors of his master's chamber. He steadied his breathing and called out, "Master, Li Xuan is here."

"Come in."

As Li Xuan pushed the heavy doors open and entered, an oppressive aura washed over him, pressing down like a weight on his very soul. Instinctively, he fell to his knees and kowtowed, his forehead nearly touching the floor. His master's presence was overwhelming, a testament to the vast gulf between their cultivation levels.

The silence stretched until Master Xiaosheng's voice, sharp and cutting, broke through. "Li Xuan, I sent you to the tournament expecting victory. I gave you a task, yet you failed—not only in winning but also in succumbing to a demonic cultivator. Do you understand the shame you have brought upon the righteous path? For a disciple of my lineage to falter so pitifully, I am left questioning if your mother’s blood has truly weakened you."

The remark struck a nerve, and Li Xuan felt his qi swirl violently, mirroring the storm in his heart. But he forced himself to remain composed, suppressing the chaos within. "Master," he said, his voice steady but tinged with regret, "I accept any punishment you deem fit. There are no excuses for my failure."

Master Xiaosheng’s gaze bore into him, cold and calculating. "You will receive your punishment once I have concluded the sect meetings." He paused, then continued, "But for now, tell me what you know of this Chen Ren."

Li Xuan froze at the mention of the name, his thoughts racing for the reason why his master was asking about him. The Chen Ren he had defeated a year ago and the one who had stood victorious in the tournament seemed like entirely different people. After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke carefully. "Chen Ren is... confident, intelligent, and resourceful. I fought him before, but the man I faced and the one he has become now are worlds apart. He has grown immensely."

His master’s eyes narrowed. "Is it true he bonded with a dragon?"

Li Xuan hesitated. "I did not witness it myself," he admitted, "but there were enough credible witnesses for it to be true."

Master Xiaosheng frowned deeply at that.

"The sect wishes to bring him in. We need to learn more about the elusive dragons that have vanished from this world. Yet he rejected us."

The silence following that statement was thick, laden with his master's discontent. Li Xuan dared not speak further, silently contemplating the implications of his master's words. Months back, Chen Ren himself had taken part in the entrance exams to make his way into the Soaring Sword Sect, but now he didn't wish to do so. Why was that?

"That old fool Elder Yan even defended him," Li Xuan’s master sneered, cutting through his thoughts. "Said we shouldn’t force him, as if such a talent could be left to roam free! But mark my words, I’ll have a meeting to decide the sect’s official stance regarding this Chen Ren. Until then, I’ll be busy. Go train or meditate upon your failure, Li Xuan. When I’m done, I’ll inform you of your punishment. Just know this—fail me again, and you’ll need to find another master! Dismissed!"

Li Xuan didn’t wait for further dismissal. Bowing low, he turned and left the room, his thoughts swirling like the chaotic qi in his dantian.

There was nothing more to say.

But instead of returning to his chamber to rest and reflect, he let his feet guide him to a place that had always offered solace—the forest where he trained every day. The massive trees and rustling leaves brought a sense of calm that he hadn’t felt since the tournament. Because here, in the middle of the wilderness, he could forget everything else except the Dao of the Sword.

Drawing his blade, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The load of the sword in his hand felt familiar, grounding. He took his stance, letting the rhythm of his breathing align with the pulse of his qi. For a moment, peace overcame him.

But then, his master’s words echoed in his mind. Your mother’s blood has weakened you.

His grip tightened on the hilt as his qi swirled violently, breaking the fragile calm. He didn’t fight it this time. Instead, he unleashed it, lightning crackling in the air as his emotions surged unchecked.

His sword moved in an arc, slashing through a nearby tree.

The wood splintered, and the tree crashed to the ground, but Li Xuan didn’t stop. Strike after strike, his blade cut through trunk after trunk, each swing accompanied by bursts of lightning that scorched the earth.

“I am not weak!” he yelled painfully.

The forest became a battlefield, trees falling like soldiers under his resentful assault. Lightning danced wildly around him, lighting up the destruction he wrought. Splinters and shards of wood flew in every direction, some cutting into his flesh, drawing blood, but he didn’t care. He was lost in the craze, his qi spiraling out of control as his strikes grew faster and more erratic.

“I am not weak!” he shouted again, his voice breaking as his knees buckled.

Finally, the storm of lightning around him dissipated, leaving behind a hollow silence. Li Xuan dropped to the ground, panting heavily, his sword slipping from his grasp. His body ached, his qi drained, and as he looked around, he saw the devastation he had caused. The forest clearing was littered with felled trees, an entire stretch of wilderness reduced to rubble by his rage.

He took a shaky breath, his chest heaving as realization set in. His qi, now calm, pulsed faintly in his dantian. The anger that had fueled his frenzy dissipated, leaving behind an emptiness that was almost unbearable.

He whispered to himself, “I can’t keep doing this. If I let my anger rule me... if I keep losing control like this, I’ll become no different from the demonic cultivators I despise.”

Closing his eyes, Li Xuan took several deep breaths, each one slower and more deliberate than the last. He sat there amidst the destruction, the scent of charred wood and ozone heavy in the air, and began to meditate. He had to regain control—not just of his qi but of himself.

Because if he didn’t, he knew he would never rise again.

As Li Xuan sat amidst the carnage of the forest. His breathing steadied a faint clarity began to emerge from the storm of his emotions. He focused his thoughts, letting the silence of the surroundings seep into his mind. Slowly, like a trickle of water carving through stone, his anger gave way to contemplation.

Chen Ren.

The name echoed in his mind, sharper than the whispers he had heard on his way to his chambers. He thought of the man he had defeated not so long ago—a man who had seemed destined for mediocrity. Chen Ren had fallen, humiliated in their duel. Yet, instead of wallowing in defeat, he had risen stronger.

Far stronger.

He had fought and defeated cultivators far above his level, slain a demonic cultivator who had bested Li Xuan, and formed a spirit contract with a dragon—a feat that seemed like a legend told by elders rather than reality. The contrast between them felt like a chasm, and Li Xuan’s fists clenched as the truth settled deep within him.

Could I do it?

The question stabbed at his pride, but the answer was uncomfortably clear. Not like this. Not while anger ruled his heart and chaos consumed his qi. Not while he let his failures weigh him down rather than lift him up.

If he wanted to rise, if he wanted to reclaim his honor, he had to start from the foundation. Control his anger. Master his qi. Refine his swordsmanship. Only then could he think of restoring the pride he had lost.

Li Xuan exhaled slowly, his breath a plume of frost in the crisp mountain air.

Perhaps this is the will of the heavens.

The heavens, after all, did not allow anyone to ascend without trials. They struck down the promising, tested their resolve, and forged the worthy in the fires of adversity. Was this his trial? A hammer blow meant to temper him into something greater?

Shaking his head, Li Xuan rose to his feet. His body ached from the exertion, blood seeping from shallow cuts where splinters had pierced his skin, but he ignored it. He sheathed his sword, his grip firm and resolute.

“Chen Ren,” he muttered, “I will defeat you. The man who killed the demonic cultivator. Dragonheart.”

His gaze swept across the ruined clearing, the destruction standing as a testament to his emotions—wild, uncontrolled, and wasteful. That would not do. Not anymore.

“I will defeat you,” he repeated, louder this time, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. “And I will reclaim my honour like a righteous cultivator should. Just you wait!”

The words hung in the air, a vow etched into the fabric of his being. With one last glance at the destruction he had wrought, Li Xuan turned and began the walk back to the sect, his steps steady, his mind sharper.

The path ahead would be long and arduous, but that was the way of the heavens. And he would tread it, step by step, until he stood above all—including Chen Ren.

***

Qing He turned the lock on the door of her tea stall with a soft click, pausing for a moment before stepping back to give the empty shop one last look. The late evening light filtered through the windows, showing off the worn wooden tables and the simple counter. Her eyes lingered at a particular spot near the window, where a solitary chair stood slightly askew, as if someone had just risen from it.

That was where Chen Ren always used to sit.

She sighed. “By now, he should be far away from the city. Off on his dangerous endeavour, building a sect of all things.” She shook her head, the corners of her mouth twitching. “I don’t know why, but somehow, I feel like he might just pull it off.”

Her thoughts wandered, unbidden, to the golden dragon. A magnificent creature no one had bonded with for centuries, perhaps even longer. Yet, that brat had managed it. The sheer audacity of his achievement spoke of destiny—an immense, cosmic design Chen Ren seemed at the center of.

Destiny was not something Qing He usually placed much faith in. She had lived long enough to see it twisted by human hands. And yet, in this case, she could not deny the pull of something greater. The thought unsettled her, but it also brought a spark of curiosity.

She shook her head again, more firmly this time, brushing away the nagging thoughts. “Destiny or not, he has a long road ahead,” she murmured.

Her footsteps were soft against the wooden floor as she walked down the narrow staircase leading to her private quarters above the shop. The upstairs were quiet, and it was the complete opposite of the noise that usually filled the stall during the day. Her ears craved this sort of quietness.

She paused in front of her library, her fingers brushing softly over the spines.

Without hesitation, she entered it and selected a specific book out of the few dozens she had carefully brought with her to this mortal town. Her hand moved to the back of the bookshelf, pressing a hidden button. With a soft mechanical whir, the entire shelf slid to the side, revealing a secret compartment embedded in the wall.

Inside lay a small collection of books, their covers aged and dusty from years of concealment. Qing He knelt and carefully removed the topmost book, her fingers brushing away the layer of dust to reveal its intricate cover.

The cover was a masterpiece of detail and artistry, depicting the Four Heavenly Beasts.

At the top, the Crimson Phoenix soared gracefully. Opposite it, the Black Turtle coiled protectively around a serpentine dragon, its shell gleaming with emerald colour. Below them, the White Tiger crouched, its eyes fierce and intelligent, its stripes jagged like streaks of lightning—a symbol of martial might and unmatched ferocity. But it was the final figure in the centre that commanded Qing He’s attention—a Golden Dragon.

The dragon’s scales seemed almost alive, shimmering with a lustre that spoke of untamed power. Its piercing eyes glowed with ancient wisdom, and its sinuous body coiled as if ready to spring from the cover itself. The detail was so vivid, Qing He half-expected to feel the dragon’s aura emanating from the book.

She opened the book with care, the pages crackling faintly under her touch. The first image was a portrait of the golden dragon, its form rendered in stunning detail, surrounded by celestial clouds and rays of divine light.

Her eyes lingered on the image as she muttered, “It seems like I need to do some reading of my own for what’s to come.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

PS - Li Xuan will have a good arc I think a lot of people will like. Thank you for reading volume 1. I know there were criticisms by the end of it, but I believe you all be satisfied with volume 2 since Chen Ren will be relying on his wits more.

58. Currency and a new start

Chen Ren looked outside the carriage, his eyes staring off into the distance as his mind raised thoughts about currencies.

On Earth, people had started with bartering—trading goods and services to meet their needs. It was a basic system, full of flaws, but it had worked at the time. Eventually, coins appeared, shaped and made differently depending on the culture.

The Romans had their denarii, the Chinese used cash coins, and other civilizations had their own forms of money. Then came paper money—light and practical for bigger trades. Nations worldwide adopted it, tying it to a global system where its value constantly shifted due to markets and politics.

In this Xianxia world, things weren’t too different, at least for mortals. Bartering had long been replaced by a currency system of copper and silver wens, minted officially by the emperor. These coins kept the mortal markets moving. In fact, a reliable system that everyone followed.

But for cultivators, the rules were different. Their currency had always been the source of their power—Qi. More precisely, Qi in its solid form: spirit stones. These stones were like crystals, holding raw energy inside them. Their worth wasn’t decided by people but by the power they carried.

Chen Ren didn’t know exactly how much Qi was in a single stone. All he knew was that low-grade stones had less energy and weaker power, while higher-grade stones held far more Qi and were much stronger. He didn’t bother with the details. What mattered was collecting as many spirit stones as possible—for himself, his sect, and the goals he had set.

Looking down at the bag in his hands, a small smile crept onto his face. He untied the leather cord and peeked inside at the glowing pile of low-grade spirit stones. The crystals were glowing under the sunlight. He couldn’t help but raise one into the air and closely observe.

Then, he got to work.

He counted them again and grinned. Ninety stones.

He’d started with an even hundred, but before leaving Cloud Mist City, he had spent ten to secure an official status for the Divine Coin Sect. It was a hefty price, and the loss still stung a little.

“Worth it,” he muttered, tying the bag shut swiftly.

For Chen Ren, getting official sect status wasn’t about pride—it was a smart move. An official sect wasn’t only prestigious; it was a shield against heavy taxes.

Now, he didn’t have to pay the steep 20% yearly tax the local authorities collected for the capital. Even better, as his sect’s rank rose, the taxes would drop further. If he could push the Divine Coin Sect to the rank of a Guardian Sect, he wouldn’t owe any taxes at all.

The thought stuck with him, especially when he considered sects like the Soaring Sword Sect. Their endless, fat wealth wasn’t just from their resources; their high status freed them from any tax obligations.

Chen Ren’s hand brushed the pouch of spirit stones tied to his waist as he sat deep in thought. Until a feline voice broke through the silence.

“What are you thinking about with that serious face? You look like you’ve just spotted a meridian expansion realm fish and can’t decide if you should catch it or let it swim away.”

Blinking, Chen Ren turned toward the voice. Yalan, his sharp-tongued feline companion, sprawled lazily across Tang Xiulan’s lap in the carriage. The pair of ambers glinted mischievously as her tail flickered.

To her left, the street children huddled together under a thick blanket, fast asleep. Up front, Anji held the reins behind the small window, her face set with extreme focus as she steered the carriage. She’d insisted on driving to prove herself, tackling the job without a word of complaint.

Chen Ren sighed, leaning back. Mentally, he replied to Yalan, “I was just thinking about spirit stones and how to turn our sect into a Guardian Sect.”

Yalan snorted, her whiskers twitching as if the idea amused her. “Our sect? Last I checked, I haven’t joined anything.”

Chen Ren couldn’t help but smile at her predictable attitude. She’d always been like this.

Shaking his head, he replied, “Stop acting like you don’t care. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

Yalan opened her mouth, ready to speak, but Chen Ren ignored her, pulling out a notebook and quill instead. He began writing. The notebook was something he’d recently decided to maintain—a detailed status of his progress and plans.

The pages already contained his name, age, cultivation level, elemental affinity, techniques, and businesses like a status screen. After a moment of thought, he added a new section: Goals.

1. Uncover the secrets of the medallion and the golden dragon.

2. Explore opportunities for new businesses.

3. Expand the sect.

As he finished jotting down the last line, Yalan’s voice cut through his focus again.

“Alright,” she said. “Let’s say I decide to help you out. I need to know what I’m helping with. You’ve left your businesses behind to play sect leader, but if you want my help, I need to hear your plans—to see if you’re brilliant or just plain stupid.”

Chen Ren smiled wryly, his quill pausing mid-air. Yalan’s bluntness wasn’t new to him, but he also knew her well enough to see through her words. If she’d truly doubted him, she wouldn’t have stayed by his side this long.

Looking up at her, he replied, “First of all, I didn’t leave my businesses behind. They’re in capable hands. I’ll get reports on their progress every two months, and I trust they’ll run smoothly without me micromanaging. Second, as for plans...” He trailed off, his gaze flicking briefly to Tang Xiulan and the children sleeping soundly beside her.

“We do need to talk about that,” he admitted, his tone softening. “A sect isn’t built on ambition alone.”

Yalan tilted her head, her tail swishing as if to urge him to continue.

Chen Ren turned toward Tang Xiulan and put his hand on her shoulders. Her eyes fluttered open, sharp and alert despite the long journey.

“Xiulan,” he began, “I think it’s time we discuss what’s next—what happens when we reach Meadow Village.”

It took a moment for her to reorient herself before she nodded, sitting up straighter. “I’ve been waiting for this conversation, young master. I need to know what you expect from me.”

The air in the carriage grew heavier, but not with tension—with purpose. Chen Ren’s mind spun with possibilities, but now, it was time to turn ideas into action.

"Yes, the first thing should be setting up a base. We’ll hire locals to start construction on a proper sect building. I’ve already sketched out a few plans for that. Once the groundwork is laid, the second priority will be recruitment. You, Anji, and the kids are a great start, but we’ll need more hands—especially cultivators. A sect without cultivators won’t last long. And if trouble comes, there won’t be many people to defend it besides me and—"

Before he could finish, Tang Xiulan interrupted, her voice calm but knowing. “Yalan.”

Chen Ren froze, his eyes widening. “You know?”

Xiulan nodded. “I saw it during the tournament, when she tried to break the barrier. Others were panicking and running, but I wasn’t willing to flee, so I noticed.” Her gaze softened as she looked down at Yalan, gently patting the cat’s sleek fur.

Yalan stiffened slightly at the unexpected gesture, her amber eyes narrowing, but instead of snapping, she allowed it. After a moment, she spoke, her tone carrying an air of haughty amusement. “Well, my dignified self doesn’t have to pretend to be an ordinary cat anymore.”

Xiulan’s eyes widened, her hand stopping mid-stroke. A gasp escaped her lips as she bore her eyes towards the cat. “She... she can talk?”

Chen Ren chuckled, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small grin. “Well, there’s that.” He leaned back, his posture relaxing slightly. “Yalan is... sort of my mentor, or maybe master. Call it whatever you like. She’s also agreed to act as a defender for the sect.”

Yalan let out a small, approving hum, her tail flicking lazily.

“But,” Chen Ren continued, his tone growing serious again, “we can’t rely on just two people to protect the sect. That’s why recruitment is so important. We need people—dedicated cultivators—who can help us grow and defend this place when the time comes.”

Tang Xiulan sat silently, her brows furrowed in thought. After a moment, she spoke hesitantly, “But, young master, why would cultivators join our sect? I don’t mean to question you, but… we’ve built no real reputation outside of your businesses, and those are confined to one city. Most cultivators would prefer to remain rogue than join a new, untested sect. And the ones we do get would likely be—”

“The throwaways,” Chen Ren interrupted. “The ones no one wants. The so-called trash. And that’s fine. I’m not looking for cultivators with unique physiques or a large number of spirit roots. We can do a lot with those who have few spirit roots.”

Xiulan blinked, her lips parting to ask, “How?”

“Do you know how many roots I have?”

She hesitated, clearly wracking her brain for an answer, before finally shaking her head. “No, I don’t.”

“Twenty one,” Chen Ren said simply.

Xiulan’s eyes widened in shock. “Twenty one? But that’s—”

“Abysmal?” he finished with a faint smile. “Yes, I know. And yet, despite that, I’ve been growing faster than most would expect. If I can do it, why can’t someone else?”

Before Xiulan could respond, Yalan’s voice cut in. “Are you forgetting you’re an exception, Chen Ren? Your case isn’t something others can just replicate.”

“Maybe I am an exception. Maybe I’m not. But one thing I’ve learned about myself is that I’m not as special as I sometimes think I am. And even if I am special, I know for a fact that I’m not the only one. Do you really believe there’s only one esoteric Dao in existence? There are countless paths, countless ways to grow.”

Yalan’s tail twitched, but she didn’t interrupt as he continued.

“No one ever said cultivation has to be about fighting, popping pills like a drug addict, or meditating for centuries to progress. That’s just what the Martial Dao has popularized. But cultivation isn’t limited to that. We can think beyond it. We can create something different—a place where growth doesn’t come with the weight of expectations or the burden of conformity.”

Tang Xiulan’s shock slowly melted into contemplation, her gaze softening as she absorbed his words. “A different kind of sect,” she murmured.

Chen Ren nodded. “Exactly. A sect where anyone willing to work hard and think differently can find a place to belong—and grow.”

Yalan let out a soft, amused snort. “Well, that’s certainly ambitious. But I suppose ambition is a good start.”

Chen Ren smiled faintly. “Ambition, a plan, and the right people. That’s all we need.”

Yalan tilted her head. “Mmm, not a bad thought, but finding people like that will be difficult. There's a reason they’re called esoteric Daos—rare and elusive.”

“We won’t know until we start looking. Besides, I’m not planning to rely solely on cultivators for protection.”

Xiulan and Yalan both tilted their heads, curious.

“You two already know my plans to bring mortals into the sect,” he continued.

They nodded, waiting for him to elaborate.

“We just need to give them tools to defend themselves,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Tools that can do real damage, at least against lower-realm cultivators.”

Yalan frowned, her ears twitching. “What kind of tools are you talking about?”

Before Chen Ren could respond, Anji’s voice rang out from the front of the carriage. “We’re nearing the village!”

Chen Ren immediately leaned out the carriage window, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. The landscape opened up before him—a vast expanse of wide plains framed by distant mountains. A dirt road stretched out ahead, winding toward their destination. In the far distance, he could just make out wooden walls. Though they were still far away, his enhanced eyesight allowed him to spot the faint outline.

“Do you want to rest, Anji?” he called out.

She waved him off without looking back. “I’m fine! The village is close anyway. If nothing goes wrong, we’ll get there in forty-five minutes.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than a deep, guttural growl echoed from the forest around them. The carriage shuddered to a halt, and the air grew tense.

The children jolted awake, their wide eyes darting around in fear. “What’s going on?” one of them asked, his voice trembling.

Xiulan leaned out of her seat. “What was that?”

“Probably a wolf beast,” Yalan said nonchalantly. She spoke through mind keeping the kids from finding her identity. “Low tier most likely. We didn’t hear of any stronger ones in this area. But wolves usually move in packs. If they’re around, it’s better to deal with them now before they start chasing us.”

“Stay inside.”

Chen Ren stepped out of the carriage, leaving them inside.

Yalan leaped out gracefully, landing beside him. She stretched, her claws extending slightly. “If they’re weak, you can handle them. If not, I’ll jump in.”

Chen Ren smirked. “Good to know you’ve got my back.”

The forest remained eerily silent for a moment, the growl from earlier still echoing faintly in their minds. Then, a rustling sound came from the underbrush, followed by the unmistakable sound of low growls.

Chen Ren tightened his grip on the weapon—a sleek spear with runes etched along its length for more piercing damage and durability, the gift from the city lord.

He glanced over his shoulder at Anji, who was frozen in place, her hands gripping the reins tightly. Her face was pale, but she wasn’t panicking, just waiting for instructions.

“Get inside the carriage,” he said calmly, his tone firm but not harsh. “I’ll handle this.”

Anji blinked, then nodded wordlessly, climbing into the carriage with a speed that belied her hesitation. The children huddled together, watching anxiously as the door shut behind her.

Just as Chen Ren turned his focus back to the forest, another growl cut through the tense silence. It was louder, closer. His sharp eyes scanned the dense foliage, his muscles coiled like a spring.

For a long moment, nothing happened. The forest seemed unnaturally still, the usual sounds of rustling leaves and chirping insects absent. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, a dark blur shot out from the trees.

It was a wolf—larger than he’d expected. Its fur was pitch black, almost blending into the shadows of the trees, and its teal eyes gleamed with predatory hunger. It leaped from the trees, aiming directly at Chen Ren with its jaws wide open, sharp teeth glinting menacingly.

***

Haoran looked at the stack of letters piled high on the ornate desk in their office. These were the reports sent to their department from all across the Kalian Empire, a routine correspondence from every corner of the realm. Sorting through them had become a habit since they had taken on the role of one of the attendants to Princess Yanyue.

This practice wasn’t new; it was a system established by the previous emperor near the end of his reign. Under this system, every ruler—from the smallest village chief to the most powerful city lord—was required to submit a monthly report detailing the events within their jurisdiction. These reports covered everything from mundane administrative updates to notable discoveries, such as hidden artifacts or emerging talents.

The purpose was clear: to ensure the royal family remained informed of anything unusual or promising, no matter how remote or minor it might seem. From these reports, key information would be carefully cataloged, creating a detailed repository of knowledge that allowed the royal family to keep tabs on potential threats, opportunities, and the shifting dynamics of power within the empire.

Of course, the system wasn’t perfect. Not everything made it into the letters. Talents were often concealed, kept hidden by their families or patrons to protect them from royal scrutiny—or exploitation. Ancient ruins weren't informed about, not letting the royal family get their hands on it. And then there were the lords who deliberately withheld vital information, preferring to keep their findings to themselves rather than share them with a royal family that had, over time, become little more than observers.

Still, the letters were a window into the empire’s pulse, and Haoran knew better than to overlook them. Even the smallest detail could hold the key to something extraordinary—or disastrous. With a quiet sigh, they picked up the first letter, the seal still unbroken, and began to read.

It was already well into the day when the attendant found himself still sorting through the mountain of letters. Some reports were dry, simply confirming the usual—everything normal, no disturbances to report. Others, however, contained more intriguing tidbits. One lord in the northern region, Zhang Ma, mentioned a mountain that had been destroyed—possibly a result of a clash between high-realm cultivators or a battle with a powerful beast. The lord had little proof, but the attendant found it noteworthy. Another report detailed the discovery of a new ghost ruin on the western side of the empire, while others spoke of skirmishes between the barbarians and the border lords.

As the attendant moved through the letters, one report from the City Lord of Cloud Mist, Li Baolong caught his eye. For a while, the letter seemed uneventful, just like the others—nothing but routine updates. He half-expected it to be the same as always, filled with trivial matters.

But as he reached the middle section, the attendant's eyes widened more with every passing line. It started innocuously enough—just a mention of a demonic cultivator on the loose, then the annual tournament. But then, the mention of an unexpected turn of events in the tournament caught his attention. A cultivator, once insignificant and unknown, had killed the demonic figure—Gu Tian. The report said the cultivator was blessed by the golden dragon itself and had even earned the nickname of “Dragonheart.”

The attendant blinked, unsure if he had misread it. He read the passage again, his heart thudding in his chest. Then he read it one more time, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. There were no disclaimers, no signs of humor. It wasn’t a joke. It was written in an official report, which made it even more impossible to dismiss.

Lying in an official letter was considered a serious crime, one no lord would risk, especially not for something as absurd as this. No, this had to be true. He could feel a chill running down his spine as it settled in. A dragon—the dragon—had appeared in the empire after thousands of years.

The attendant didn’t hesitate. Normally, he would have set the letter aside, continued his work, and moved on to the next report. But this... this was far beyond his usual duties. The implications of this discovery were monumental, and there was only one person he needed to inform.

Without wasting a second, the attendant gathered the letter in his hands, his heart still racing, and left his chambers.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

59. Little yuze

Zi Han shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his fingers drumming nervously against his thigh. His excitement was barely contained as he stared at the stopped carriage just beyond the tree line. The low growl of Little Yuze—rumbled at his side, a sound that sent a chill through the group of ragged villagers gathered nearby.

Zi Han couldn’t help but glance down at the creature. Little Yuze was majestic, a wolf unlike any he’d ever seen—and he was certain, the wolf was unlike any that anyone had ever seen. No wolf can be tamed after all.

His pitch-black fur was shiny enough to make his fur appear as grey at times, but Zi Han knew the wolf was plain black except for the silver streak that ran boldly from his forehead to his tail. He had teal eyes. He’d never seen a wolf with such eyes, and his presence alone seemed to fill the group with confidence, even as hunger gnawed at their bellies.

It had been nearly a week since a carriage had passed through this desolate road, and the past days had been harsh. The village’s meager food stores were thinning fast, and aside from the few beasts Little Yuze had managed to bring down with the help of the village hunters, they hadn’t had a proper meal in days. Zi Han’s stomach twisted in both hunger and anticipation as he studied the carriage.

Fate, it seemed, had finally smiled upon them.

Zi Han turned to glance at the villagers, their gaunt faces and sunken eyes a grim reminder of their plight. They weren’t bandits, not in their hearts. They were farmers and laborers, forced into this life by the harsh will of the heavens. When Zi Wen, Zi Han’s elder brother, had stumbled upon Little Yuze as a pup—rescued him from a hunter’s cruel trap—it had felt like a blessing from the Agricultural God himself.

Now, Little Yuze was their greatest strength.

The past year had taught them well. Carriages like this one—sturdy, covered, and plain—were likely owned by small-time merchants traveling to or from the nearest market town. Zi Han knew the plan by heart: Little Yuze would scare the merchant and any guards into fleeing, while the villagers would step in to claim whatever food, coin, or supplies they could. There would be no bloodshed, no senseless killing. They weren’t murderers—just desperate souls trying to survive the harsh cards the heavens had dealt them.

“Zi Han,” came the quiet voice of his brother Zi Wen. The older man stepped forward, his beard with white streaks tied in a knot right below his chin. “Stay calm. If they run, we take what we need and leave. If they fight… we’ll handle it.”

Zi Han nodded, clenching his fists to steady himself. He glanced once more at Little Yuze, whose nose twitched as if sensing something. The wolf’s tail flicked, his teal eyes narrowing toward the carriage.

Beside him, Zi Wen’s voice came in a whisper. “Someone’s coming out.”

Zi Han’s grip on his knife tightened instinctively. He held his breath, the tension crackling in the air. But when the figure stepped out of the carriage, the breath he was holding released in a soft sigh of relief.

The man didn’t look like much of a fighter. He wasn’t fat—his build was lean and his height imposing—but there was a softness about him that told Zi Han everything he needed to know. The man carried himself with the casual ease of someone who’d never had to struggle for survival. His clothes were clean and finely tailored, his expression one of quiet detachment. He looked like the pampered son of some merchant clan, a man accustomed to wealth and comfort, not hardship.

Zi Han’s eyes darted to the carriage, expecting a guard or two to emerge. Surely no merchant would travel alone, not on these roads. But no one came other than a cat. Even the girl who had been driving the carriage remained seated inside.

A bad feeling wormed its way into Zi Han’s gut, prickling at his nerves. Something felt wrong. But he forced himself to stay calm. It would be fine. It always was.

“I don’t think anyone else is coming out,” he muttered to his brother.

Zi Wen, the broad-shouldered man, frowned. His black hair, tied loosely at the nape of his neck, swayed as he shook his head. “What do we do then? The man doesn’t even look afraid.”

Zi Han glanced at the supposed merchant again. The man stood relaxed, his eyes lazily scanning the woods, as if he had all the time in the world. There wasn’t even a flicker of fear on his face.

“Then we give him a reason to get scared,” Zi Han said. He gestured toward the wolf. “Little Yuze can handle it. Scare him off, then we’ll loot the carriage like always.”

Zi Wen grunted in agreement and turned to pat the wolf’s sleek black fur. Little Yuze stretched lazily before rising to his feet, his teal pair locking onto the man standing before the carriage.

“Little Yuze, you know what to do,” Zi Wen murmured.

The wolf’s ears twitched, and for a moment, it almost looked like he nodded. Then, with a powerful leap, Little Yuze sprang into action, his dark form cutting through the air as he launched himself toward the man.

Zi Han watched with wide eyes, his heart pounding with excitement. Any moment now, the merchant would panic, stumble back in fear, and flee.

But instead, the man remained perfectly still, his expression unreadable.

As Little Yuze’s claws slashed dangerously close, the man sidestepped with a fluid grace, his movements almost too quick to follow.

“What—” Zi Han’s words caught in his throat.

Little Yuze snarled, spinning mid-air to strike again. His claws lashed out, but once more, the man evaded with a speed that defied reason.

Before Zi Han could process what was happening, a flicker of light erupted from the man’s palm—lightning, crackling and alive. The man charged forward, his movements as precise as they were deadly, and struck Little Yuze square in the chest with an open palm.

The impact sent the wolf sprawling to the ground with a pained yelp.

“No!” Zi Wen’s cry was muffled as Zi Han clapped a hand over his brother’s mouth, dragging him down behind the brush.

“Be quiet,” Zi Han hissed. Though his own mind went into a shock and his heart raced as he watched the man straighten, lightning still danced faintly around his fingertips.

“That’s a cultivator,” he said, the words trembling on his tongue. His face turned pale as he glanced at his brother. “Straight out of one of those sects. We—” He swallowed hard. “We just attacked a cultivator.”

Zi Wen’s eyes widened in horror.

“We’re dead,” Zi Han whispered, his voice barely audible. “We’re all dead.”

Zi Han's heart pounded in his chest as despair tightened its grip around him. His mind raced with the countless stories he had heard of cultivators—beings who walked the path of immortality, wielding powers that could crush mortals like insects. Tales of their indifference and cruelty filled his thoughts. He recalled a traveling nomad recounting how a cultivator had crippled a man for the simple mistake of stumbling in his path. Now, they had attacked one.

They had attacked one.

“What are we going to do?” a trembling voice whispered behind him.

Zi Han turned, his face pale. “I... I don’t know.” He heard the crack of his voice.

Another villager pointed toward the injured wolf. “Little Yuze... he’ll kill the wolf.”

Zi Wen’s jaw tightened as his eyes fixated on his wolf, lying prone on the ground. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “No. I can’t let that happen. If someone has to die, it’ll be me.” He stood up from where he was and prepared to leave to face the wrath of the cultivator.

Zi Han grabbed his brother’s arm, his grip firm despite the tremor in his hands. “Don’t be an idiot! Your life is far more precious than mine or Little Yuze.” He glanced back toward the road, where the wolf was struggling to rise, its legs trembling. Little Yuze’s eyes burned with hatred as he glared at the cultivator, but his body betrayed him. Whatever that lightning technique was, it had left him shaken, his strength drained.

Zi Han swallowed hard. Even if he hated to admit it, he knew the wolf wouldn’t survive. But they had to. They had fought too hard for survival over the past year, enduring hunger, disease, and the slow decay of their village. None of it would matter if they all died because of this.

A grim thought struck him, sinking its claws into his heart. If they offended the cultivator further, their entire village could be wiped out. His parents—frail and weary—wouldn’t survive the news of their deaths. Worse, the cultivator might not stop with them. The village was remote, far from the eyes of law and governance. Even if justice existed, no one would come to check on a tragedy in a forgotten corner of the world. And by the time anyone did, the cultivator would be long gone.

Zi Han was about to order everyone to run when a cold, commanding voice shattered the silence.

“I know you’re there,” the cultivator said. “Come out, or I will kill the wolf. Then I’ll chase you. You know I can do that easily.”

Zi Han froze. His breath caught in his throat as he turned to the villagers, their faces stricken with terror. The older men and women looked at him with pleading eyes, while the younger ones clung to each other, trembling.

Only Zi Wen remained calm, his eyes free from fear. Concern etched deep into his features, but it wasn’t for himself or the others. He knew that it was for Little Yuze.

Zi Wen looked at him. “What should we do now?” He asked the same question that had been raking in his mind the entire time.

Zi Han felt his throat tighten. His brother had always been the stronger of the two, in both body and will. But now, that strength was no use. Not against someone with powers straight from the heavens.

“You all can run,” Zi Wen said suddenly. “I’ll go out. He knows there are people, but I don’t think he knows how many. If I go alone, maybe...”

Zi Han’s eyes widened in panic as he grabbed his brother’s arm. “No! I can’t leave you here!”

Zi Wen’s eyes softened as he glanced back at Little Yuze, the injured wolf lying in the dirt. “And I can’t leave him. If I run now, I’d be going against our bond. That’s not who I am. Just go, Zi Han. Save yourself. Stop being so stupid when the times want you to be brave. Do what you must, run!”

Zi Han’s grip tightened, his hands trembling with both fear and frustration. “I’m not leaving you! If anyone should go, it’s the others.” He turned toward the small group of villagers hiding behind the trees. “You all go! Get back to the village!”

But the villagers hesitated, their faces pale as they exchanged nervous glances. No one moved.

“We’re not leaving you two behind,” one of the older men said, his voice trembling but resolute.

Zi Han’s heart twisted in frustration. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They needed to escape, to survive. But as he opened his mouth to argue, a ripple of unease washed over him. The faint sound of movement caught his ear—too fast, too quiet to belong to any of the villagers.

He turned his head sharply, and his breath caught in his throat.

The cultivator was standing right in front of him.

Zi Han’s legs gave out beneath him, and he dropped to his knees, overwhelmed by the sheer presence of the man. The air around him pressed down, as if it were charged with invisible energy, and his calm, calculating gaze bore into them all like a hawk surveying its prey.

“You all were taking too much time,” the cultivator said. “So I decided to come find you myself.”

Zi Han’s mouth went dry as the man’s eyes swept over them. His casual stance didn’t hide the sharpness of his presence, like a blade hidden in plain sight.

The cultivator’s gaze fell on Little Yuze, then shifted back to the group. He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s going on here? And when did bandits start taming wolves?”

***

Chen Ren stood in the middle of the road, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight before him. The group of ragged men knelt in front of him, heads bowed low. Even the wolf—an impressive beast with matted fur and a low growl—had lowered itself to the ground, its sharp eyes cautiously trained on him. It no longer glared with the anger he had seen before, but Chen Ren could tell it was still on edge, especially with his attack.

Behind him, Xiulan and the others stood in tense silence, watching the strange scene unfold. And for a few seconds, nothing happened. They all patiently waited.

It was Tang Xiulan who finally broke the stillness.

“What are we going to do with them?” she asked, her voice uncertain but curious.

Chen Ren glanced back at her, then turned his attention to the group. “Well, that depends,” he said evenly, his voice carrying enough authority to make the kneeling men flinch. “As you can see, they’re not the usual kind of bandits. At least, I haven’t heard of bandits taming wolves before. Or is that something common around here?” He directed his question at the group.

One of the men—a wiry figure with dirt-streaked clothes and desperation etched across his face—raised his head slightly. “No, Lord Cultivator,” he said quickly, his voice trembling. “Little Yuze was tamed by my brother when he was just a pup. It listens to him because of their bond.”

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting to the wolf, then back to the man. “And you’re using it to loot and kill merchants and travelers?”

The man shook his head vehemently. “No, Lord Cultivator! We haven’t killed anyone! We just… we just use Little Yuze to scare people off so we can take their belongings. We swear, we’ve never taken a life, nor do we intend to.”

Chen Ren let out a low hum. “So you’re thieves, not murderers,” he said. “That at least makes things easier.”

The man’s face paled, and he stammered, “Lord Cultivator, please! Don’t kill us! If someone must pay for this, let it be me. This was my idea!”

Chen Ren’s lips twitched upward in a faint, humorless smile. “You can call me Young Master. I have a name and it's Chen Ren, and I’m not going to kill anyone. But I will hand you over to the village guards. I’m sure they’ll have plenty to say about this. What village are you from?”

The men exchanged uneasy glances before the leader mumbled, “We’re from Meadow Village, Young Master.”

Chen Ren’s brow lifted slightly. “Meadow? Well, that makes things convenient. I’m headed there myself. I’ll turn you over to the guards and let them deal with you. That should serve as an appropriate punishment.”

The men tensed. The one who spoke had his eyes widened at what Chen Ren said but he replied with nothing. He looked down on the ground as if contemplating something before finally opening his eyes.

“Young Master, that won’t work.”

Tang Xiulan, who’d already walked and stood behind Chen Ren, frowned. “Why not?”

The man looked at her, shame flickering in his eyes. “Because, Young Miss… I’m the one who leads the village guards.”

Chen Ren blinked, surprised, as Xiulan’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re the guard captain?” she asked incredulously.

The man nodded, his face flushed with humiliation.

Chen Ren folded his arms, his expression turning cold. “If you’re the guard captain, why are you resorting to banditry? Explain yourself.”

“It’s a long story, Young Master,” the man said, lowering his gaze. “None of us here are actual bandits. I’m the captain of the guard, my brother is a hunter, and the others are just farmers. But after our crops were destroyed last year, we had no choice but to turn to this… this disgraceful path. It’s been like this for a year now. All our stored rations ran out long ago.”

Chen Ren’s gaze sharpened. “Don’t lie. The harvest this year wasn’t bad. I heard it myself from traders in the city.”

The man’s shoulders slumped, and he shook his head. “It wasn’t the weather or anything like that, Young Master,” he said quietly. “It was… the locust swarm. They came last season, and they didn’t leave us a single stalk standing.”

Chen Ren frowned, his expression darkening. A locust swarm, so close to a village on the edge of civilization? He glanced back at Xiulan, whose face was set in a mixture of shock, confusion and pity.

“Well,” he said slowly, turning his gaze back to the kneeling men. “That does complicate things. But, locusts?” he asked. “Can’t you kill them?”

The man wiped a hand over his face, his expression a mix of frustration and despair. “We tried, Young Master,” he said, shaking his head. “But our usual methods don’t work against them. They aren’t normal locusts—they’re magical, like wild beasts. They’re too many, and they’re too strong. They tear through everything. Everyone abandoned the farms because of them.”

“And you sent word to the nearby lords?”

“We did,” the man said bitterly. “But no one came. They told us they’d send a cultivator from a sect to handle it, but… no one ever showed. It’s been months.” His voice broke, and tears spilled down his cheeks. “We didn’t know what else to do. We couldn’t let everyone starve.”

Chen Ren fell silent, his thoughts swirling. If what the man said was true, it wasn’t hard to guess what might have happened. A city lord could have intercepted the request, redirecting it to a sect as protocol dictated. But a mission to handle magical locusts? It wasn’t the kind of task that would appeal to a sect disciple. No glory, no treasures—just hard labor and frustration.

As he mulled over the situation, a familiar voice echoed in his mind.

“Don’t kill them,” Yalan said. “At least not the one with the wolf. He’s… interesting.”

Chen Ren clicked his tongue. “I’m not killing anyone,” he then addressed the group. “Lead us to your village. Especially your farms. I want to see these locusts for myself.”

***

The journey to the village was tense, the air heavy with unspoken fears. Chen Ren walked in silence, choosing to keep his thoughts to himself. He didn’t press the men for more answers, knowing that words wouldn’t matter until he saw the situation with his own eyes. Beside him, the group trudged along, their heads bowed like condemned prisoners on their way to the gallows.

Chen Ren’s gaze drifted to the wolf padding beside its master.

Despite its imposing size and wild appearance, the creature behaved like a trained hound. It stayed close to the hunter named Zi Wen, moving in sync with him. Not once did it growl or bare its teeth at the strangers surrounding it. Instead, it followed its master with a quiet loyalty, its sharp eyes constantly scanning its surroundings.

The sight was strange yet fascinating.

When the group finally reached the village, the heavy silence shattered. People began to gather, their voices rising with concern and anger. Villagers spilled into the narrow streets, their faces etched with worry as they called out to the men.

“Where have you been?”

“What’s going on?”

“Did you bring food?”

The questions came in a flurry, overlapping in a chaotic chorus. Chen Ren stepped forward, raising a hand to calm the crowd. His voice was loud and he demanded attention. “There will be time for explanations later,” he said. “Right now, I need to see your farms.”

The villagers hesitated, their questions hanging in the air, but they eventually stepped aside to let him pass.

No one dared to ask questions considering that it was a new face, and their familiar faces showed defeat.

Chen Ren led the way, while scanning his surroundings. The village was small and worn, its buildings leaning with age. Everywhere he looked, he saw signs of struggle. The people were thin, their faces pale and gaunt. Children clung to their mothers, their wide eyes filled with fear and hunger. The hollow cheeks, darkened eyes, dry lips, shaky hands—they were all common in everyone around.

As he walked through the village, Chen Ren’s thoughts churned. Whatever these men might have done, it was clear they were part of this place. The way the villagers reacted to them—with familiarity and desperate hope—proved that much. They weren’t lying.

After a short walk, they reached the edge of the farmlands. Chen Ren came to an abrupt halt, his breath catching as his eyes widened.

What lay before him was devastation.

The fields, which should have been full of life, were barren and lifeless. The ground was stripped bare, as though something had scoured it clean. The few plants that remained were skeletal, their leaves riddled with holes and their stems broken. And in the middle of it all, hundreds of locusts hovered.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

60. Force of good

Chen Ren’s eyes drifted over the vast farmlands that were stretched out before him. He had guessed the situation was bad, but he hadn't expected to see a sea of buzzing locusts.

Or, perhaps, he couldn't quite call them that. Though they resembled the crop-eating grasshoppers that plagued farmlands everywhere. They were easily twice—some even thrice—the size of their smaller cousins, their bodies thick with muscle, their wings flicking in erratic movements. Their legs were tipped with sharp claws, and their mandibles gleamed wickedly as they chomped at the crops.

Chen Ren squinted, trying to make sense of the scene. These weren’t just any locusts. These were beasts. What grade, he couldn't say. But his senses tingled with the unmistakable pressure of power, and he could tell—at the very least, they were solidly in the middle of the body forging realm. He had no doubt they were far more troublesome than the bandit-turned-guard had described.

He narrowed his eyes on the locusts for a while, taking in the massive swarms that covered the crops, flitting about in a chaotic dance of hunger and aggression. One thing that unsettled him was the sheer size of the creatures, and another thing was the way they moved—like soldiers, perfectly coordinated and terrifyingly efficient.

Turning away, he caught sight of the guard bandit again, who was now whispering to an older, burly man. The man stood nearly half a foot taller than the guard, his thick arms bulging under his clothing. As soon as they saw Chen Ren’s eyes on them, both men straightened. The older man moved to bow deeply in respect, but Chen Ren waved his hand to stop him.

"There’s no need for that," he said. "I have some questions."

The old man straightened again, his eyes meeting his. "Of course, my lord," he replied. "I'm the village chief here, Muyang. What is it you wish to know?"

Chen Ren's gaze flicked back to the locusts, narrowing his eyes. "When did those locusts first appear?"

The old man paused, clearly troubled by the memory. He raked his hand through his greyed hair, frustration clearly evident in his eyes. He hesitated before answering, as though it still haunted him. "They came out of nowhere, my lord. About a year ago. At first, we thought it was just a strange season, a few stragglers—nothing to worry about. But then, one day just before the harvest... they came in a swarm. A swarm like no other. They covered the entire farm, like a black tide that swallowed everything. We couldn't fight them off, no matter what we did. We couldn’t even drive them away."

Chen Ren's eyes narrowed further as he studied the man, who then lifted his hand, showing a deep scar along his palm. The scar was spiky, the skin still raw. "I got this from them. They don’t attack us here, but if we get too close to the crops... they turn on us. All at once."

Chen Ren’s eyebrows raised at that.

“They seem more like beasts than ordinary locusts," he said. "I doubt any of you would be able to do anything about them."

Chief Muyang sighed deeply, a weary, regretful look crossing his face. "That’s why we sent for a cultivator from the sects," he explained. His eyes flickered to the guard bandit, then back to Chen Ren, before a pause hung between them. "I heard from Zi Han that you are a cultivator. Are you the one sent by the sect?"

Chen Ren shook his head. "No, I wasn’t sent by a sect. I won a plot of land here in a tournament held in Cloud Mist City, and the deed to a good area was awarded to me." He glanced at Tang Xiulan, who rummaged through her bag before she passed the deed over to him. He took it and handed it to the old man.

He read through it carefully, his eyes scanning each line. As he reached the end, a spark of recognition lit up in his face. "Yes, this is right. You are indeed the landholder here," he said, looking back up at Chen Ren. "Are you going to live here from now on, my lord?"

"I might not be here all the time," Chen Ren replied, "but I do plan to set up a place for myself and my people here. It will be more than just a few buildings for various purposes."

Chief Muyang nodded thoughtfully. "I understand. Then as the chief of this village, I welcome you to Meadow. If you need anything, my lord, you may come to me. It would be an honor to serve a cultivator such as yourself."

Chen Ren inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Chief Muyang. I would like you to show me my place first, but on the way, I’d like to discuss something with you."

The village chief looked at him in surprise. "What is it, my lord?"

"Just about the bandit activities some members of your village are involved in, and how much you know about it. Based on how you interact with Zi Han, it seems you know more than you let on. I don't know if they told you, but I met them when they attacked my carriage, with little Yuze, the wolf."

At the mention of the wolf, the village chief's face fell, his expression darkening. He glared at the bandit guard standing beside him, fury and guilt flashing in his eyes.

Without warning, the village chief dropped to his knees, his forehead touching the ground in a deep bow.

"Please forgive us, my lord," he said.

***

Chief Muyang remained on the ground for a long while, his forehead pressed firmly to the earth. It was only after Chen Ren promised that he wasn't going to kill or cripple anyone that the man relaxed slightly and the weight seemed to be lifted from his shoulders.

The apologies didn’t stop, however. As they moved through the village on their way to Chen Ren’s plot of land, Chief Muyang continued to mutter his regrets.

Chen Ren listened, but his mind was elsewhere. Truthfully, he had thought of punishing the bandits, villagers or not, because what they were doing was wrong. But as he walked through the village and saw the malnourished faces around him—people whose eyes lacked the spark of vitality, children who looked more like shadows than young ones—he reconsidered. His heart softened, if only a little.

A part of him knew what desperation could drive people to do, especially when their lives were so harsh. And while what they were doing was a crime, they hadn’t taken any lives. A punishment, especially for the villagers, would only sour his relationship with them, and that would undermine—ruin the larger plans he had—plans that required the cooperation of many in this village.

Chief Muyang’s continuous words of apology faded into the background as Chen Ren’s mind focused on his own thoughts. He needed this place to work, to run smoothly, and antagonizing them now would set things back.

When they reached the plot of land, the village chief all but rushed to leave, eager to put distance between himself and the tension of the situation. "If you need anything, my lord, please don’t hesitate to come to me," he said, before practically running off, as though fleeing from some unseen danger.

The people around them seemed to scatter as well, either out of fear or simply because Chen Ren was there.

He noticed the wary glances thrown his way when they were walking away—eyes that lingered just a little too long, then quickly looked away. The village hadn't seen many cultivators, and to them, he must have seemed like a rare, dangerous creature—a panda in a sea of mundane life.

But, he didn’t care. He had a task to focus on. The reason he had come here was to inspect his property, and that was exactly what he would do.

He walked toward the plot, the old homes slowly coming into view. It was a far cry from the wide courtyards and rooms of Tang Manor, that much was certain. But it wasn’t bad.

There were three houses in total, all two stories tall, their backsides open for whatever they wanted to do with them.

Chen Ren could see the potential immediately. The land didn’t end there, either. It stretched far beyond, towards the mountains and fields in the distance. If he wanted to, he could build further, creating something that might even resemble a sect's compound, with towering buildings and expansive courtyards.

But for now, he had to deal with an enemy he never liked—dust. It was everywhere on the houses, thick and persistent.

He looked at the nearest houses and decided to step inside. And just as he did, Yalan entered with the children, her little nose scrunching as she coughed from the dust. She shot him a look, her eyes wide with distaste.

"I can’t live like this," she declared dramatically. "I don’t like stuff in my paws."

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow, his gaze falling to her, before offering a small smile. "It’s temporary. We’ll get it all cleaned up."

Yalan immediately shot a glare at him. "You’ll get it all cleaned up," she corrected him firmly, her voice dripping with mock dignity. "Don’t put me and you together. You can barely clean up your own mess. Imagine cleaning all this.”

Chen Ren chuckled at Yalan's antics, enjoying the banter, but his thoughts were quickly interrupted as Xiulan entered, looking determined. "Young master, I can clean it up with the kids and Anji," she offered, looking at the place with a neutral gaze. If she was repulsed, she didn’t show.

The kids, however, didn’t seem thrilled by the idea. All of their faces soured as they looked around the house. It was clear they weren’t eager to do any labor, and Chen Ren caught their eye.

"One house is okay," he said. "But there are three houses here, and you’ll need to set up a production place for our next products. It’ll be too much work for you all."

Tang Xiulan cleared her throat. "Then what are we going to do?"

Chen Ren leaned against the dusty wall, eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. "I’ll get men from the village chief. Those bandits… villagers," he said, pausing for a beat as he corrected himself, "They probably have some free time now that we intercepted their attack. I’ll put them to work here."

Xiulan seemed a bit skeptical. "Will they agree to it?"

Chen Ren smirked, confident. "I’d be surprised if they don’t. They’ll see it as a way to earn my forgiveness. And while they’re working, I can inspect the locusts."

The kids, meanwhile, had wandered off, inspecting the building curiously. Anji was leading the charge, poking her head around corners, while Yalan and the others explored further. Their energy seemed to pick up as they moved through the space, even if they weren’t thrilled about the idea of labor.

After a moment, Yalan seemed to walk back into the conversation, her tone suddenly loud and eager. "Do you want to solve the problem?" she asked, looking up at Chen Ren with bright eyes.

"Yes, it’s an easy way," he replied, not missing a beat.

Yalan tilted her head, still curious. "To do what?"

"Earn their allegiance," Chen Ren said simply.

Yalan snorted in disbelief. "Ain’t you being a cultivator enough? These people treat you like a god. Isn’t that enough?"

Chen Ren’s smirk turned into a more thoughtful expression, his gaze flicking back to the village in the distance. "A god they’re scared of," he replied quietly.

He knew full well the villagers viewed him as something more than just a man—someone with immense power and potential—but fear was the last thing he wanted to cultivate. He would rather have their respect, their loyalty, not just a shaky reverence that could collapse at the first sign of trouble.

Chen Ren took a deep breath, eyes scanning the land before him. He had always prided himself on using his strength wisely, and he knew that fear would only take him so far.

He had bigger plans—plans that required trust and loyalty, not submission through intimidation. He turned to Yalan. "Even if I wanted to take the easy route and just order them around, I can't build something lasting on fear. It will break one day. I need them to see me as a force of good, not just a powerful cultivator who demands their service."

Yalan’s ears twitched as she processed his words and her paws stretched. She wasn’t one to easily give up a chance for a good verbal fight, but she understood the larger picture.

After a beat, she spoke up. "Then do you want me to burn the locusts down? I’m pretty sure I can do it."

"No. That would burn away the ground too and they might run away before we can kill all of them. We’ll have to find another way. But for now," he glanced around at the group, "I need something to take my mind off things before we start making our next product and begin recruiting."

"Recruitment for the sect?" Xiulan asked.

Chen Ren nodded. "Yeah, we need more men before our next product is ready. I’d like you to stay here—this place needs organization and care, and the kids aren’t old enough to travel. As for Yalan..." He glanced at the feline, who was lounging nearby, seemingly indifferent, "Well, she’s... a cat to others." Yalan let out a huff at the comment, but didn’t argue.

Chen Ren turned back to Xiulan, his tone softening. "That leaves me and Anji. I still need to learn more about her, and we need more people—people who can work for us and help spread our products across the empire.”

With the conversation winding down, Chen Ren shifted his gaze toward the mountains in the distance, stretching his arms to loosen up. His mind was already working ahead. The locusts were just one problem, and he would deal with them soon enough.

"Either way," he muttered to himself, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It’s time to get some exercise against these beastly locusts."

***

As Chen Ren had anticipated, Chief Muyang quickly agreed to send men to help clean up the property, his eagerness revealing how desperate they were for any assistance they can give him.

After giving the orders, Chen Ren moved toward the farmlands, ready to confront the locusts. Yalan, however, didn’t come with him. "You can handle the locusts on your own," she had said nonchalantly, "I need to look over the village and its territories."

Chen Ren suspected it was just her way of marking her territory, but instead of her, he brought along Anji, someone he’d been meaning to spend more time with. The two of them stood at the edge of the farm, looking out at the vast stretch of crops, the buzzing swarm of locusts clinging to every stalk.

"So, what are you going to do, young master?" Anji asked, her eyes scanning the scene. "They look scary."

Chen Ren nodded. "Yeah, they do. But before I make any real plans, I need to see if the straightforward approach works."

Anji raised an eyebrow. "And what is that?"

At that, his lips curled into a confident grin, his body surging with renewed energy. “Taking these pests head-on.” Without waiting for a response, Chen Ren launched himself into the heart of the farmlands, his bold presence drawing the attention of the nearest locusts.

The way they turned to him almost scared him.

Several of the oversized insects swiveled toward him, their serrated mandibles clicking in irritation. They hesitated only for a moment before charging, their small and pathetic bodies rushing forward like a living tide.

With a sharp exhale, he unleashed a torrent of lightning, rippling from his hands and scorching the air around him. The closest locusts didn’t stand a chance, their bodies instantly seared to ash, falling lifeless to the ground.

But the swarm was undeterred. More locusts surged forward, their snapping jaws gleaming like jagged knives. Chen Ren dodged and moved away, trying to maintain distance, all the while his fists lashed out, sending strikes, shattering exoskeletons and leaving broken skeletons. Yet, for every insect he felled, two more seemed to take its place.

Anji stood at a safe distance, her breath caught in her throat as she watched Chen Ren fight. His attacks were relentless and his leg movements were exceptional. Yet the swarm showed no signs of thinning.

Chen Ren knew fire would likely be more effective, but his lightning was enough to keep the locusts at bay—for now. Still, he could feel the tide turning against him, the swarm’s endless advance threatening to overwhelm his defenses.

Suddenly, like he had expected, a particularly large cluster of locusts, at least two dozen strong, rushed toward him in unison. Their jaws snapped hungrily, their advance a single, coordinated wave of aggression.

What the—

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed. It was time to retreat. He couldn’t possibly take it all at once.

With a powerful leap, he vaulted clear of the swarm, landing uphill in a blur of motion.

“Young master! What are you doing?!” Anji called out, her voice a mix of alarm and confusion as he bounded toward her.

The locusts halted at the base of the hill, their advance stopping abruptly as if an invisible boundary held them back. Chen Ren glanced over his shoulder, his grin returning despite the tension. “They can’t follow us here. Let’s use this to our advantage.”

Chen Ren remembered what the village chief had said: the locusts seemed to have claimed the farm as their nest and wouldn’t move out of it, even when provoked.

Reaching the top of the hill without a scratch, Chen Ren glanced back at Anji, who was still watching him with a look of disbelief. "That was reckless," she said. "What if they were poisonous?"

Chen Ren shrugged. "Doesn’t matter. I bought potions for just in case, and nothing we know about them indicates they’re poisonous." He paused for a moment, his gaze drifting back toward the farmlands, where the locusts were still swarming, undisturbed by his retreat. "Either way, I learned quite a bit from my fight with them."

Anji watched as Chen Ren stood there, looking deep in thought. "What did you learn?" she asked.

"Like I thought, they’re in the mid-body forging realm. They're fast, but if you focus, you can dodge their attacks. I can also kill them with my lightning, but there’s just too many of them. I won’t be able to handle them on my own."

Anji nodded, processing the information. "So, what do we do about them?"

"Even if I come up with a way to kill them all, there might be more around the forest. They could just return, and then we’re back to square one. We need a permanent solution to drive them out."

Anji’s eyes narrowed in thought. "Like what?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.

Instead of answering immediately, Chen Ren turned to her with a raised eyebrow. "You have no idea? Haven’t been raised on a farm, I guess?"

Anji hesitated, the question catching her off guard. She paused, as if reflecting on her past before answering. "No, I didn’t grow up anywhere near a farm. I know the basics of farming, but nothing more than that."

Chen Ren gave a small nod, acknowledging her response. "Then I’ll need to think of something myself." He turned his attention back to the locusts, his mind spinning as he tried to think of a solution.

The locusts continued to swarm the farmlands below, but their presence didn’t seem as daunting now. As Chen Ren’s mind worked through the options, something clicked in his thoughts. The world around him was full of resources, and although he didn’t have knowledge of modern solutions like DDT or pesticides, that didn’t mean he was entirely without options. He just needed to approach this from a different angle.

His eyes widened slightly as an idea hit him. He turned quickly to Anji. "I might have a way. But to make it work, we’ll need to run some experiments."

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

61. Locust extermination

A few days passed since Chen Ren’s arrival in Meadow Village, and as time went on, he slowly became accustomed to the peaceful surroundings. The relentless pace of Cloud Mist City, with its endless hustle and clamor, was replaced by a calm quietness that now seemed to settle into his bones.

While the city was vibrant and full of opportunity, there was something about the simplicity of village life—its unhurried days and open, beautiful skies—that made it grow on him. As the days passed, Chen Ren found himself appreciating the stillness more and more, realizing that it was somewhere he could build the foundation for what he wanted.

The cleaning of the houses had been quick. With the help of Chief Muyang’s men, and the reluctant cooperation of the bandits-turned-villagers, the once-neglected properties were now livable. The rooms were divided up, each person having their own designated space, though the children would be sharing, much to their displeasure. The houses were simple but functional, with enough space for everyone to settle comfortably.

Among the tasks he had in mind, the most important was setting up rooms dedicated to his work. Therefore, he made one of the houses become his laboratory, the other his office. The laboratory was the place where he would experiment with new ideas—alchemy, arrays, talismans and product creation in order to advance his business. The office was a space where he could strategize, organize, and reflect on his next moves. He needed both of the spaces.

Having his own office, with the rustic, modest furniture arranged, filled him with a sense of accomplishment. It satisfied the part of him that had always dreamed of running his own business—a college graduate who had once spent hours looking for jobs, imagining what it would be like to one day sit behind a desk and make the decisions. Now, the office felt like a symbol of his journey. It was a place where he could take ownership, a place that grounded him in the vision of what he wanted to create.

But beyond his new responsibilities, Chen Ren’s focus was on three main things: cultivating, training, and researching ways to rid the village of the locusts that plagued the farmlands.

Despite his dao, which didn’t require him to cultivate in the ways that others did, Chen Ren still enjoyed the meditative practice of an hour spent in his star space. There, he would focus his mind, reaching out, hoping for some sign from the golden dragon that had eluded him since the tournament. He couldn’t help but feel the need to grow stronger—after all, in a world like this, danger was ever-present, and survival depended on strength.

As Chen Ren had learned firsthand, cultivation realms weren’t the only factors that determined success in a battle. Combat techniques, the ability to stay calm during battle, and clever tactics played just as critical a role.

He had quickly set into a routine, rising early each morning to practice his spear and palm techniques. And every time he put his skills into practice, he felt the growth–in his rhythm and even movements. The time to practise too felt perfect with the calmness in the morning.

Luckily, he didn’t have to spar with Yalan, whose strength would surely leave him nursing bruises for days. Instead, he had another target in mind—an unlikely one, but a target nonetheless. The locusts. They were the perfect combat targets for now.

Over the days, he had observed their behavior closely. He learned their patterns, how they would swarm in droves to devour anything in their path, how their movements were slightly erratic yet predictable once you understood the rhythm. The more he studied them, the more he realized he could lure them with food, both meat and anything sweet. And so, he began to attract small groups of locusts to the edge of the farmland, setting up the perfect battlefield for his daily practice.

At first, Chen Ren had considered just eradicating the locust while training. But quickly, he understood that while this was an excellent form of practice, wiping them all out would take months. The locusts were numerous, and killing them one by one, though effective, wasn’t a permanent solution.

He stuck to his original plan: gather information, find their weaknesses, and eventually devise a strategy that would rid the village of the plague once and for all.

The constant exposure to the locusts allowed him to cut through their bodies and gain valuable insight into their anatomy.

He took notes, observing their reactions to various stimuli, and piecing together patterns in their behavior. While each small victory over a group of locusts brought him satisfaction, it was his after study that offered the real rewards.

Still, it wasn’t until one evening, after countless trials, that he finally found what he needed—not from his knowledge of Earth, but from this Xianxia world itself. .

The very next day, Chen Ren set to work.

His hands worked fast and the occasional hiss of ingredients being added to the cauldron filled the air every now and then. He mixed herbs, ground powders, and added oils into the large cauldron at the center of the room. He could smell the crushed leaves, root juices and the fire of the caudron.

It was soothing in a way. Because the process had to be done carefully—he had already made a number of failed attempts, which resulted in an explosion or a reaction that sent smoke billowing out of the cauldron.

The ingredients had been tricky, and his understanding of the alchemical processes in this world was still limited. But after after countless failures, he finally felt like he was getting somewhere.

His heart raced as the liquid inside the cauldron took on a shimmering, almost iridescent hue. He stepped back, wiping his brow, and looked down at the brew. There were no explosions, no violent reactions. It simmered peacefully.

“I finally did it,” he muttered to himself with a smile, the words barely escaping his lips. “No explosions this time.”

For a moment, he stood there in silence, watching the concoction slowly bubble. The mixture had finally stabilized, its rich purple hue swirling within the cauldron. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as he took in the result.

The basic alchemical book that Qing He had provided him was filled with information, more reliable than he had initially expected. He’d thought for sure he’d blow something up even this time—but so far, everything had held up.

"I guess every new alchemist goes through a phase of explosions," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "But at least I’m improving. Thanks to Qing He’s books, I’ve actually made some real progress."

He gave the mixture one last swirl, watching as the liquid shimmered in the cauldron.

Satisfied, he turned to a nearby box containing a set of particular herbs, his fingers grazing over them as he began gathering the necessary ingredients. The makeshift alchemical lab he’d created for himself was far from impressive, but it served its purpose. Books, dried herbs, powders, and jars filled with various concoctions cluttered the shelves, their disorganized state a reflection of the rush he had been in to set up a functional space for his experiments.

Though it wasn’t much, it was his. And that, he thought, was the most important thing.

As he picked up a bundle of red herbs, his mind wandered back to the task at hand—the locusts. His plan was starting to take shape. He needed something to make them go away, something that wasn’t just brute force. The solution he was crafting now would hopefully provide that.

Suddenly, the door creaked open behind him, and Chen Ren looked up to see Anji walking in, her hair tied back into a neat ponytail. She didn’t look surprised to find him in the midst of another experiment, though her eyes were curious.

“Tang Xiulan was asking if you were going to have lunch,” Anji asked respectfully.

Chen Ren gave her a brief glance. "I’m busy right now," he replied. "I might just eat dinner straight. Once this is done, I’m planning to meet with the village chief."

Anji nodded, but instead of leaving, she lingered by the door, watching him with quiet interest. Chen Ren turned back to his work, mixing the herbs carefully, adding a pinch of spirit grass to the bubbling concoction. As soon as it hit the cauldron, a puff of smoke rose from the mixture. He stepped back, pleased with the reaction.

Nodding to himself, he let out a satisfied sigh. But before he could celebrate his success, Anji’s voice broke the silence.

“What are you doing, young master?” she asked, stepping closer. “Are you making a concoction for your cultivation?”

Chen Ren glanced up, a small smile tugging at his lips. “No, it’s not for me,” he said, his voice light. “It’s for the locusts. I’m making something for them to eat. Poison.”

Anji looked down at the herbs scattered across the table, her brow furrowing slightly. “Poison?” she repeated. “I didn’t know there was poison for locusts. And these herbs... aren’t they common?”

"Yes, I got someone to get the herbs for me," Chen Ren said, nodding in confirmation. "And you’re right about there not being a specific poison for locusts or pests in general. I’m actually following a recipe for poison meant for body forging realm beasts and then adding a few herbs that might make it lethal for the bugs."

He glanced at the cauldron. "Though, mostly I’m just following the recipe. In the end, it’s poison. It should work well."

Anji nodded, but her curiosity still lingered. "But why?"

Chen Ren straightened and wiped his hands on his clothes, his gaze fixed on the boiling concoction. "To get in their good books," he said with a small shrug. "Solving this problem will make the villagers feel more at ease with us. You know how they look at us right now. If I want to set up my base here, it’s paramount we get them to think we’re a force of good, not just outsiders causing trouble."

Anji raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "I’m not talking about that. You know that.” She paused, her eyes narrowing as she thought of something. "There are better ways of accomplishing this, ways that cultivators are more likely to follow."

Chen Ren turned towards her, leaning slightly against the table. "Making them submit by force? A grand display of my strength?" His tone was dry, almost mocking.

"Yes, just that," Anji said without hesitation, meeting his gaze directly. "Why aren’t you going for it?"

Chen Ren let out a slow breath and shook his head, his voice soft but firm. "It’s not my path. I can’t do that. I’d cringe. And although my acting is good, there are limits to it."

Anji didn’t respond immediately. Her brow furrowed as she thought about his words, the silence hanging between them. After a moment, she spoke again. "I don’t understand."

Chen Ren turned fully toward her. "Think of it as dao. Every cultivator follows their dao, and there are principles in it. A martial dao person also lives by rules. Sure, there are those who don’t follow these principles, who oppress people, but I’m not going to be like that. My dao doesn’t allow that." He paused, rethinking his own words. "No, I won’t allow that."

He shook his head slowly, turning his attention back to the cauldron. "I know I could force them to submit, but that’s not my way. It’s not how I want to lead. And that's why I'm going this route." He paused for a moment before turning back to her, his voice quieter, almost as if testing the waters. "What about you? Do you have a path? Principles?"

Anji froze, her body stiffening as the question hit her. Her eyes darted to the floor as if searching for something she couldn’t quite grasp. She opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated. Her lips parted again, but only silence came. After a long, drawn-out pause, she finally spoke, her voice a bit softer than before.

"I don’t," she said, the words slow and hesitant. "I don’t have a path. I think... I just can walk anywhere."

Chen Ren studied her carefully, his gaze unwavering. The uncertainty in her voice was palpable, and it was clear to him that this was a question she had never really asked herself before. He remained quiet, letting her words sink in. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the only sound was the faint bubbling of the cauldron.

Finally, Chen Ren smiled, though it was a small, almost melancholic one. “Are you looking for one?" he asked.

Anji's eyes shifted as she paused, clearly lost in thought. She looked down, her fingers fidgeting with the fabric of her sleeve, as if trying to put her feelings into words. "I don’t know. I don’t think I’m worthy of moving on any path."

Chen Ren tilted his head. "Why is that?" he asked, his tone soft but probing, eager to understand her thoughts more deeply.

Before she could answer, the cauldron let out a puff of smoke, drawing both of their attention. Chen Ren turned toward it, and a satisfied smile spread across his face as he assessed the mixture within.

The concoction had taken on a deep, rich purple color—richer than the previous stage. A faint, almost eerie glow pulsed from within, and the air around it shifted with a herbal aroma.

The texture of the liquid was thick, almost syrupy, and the consistency seemed just right. It was the kind of poison that would be slow-acting but incredibly deadly to creatures with weaker vitality—like the locusts. Despite its strength, it didn’t look like much on the surface. There were no extravagant colors or unusual effects, but Chen Ren knew better than to judge it by its simplicity.

He leaned closer to the cauldron, inhaling the scent. "I believe it’s ready."

Turning back to Anji, he spoke. "It’s finally time to go and finish this locust problem once and for all."

***

The group stood silently atop the hill that overlooked the farmland. Chen Ren, Yalan, Xiulan, Anji, Chief Muyang and a few other villagers were all present, looking at the large swarm of locusts hovering just beyond the edge of the farmland.

The buzzing of the wings was now a constant, unsettling noise that filled their ears.

Chief Muyang stood slightly apart from the others, his hands clasped behind his back. He observed the locusts quietly before turning to Chen Ren. "Young Master Chen, are you sure it's going to work?" His tone was respectful, but there was a subtle hesitation there, as if the chief still had his doubts about the strange method that Chen Ren had chosen to deal with the locusts. "Of course, I'm not doubting your knowledge or anything," he quickly added, as if to ease any potential offense.

"I think so. We just have to keep watching."

His eyes shifted slightly to the edge of the clearing, where a single dead locust lay on the ground. Unlike the others, its body was slick with a faint sheen of liquid, evidence of the poison he had crafted. Chen Ren’s gaze hardened as he observed it closely, anticipation building within him.

The moment he had been waiting for arrived slowly, creeping into view as a group of three locusts approached the dead body. They hesitated for a moment, their antennae twitching as they inspected the corpse.

He stood there, watching with a focused intensity as the locusts circled the corpse. A small thrill surged through him when none of them turned away, as he had feared they might. This was the first victory.

He could feel a subtle sense of triumph rising in his chest, but he kept his composure.

Then, one of the locusts leaned forward and took a cautious bite from its fallen comrade.

Another followed soon after, snapping at the body with urgency. The scene played out exactly as he had hoped—soon, all three were greedily feasting on the carcass of their own kind. Chen Ren had discovered during his observations that locusts were not only vicious feeders, but they would also feast on their own if one of them died—an instinct he planned to use to his advantage.

At the sight, Chen Ren allowed himself a small smile, the tension in his body easing as the plan unfolded in front of him. Xiulan, who had been watching intently, turned to him with a grin on her face. "They aren't being repulsed by the poison on the corpse," she observed.

Chen Ren nodded, the smile on his lips growing faint but proud. "I made sure to add herbs that the locusts feast on during my experiments. I also made sure the poison’s smell blended with those herbs. I don’t think they know what they’re eating.” His eyes never left the locusts, still watching them with keen interest as they continued to devour the corpse.

Chief Muyang, though impressed, looked like kept his thoughts to himself for a moment before speaking again. "It seems you've thought of everything," he said.

Chen Ren gave a small shrug, not wanting to let the moment become too celebratory. "It’s just a start," he said. "We’ll see how it goes from here."

But deep down, he felt the satisfaction.

Chen Ren watched as the locusts, one by one, fell to the ground, their bodies twitching before they lay still. Within moments, the first group of locusts was dead, and more were following suit. The distant buzzing from the rest of the swarm grew louder as more of the locusts, attracted by the scent of the poisoned bodies, swarmed toward the fallen. They too began feasting on their comrades, only to meet the same grim fate.

"Keep watching," Chen Ren instructed.

Xiulan, standing beside him, gave a satisfied nod. "It’s working better than expected.”

Chen Ren stretched, feeling a small sense of pride in his work. "By tomorrow, the entire farm will be free of them," he murmured, already thinking ahead. He turned toward the village chief, who was still watching in wonder, his expression a mix of gratitude and disbelief.

"I’ll leave more poison for you," Chen Ren said casually, his eyes still on the dead locusts. Chief Muyang turned to him, bowing deeply. "Thank you, Young Master. You’ve solved such a large problem for us. If not for you, we would have been dead in a few months."

He saw Muyang’s eyes tearing up.

"You can still be dead," he said bluntly. That earned Chen Ren a confused look. "The farms will take time to recover. Planting crops will be a slow process. But I have an idea to solve that."

Chief Muyang blinked, taken aback by the bluntness of Chen Ren’s statement, but then his eyes sharpened, and he leaned forward. "What is it, Young Master?"

Chen Ren took a breath and adjusted his stance. "Is the locust problem exclusive to your village?" he asked.

"No, not just here. But it’s not as bad in the nearby villages. They come from the nests that have been growing recently, because no cultivator has moved to burn them up. But even so, I know a few locusts make their way to the farms in these parts."

Chen Ren nodded, already having pieced things together. "Then I will give you a batch of the poison. Use it for the nests. Sell it to the nearby villages and get food in return. I believe that saving them from a potential catastrophe will make them eager to give you their crops willingly."

Chief Muyang’s eyes widened as understanding dawned on him. He seemed to consider the plan for a moment before his face broke into a smile. "That could work. If we can handle the nests and offer this to the villages... We might be able to get enough food to survive while the farms recover."

Chen Ren smiled, his plan coming to fruition. "Exactly. Not only will this help your village, but you’ll be in a position to trade with the others for the food you need. It will take some work, but I’m confident you’ll make it work."

The village chief nodded, deeply moved by Chen Ren’s foresight. "I’ll make sure to use it wisely, Young Master. You’ve done more than we could have hoped for. Thank you, Young Master,” he bowed again. “No one has ever done something like this for our small village before. We are all in your debt." As he spoke, several villagers who had gathered around them also bowed in unison.

Chen Ren felt a sudden wave of awkwardness. The reverence they showed him made him feel like he was standing in the presence of Gods—or more like, he was the God, a feeling that didn’t sit well with him. He shifted uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck, not quite used to being the center of so much reverence.

Yalan snickered quietly at his discomfort, watching the scene unfold with amusement. Chen Ren shot the cat a glance, narrowing his eyes slightly, but Yalan simply tilted her head, the playful gleam in her amber eyes unmistakable.

Ignoring the teasing cat, Chen Ren turned his attention back to the village chief, who was still bowing deeply. "I do want something out of you," he said.

Chief Muyang paused, looking up in confusion. "What, Young Master? I don’t think the village can give you anything. We are poor and have no mystical artifacts to offer."

Chen Ren’s expression remained serious as he looked at the old man. "Oh, you can give me something," he said cryptically, glancing at the gathered villagers. "Men and women."

The village chief furrowed his brow, confused. "What do you need them for? Building something?"

Chen Ren shook his head. "That will come, but no, I don’t need them as laborers," he said. "I want you to send word to everyone in this village and the nearby villages that my sect, the Divine Coin Sect, will be recruiting members and checking for spirit roots in people. And even mortals can join us."

“Recruiting mortals? Young Master, you mean as servants? As laborers in your sect?"

"No, not as servants. Actual members, at the same standing as cultivators. Our Divine Coin Sect doesn’t discriminate. We see value in all. Whether someone has spirit roots or not, they are welcome. We believe every individual has something to offer, regardless of their cultivation potential."

Chief Muyang stood there for a moment, staring at him in stunned silence. It seemed the concept of mortal members in a cultivator's sect was foreign to him, something he had never encountered in his lifetime.

"You mean… mortal members?" the old man asked, still unsure. "But… in a sect?" He shook his head slightly, trying to make sense of the idea.

Chen Ren nodded firmly. "Exactly. Just get it done and you will know more with time."

Chief Muyang, though still a little confused by the idea, was now bowing once more. "I will get it done, Young Master. Give me three days, and I’ll make sure that there will be lines of people wanting to join your sect."

Chen Ren gave a satisfied nod. "Good. I’ll be waiting." He turned to leave, but before he did, he glanced at the group of villagers still standing around. Their faces were a mix of curiosity, hope, and disbelief, but Chen Ren knew this would set the stage for the future. His sect would grow—he could feel it in his bones.

As he and his group began to walk away, Yalan kept close by his side, her tail flicking lazily. "This will certainly be interesting," she mused. "I wonder if you will find diamonds in this coal mine."

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

62. Sect recruitment (1)

Zi Han’s steps were quiet as he moved along a narrow dirt path.

The forest was calm, eerily calm in this area and no one dared to walk through it. Sunlight peeked down through the trees, creating a patchwork of light and shadow that covered the ground.

On his back, he carried a sturdy bow—not because he expected trouble, but because years of guarding the village had taught him to always be prepared.

The path sloped upward, leading to a small hill that overlooked the forest. Zi Han didn’t hurry. He knew what he would find at the top. As he climbed, the hill’s crest came into view, and there, lying in the dappled sunlight, was the massive form of Little Yuze.

The wolf was resting, its dark obsidian fur shining. Its chest rose and fell slowly, the rhythm steady but marked by the strain of healing wounds. Even now, it bore the marks around its chest and throat from the fight with that cultivator, Chen Ren.

Beside the wolf, leaning casually against its side, was Zi Wen. His older brother sat with his knees drawn up, arms draped loosely over them as he gazed at the sky above. His face carried that familiar, faraway look, the one Zi Han had seen countless times before. It was as if Zi Wen’s body was here, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

Zi Han didn’t call out to him. He knew better. Instead, he kept walking, his footsteps crunching faintly on the scattered leaves and twigs. He only stopped when he was a few paces away.

Finally, Zi Wen stirred, his sharp eyes flicking toward Zi Han as if snapping back to reality. He straightened slightly, one hand brushing against Little Yuze’s fur.

“Is it lunch already?” Zi Wen asked casually, as though he hadn’t just spent hours daydreaming on top of a hill.

Zi Han shook his head. “No. It’s still hours away.”

“I thought so.” Zi Wen stretched, rolling his shoulders and shifting his weight. He glanced briefly at the bow on Zi Han’s back before looking back up at the sky. “For a moment, I was worried I’d wasted half the day and didn’t even catch anything worthwhile.” He paused, then turned his eyes back to Zi Han. “So, why are you here?”

Zi Han crossed his arms and met his brother’s gaze. “Do you really not remember? I told you last night—it’s time to go.”

Zi Wen frowned, his expression darkening. “I’ve already told you my answer. I’m not applying to another sect.” He leaned back against the wolf’s side, shaking his head. “You don’t understand, Zi Han. You’re young. These sects only care about spirit roots, background, and what you can offer them. They’re selfish. And if you can’t meet their standards, they’ll toss you aside like garbage.” His voice hardened, his words laced with bitterness.

Zi Han sighed, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. “First of all, I’m in my late twenties. I’m not that young. Second, you’ve been saying the same thing every time this comes up. And third, the village chief said this is different. Young Master Chen Ren specifically asked for us—for you—to be there.”

Zi Wen snorted. “Different how? That cultivator is only interested in Little Yuze. Nothing else.”

Zi Han shrugged, glancing at the wolf, which let out a low grunt, almost as if agreeing with Zi Wen’s words. “Maybe. Little Yuze is special enough to draw attention. But you know as well as I do that Chen Ren didn’t kill us. Any other cultivator would’ve done it without hesitation.”

Zi Wen didn’t respond immediately. His frown deepened, his gaze shifting to the wolf at his side, whose teal eyes remained closed in rest. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. He sighed. “Yeah, I do. But—”

Zi Han cut him off this time. “Not only that, he killed the locusts, Brother Wen. Nothing we tried worked against them. Our traps, our fires—none of it made a difference. But in less than a week, Chen Ren wiped them out. And not just that, he let the village chief harvest the poison. Chief Muyang traded it with nearby villages that were struggling with those nests, and you know how much it helped everyone.” Zi Han stepped closer, his voice quieter but more pointed. “He didn’t ask for anything in return. No payment. No tribute. And he wasn’t sent by a sect to do it either. He did it because he wanted to help us.”

Zi Wen hesitated, his lips pressed into a thin line as he looked down at his hands. For a moment, the only sound was the soft breeze rustling through the trees. He looked as if he was deep in thought, considering everything that has happened so far. “So, what are you saying? That he’s different from the others? That he’s not like the usual cultivators?”

“Yes,” Zi Han said and his eyes steady as they met his brother’s. “And we should give him a chance. I know you don’t like your current life. You have never enjoyed being just a hunter.”

Zi Wen scoffed lightly and shook his head. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing, Zi Han? You’re trying to say I’m unhappy. But you’re wrong. My life is peaceful—spending time with Little Yuze, hunting when I need to. What more do I need?”

Zi Han took a step closer and crouched down.

“Maybe you have had enough peace, brother. I know you. You’ve never been content with just this. You’re not happy. You’ve always had ambition—you just buried it under all this talk of peace. And you’re not the only one.” He took a breath. “I have ambitions too, Brother Wen. I’ve just never talked about them. I don’t want to spend my entire life as the guard of this village. I want to try for something bigger, and this might be our chance.”

Zi Wen stared at him.

“I’m going, brother. Even without spirit roots, I’ll try. If they’re taking mortals, then maybe, just maybe, I’ll find a place there. You’re free to stay, but I hope you won’t.”

With that, Zi Han turned, his steps slow as he made his way back down the hill. Although he knew he couldn’t change his brother’s heart, a part of him clinged onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, Zi Wen would listen to him. But he’d been wrong, even if he’d said everything he wanted to.

Therefore, he kept walking.

The path he’d come from seemed longer now. He sighed. But before he had gone far, he heard the sound of his brother’s voice calling out.

“Wait, Zi Han!” Zi Han stopped and turned around. His brother was already on his feet, shrugging the dust off of his pants and he hesitantly looked up. “I’m… coming with you.”

Zi Han’s lips widened at that. “Then hurry. I heard a lot of people are already gathering there.”

Zi Wen gave a faint grunt, glancing back at Little Yuze as if seeking some silent reassurance before taking a step forward. The wolf got up with him.

Together, the two brothers and Little Yuze started walking down the hill.

***

Chen Ren stood on the wooden balcony of one of the buildings he owned, his arms crossed as he surveyed the crowd gathered below. The sight before him was more overwhelming than he had expected. Over two hundred people had shown up, their voices blending into a sea of chatter and excitement that echoed across the courtyard.

The crowd was diverse—young parents with their children, curious villagers, and even the odd elder, all gathered for one reason: the chance to test their aptitude for cultivation.

The majority of the crowd he saw were teenagers, some barely in their early teens, standing nervously beside their parents. Chen Ren noted the hopeful gleam in their eyes and the way their parents hovered protectively, their expressions a mix of pride and anxiety.

In the Kalian Empire, the process of the aptitude test hadn’t been the easiest to get done. For that, they’d needed a root stone; a tool that was known to detect spirit roots. When touched, it would light up in response to the presence of spirit roots within a person, and the intensity of the glow would indicate the strength of those roots.

It was a simple yet effective method, but one rarely accessible to the average villager.

Aptitude tests were conducted only once every three years in designated cities or sect strongholds, and the cost and journey involved deterred many families from participating. The odds weren’t in their favor either—only one in a hundred people might possess spirit roots. For most, the journey wasn’t worth the risk of crushing disappointment.

Moreover, only guardian sects and a few established ones had the required capital to get a root stone. For the majority of sects, they didn't have the resources to conduct an aptitude test and could only take in the scraps of the bigger sects. Fortunately, he had no need for such a stone with Yalan's presence.

Chen Ren knew he was making a bold move by hosting this test here, in a place where no sect had ever bothered to hold such an event. But he also knew the potential it held—not just for the people gathered here, but for himself.

This wasn’t merely an act of charity or goodwill. After today, one of his most pressing problems would be solved: the lack of manpower for both his business and his budding sect.

As he leaned forward slightly, scanning the crowd, he felt the kind of energy that he could use to his advantage, but first, he needed to bring some order to the chaos. He walked around, descending the stairs and reached the front of the crowd, who’d big smiles plastered on their faces.

Taking a deep breath, he raised his voice. “Everyone, please calm down!” His words cut through the noise, and the crowd gradually quieted, all eyes turning toward him, a lot of the teenagers tried to take a better look at him while getting to their tiptoes. “I know you’ve been waiting for this chance to see if you or your children have the talent to join our sect or even the intelligence to work alongside us. The tests will begin shortly.

“But first, I need your cooperation. Anyone over the age of fourteen is not eligible to participate in the test—this is a strict requirement. Secondly, please form a line. There’s no need to push or shove; everyone will get their turn.”

The crowd began to shuffle, the parents guiding their children into some semblance of a line while others stood among themselves. Chen Ren could feel the anticipation building again, but now it was tempered with order. No one wanted to anger a cultivator. Even still, half of the crowd still stood unorganized, pushing each other to get to the front.

Chen Ren turned toward Chief Muyang, Xiulan, and Anji, who stood nearby with expectant gazes. “I’ll start the test soon. Make sure everyone forms a proper line and send them in one by one. With this many people—and I’m sure more will come once word spreads—we might need to continue tomorrow. For now, let’s begin.”

The trio nodded in unison, quickly stepping into action to organize the crowd. Satisfied, Chen Ren stepped toward the small wooden building that had been prepared for the test.

Inside, the room was simple yet functional, with a single chair in the center and a desk pushed against the far wall. Yalan, in her beastly yet graceful form, lounged on the desk, her amber eyes half-lidded in boredom. Her tail swayed lazily behind her as she tilted her head.

“Did you see anything interesting out there?” she asked, her voice carrying a teasing lilt.

Chen Ren lowered himself into a chair opposite her, the slight creak of the wood breaking the silence. “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “They all seemed ordinary. No visible signs of a special physique or unique characteristics. But who knows? Maybe we’ll uncover a hidden bloodling or two.”

Yalan flicked her tail with a soft thump against the desk. “You’re awfully optimistic,” she said, smirking. “I suppose a sect leader needs to be.”

Before Chen Ren could respond, the door creaked open, revealing the first pair of entrants: a middle-aged man and a teenage girl. Both bowed deeply before stepping inside, their movements stiff with nervous respect.

Chen Ren straightened in his chair, offering a small nod of acknowledgment.

“Are you both here to take the test?”

The man quickly shook his head, his hands gripping his hat tightly. “No, young master. I am just a farmer, content with my life. But my daughter…” He gestured toward the girl, his voice trembling slightly. “My daughter, Zushi, has dreams of something greater. She wishes to take the test.”

Chen Ren studied the girl for a moment. Her hands were clenched at her sides, her knuckles white, but her eyes—they were sparkling with hope. “Very well,” he said, gesturing toward the chair in the center of the room. “Sit here.”

Zushi moved quickly, and lowered herself into the chair. Chen Ren glanced at Yalan, who nodded and then he rose gracefully from his chair. Stepping forward, he put his hand lightly on Zushi's head.

“This will only take a moment,” he said, his voice soothing yet firm.

Zushi nodded, her face taut with anticipation. She seemed like she expected a light to come out of Chen Ren's hands, but nothing happened for a few seconds.

Moments later, Yalan’s voice echoed in Chen Ren’s mind. She doesn’t have a spirit root. She’s destined to remain mortal.

Chen Ren exhaled softly. This is going to hurt. He pulled his hand back and took a step away.

The room grew quiet as Chen Ren looked at Zushi, her eyes searching his face for any sign of hope. He nodded solemnly, his eyes softening as he looked at the girl. “I’m sorry,” he said gently, “but you don’t have spirit roots.”

The words struck like a hammer. The girl’s lip quivered, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears as her shoulders hunched forward. She looked as though she was moments away from breaking down entirely. Her father placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. It was clear he had anticipated this result, though it did little to ease the sting.

“It’s okay, Zushi,” he said softly. “Let’s go back home.”

As they turned to leave, Chen Ren raised a hand, stopping them in their tracks. “Wait,” he said and that made both of them freeze on their spot. “Before you go, I have something to say.”

They turned back toward him. Her father’s eyebrows frowned in confusion while Zushi’s somber expression turned to one of hope.

“Although you don’t have a spirit root, the Divine Coin Sect is unique,” Chen Ren explained. “We don’t just accept cultivators. Mortals who can contribute meaningfully to the sect are just as valuable to us. If you’re interested, you can stay and take an interview to see if you qualify as a mortal member.”

Zushi’s teary eyes widened in surprise. “Can I really get in?”

“Yes. If you’re able to pass the interview, we’d be happy to have you.”

The girl’s father looked at Chen Ren with a deep bow, gratitude flickering in his weathered face. “Thank you, young master,” he said sincerely.

Zushi straightened her back, her tears forgotten. “I will do my best,” she declared, her voice steadier now.

Chen Ren gestured for her to sit back in the chair. “Let’s begin, then.”

As he got comfortable in his own seat, Chen Ren’s thoughts drifted to the purpose of this interview. In his previous life, back on Earth, interviews were the backbone of building trust and competency within organizations. He had adapted the process to fit the Xianxia world, asking questions that tested not just knowledge but also character, critical thinking, and adaptability. A sect wasn’t just built on raw power—it needed loyal, capable people to function and thrive.

So, he started with a simple question. “Do you know how to read and write?”

Zushi nodded hesitantly. “I know how to read, but… I have trouble writing.”

Chen Ren made a mental note of her answer, his expression neutral as he moved on. The questions varied in scope, covering basic maths, logic, and personal values. “If you were trusted with a task by a sect elder and caused an issue that might jeopardize the sect, what would you do? Would you inform the elder or try to solve it yourself?” he asked, testing her integrity.

“I would inform the elder immediately,” Zushi replied confidently. “If I try to solve it myself and it gets worse, the punishment will be far worse. I will rather accept my shortcomings.”

He nodded, scribbling a tick mark besides her name on a parchment before moving onto the next question that tested her ability to think practically.

“Alright, Zushi. Let’s try something a little more difficult. Picture this, you’re in a room with three levers. Each lever controls one of three fireplaces in an adjacent room. You can only enter the room with the fireplaces once. How do you determine which lever controls which fireplace?"

Zushi took a deep breath, furrowing her brow as she began to consider the problem. She took some time, her fingers moved as if she was playing the scenario in her mind.

Finally, she spoke. "I would pull the first lever and leave it on for a few minutes. Then, I’d stop and pull the second lever. That’d be all that I’m doing in that room. Then, I would enter the room with the fireplaces. The one that is still warm but unlit is controlled by the first lever. The one that’s lit is controlled by the second lever. The one that’s cold and unlit is controlled by the third lever."

Chen Ren nodded, pleased.

Alright… She could think logically, do very simple math, she knows her structures when it came to sect values, and maybe one more question.

“Let’s say there’s a war between two cities over resources. How do you think you could make a profit from it? And what do you think are the most important resources during such a time?”

Zushi furrowed her brow, deep in thought. The question clearly caught her off guard, and she chewed on her lip as she considered her answer. Finally, she spoke. “I think I could contribute by supporting the side I believe is most likely to win,” she said cautiously. “As for resources… weapons. A war needs weapons.”

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow, waiting for more, but she hesitated. After a moment, she shook her head. “I… I can’t think of anything else,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Chen Ren nodded thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against the armrest of his chair. “Weapons are important,” he said slowly, “but wars are fought on more than just the battlefield. Food to sustain soldiers, medicine to treat the wounded, and information to outmaneuver the enemy are just as vital.”

Zushi’s eyes widened as understanding dawned on her face. She nodded quickly. “I… I’ll remember that,” she said earnestly.

Chen Ren placed his hand on his chin and studied her and her answers. There was room for growth, but there was also potential. He’d seen enough.

“Alright, you can go now. We’ll notify you through the village chief whether or not you’ve been accepted.”

The girl and her father stood, bowing deeply in gratitude. “Thank you, young master,” the father said, his voice thick with emotion. The girl followed suit, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she struggled to contain her nervous energy.

Chen Ren offered a small nod of acknowledgment, watching as they turned and left the room. Once the door closed behind them, he turned to Yalan, who had been lounging on the desk with her tail swishing lazily in the air.

“She’s… poor,” Yalan said bluntly, her eyes narrowing in mild disinterest.

“I believe she’s decent,” he replied. “Not many around here know how to both read and write. She may not be extraordinary, but at least she tries to think critically. With proper training, she could become a good employee.”

Yalan yawned. “Sure, if you’re willing to invest the time. But let’s see if there are better candidates first.”

Chen Ren chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “Fair enough.”

Before they could linger further on the subject, the door creaked open again. Chen Ren straightened in his seat as the second candidate entered—a middle-aged woman accompanied by a young boy who clutched her hand tightly.

The two bowed deeply as they stepped forward. The woman’s posture was stiff, and her eyes darted nervously around the room, while the boy clung to her side, peering at Chen Ren with wide, curious eyes.

“Start, let’s see how this one would go,” Yalan said and they began.

For the next two hours, the process became a routine for Chen Ren. Villagers came and went, each hoping to find a spark of opportunity within the Divine Coin Sect. After conducting the aptitude tests, he found that not a single person had even one spirit root.

Disappointingly, even the interviews yielded little promise—most of the villagers didn’t know how to read or write, which came as no surprise. Education was a rarity, even in the cities, but the lack of basic skills posed a significant obstacle for Chen Ren’s vision for the sect.

Although he was willing to overlook such limitations for individuals who showed promise in other areas, very few demonstrated the curiosity or critical thinking he sought. Most seemed motivated by the prestige of joining a sect or the desire for stable work—reasonable goals, but not the mindset Chen Ren needed. He wanted people eager to grow, learn, and contribute, yet such candidates were proving increasingly rare.

Still, Chen Ren persisted, summoning one hopeful after another, patiently conducting the tests and interviews despite his mounting disappointment.

Just as he finished speaking with yet another uninspiring candidate, a commotion outside the room broke his focus. He frowned, glancing toward the door. The muffled sound of voices rose, followed by the unmistakable low growl of an animal.

“Should we go and see—”

Yalan was soon cut off when two familiar faces appeared in the doorway, both bowing towards him with stiff shoulders. Behind them, a wolf’s sharp eyes and bristling fur peeked through the door frame.

A grin spread across Chen Ren’s face as he leaned back in his chair. Finally, someone worth recruiting, he thought.

“It’s good to see you both,” he greeted.

The two brothers straightened. Zi Han, the younger, gave a slight nod, while his elder brother, Zi Wen, crossed his arms and grunted nonchalantly. Meanwhile, the wolf—Little Yuze—stood silently, its intelligent eyes watching Chen Ren carefully.

Chen Ren gestured toward the doorway. “Before we begin, can you have your wolf wait outside? As much as I’d like to see how obedient it is, this space isn’t ideal for animals.”

Zi Wen turned to the wolf. “Yuze, behave and wait outside.”

The wolf gave no sign of protest, trotting off obediently to settle just beyond the door.

Chen Ren’s eyes twinkled with approval. He nodded at the brothers, motioning for them to step forward. “So, you two want to join the sect?”

Zi Han replied with a simple, “Yes,” while Zi Wen grunted again, his lack of enthusiasm evident.

Chen Ren smirked slightly and fixed his gaze on Zi Wen. “I don’t think you need an aptitude test.”

Zi Han watched his elder brother, Zi Wen, with a raised eyebrow who looked equally surprised.

"You know?" Zi Wen asked, maintaining his eye contact with Chen Ren.

Chen Ren smiled and shrugged. "Hard to miss when the wolf is always trailing behind you, and I have a decent qi perception." He met Zi Wen's gaze, his smile widening. "You’re a cultivator."

Zi Wen’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t deny it. "Barely," he muttered. "I’m only in the body forging realm and on top of that, in the first star."

"How long have you been cultivating?"

"Twenty years," Zi Wen answered with a shrug.

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed, surprised by the answer. But before he could speak, Zi Wen added, "I haven’t really cultivated for nineteen of those years. The first year, I was in a sect. Tried to go against the heavens... but eventually, I accepted my fate and my meager talent."

"How do you know your talent is bad?"

Zi Wen scoffed, bitterness creeping into his voice. "I only have twenty four spirit roots."

At this, Chen Ren couldn’t help but chuckle softly, shaking his head. "So, you gave up on cultivating just because of that?"

Zi Wen’s frown deepened, and his posture stiffened and he clutched his hands by his sides. "There were other reasons, but yes, that was part of it. What’s so funny? Are you making fun of me?"

Chen Ren quickly waved his hands in a placating gesture. "No, no. Not at all. It’s just that I don’t think having fewer spirit roots really matters that much. I myself have only twenty one spirit roots, and in the past year, I’ve gone from the third star of the body forging realm to breaking through into the qi refinement realm."

The words hung in the air for a moment as Zi Wen’s eyes widened. He looked at Chen Ren, clearly trying to determine whether the young man was lying or telling the truth.

"Sit down," Chen Ren instructed, gesturing toward a chair before he could say anything. "Before you have any questions, I’d love to hear why you left cultivation behind. And if you’re really interested in joining the Divine Coin Sect, we will start the interview after that."

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

63. Sect Recruitment (2)

Chen Ren looked at the duo of siblings. Zi Han and Zi Wen sat there—the latter was stiff, arms crossed, had his emotions masked with a stubborn face.

Chen Ren leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee, and broke the silence with a calm but pointed question. “So, do you want to talk about why you left your sect?”

Zi Wen’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. The question seemed to hit a nerve. His gaze dropped to the ground, unfocused, as if sifting through distant memories.

“Do you really want to know?”

“If you and your brother are here, it means you at least have some hope of joining my sect. So yes, I’d like to know your background.”

Zi Wen snorted softly, his lips curling into a wry smile. “I was just dragged here.”

Chen Ren raised one eyebrow, exhaling through his nose. “You wouldn’t have been dragged here if you didn’t want to come. I like to talk straight, so why don’t you?”

Zi Han, who had been quietly drawing, paused. He looked up. “He’s right, Brother.”

Zi Wen sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He stared at the ground for a long moment, then shook his head. “Fine. It’s not like I have anything to hide.”

Chen Ren didn’t press him, merely waiting in calm silence. The quietness that stretched seemed to urge Zi Wen to continue. He glanced at Chen Ren, then back to the ground, his voice quieter now.

“It was a long time ago,” Zi Wen began, his eyes filled with nostalgia but the scrunch of his nose showed that the man was bitter for whatever had happened. “My parents took me to Lotus City. There was a sect there—Heavenly Lotus Sect—conducting aptitude tests. I was just a kid then, and I was... fascinated by cultivators. The stories about them, their feats, how they could fight armies single-handedly, how they were practically gods walking among mortals. I begged my parents to let me take the test.”

Zi Han seemed to hold his breath while Zi Wen continued. Chen Ren guessed that even his brother hadn't heard the story in detail and knew only bits of it.

“My parents had no reason to say no, but I’m sure they expected me to fail. No one in my family had ever cultivated. Not even a trace of talent.” He laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “But when fate plays its hand, even the impossible becomes possible.”

Chen Ren remained silent, his calm gaze unrelenting. Zi Wen met it for a moment before looking away again.

“They found I had spirit roots. Just a meager amount, but it was enough. They took me in. The Heavenly Lotus Sect was an Established sect. They didn’t take in just anyone, but they made an exception for me since they needed a specific number of disciples from the city.”

Zi Wen paused. “At the time, I thought I was the luckiest person alive. My parents were happy for me when I was taken in. I was excited too. I thought, despite my meager talent, I’d defy the heavens and reach the top. The kind of foolish confidence only a child could have.”

Zi Han watched his brother with wide, unblinking eyes.

“But that confidence didn’t last,” Zi Wen continued, his voice heavy with old wounds. “A month in the sect, I learned just how far from the top I really was. I was at the bottom of the bottom. A servant.”

Chen Ren’s brows furrowed slightly, though he didn’t interrupt.

“They gave me tasks—sweeping the training grounds, scrubbing the hallways, fetching water. The kind of jobs that reminded you every day just how worthless you were. And even when I had time to cultivate, I barely made any progress. My talent… it was like trying to fill a broken jar with water.” Zi Wen clenched his fists. “Every day, my confidence cracked a little more. And then he found me.”

“Who?” Chen Ren asked.

Zi Wen exhaled sharply, his hands relaxing. “The son of one of the elders. He’d lost a fight to someone before and must’ve been looking to vent. I was weak enough, and I guess I looked pathetic enough to make a perfect target.” His voice turned hard. “We sparred. I lost—badly. And he laughed at me. After that, he decided I’d make a good punching bag. And that’s what I became.”

Zi Han’s mouth to interrupt. “Brother, you weren't just a punching—”

“I was one! Just one that didn't give up!” Zi Wen cut in sharply, his voice rising for the first time. He paused, his hands trembling, before continuing, softer now. “I kept trying. I learned every technique I could, cultivated every spare moment. But no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried... I kept losing. Over and over. Until... I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“I ran,” Zi Wen said quietly. “I left the sect and ran back to Meadow Village—home. My family was just happy to have me back. I told them I didn't want to be a cultivator, and they didn’t care about my failure. They just wanted their son back.” He forced a small smile. “I helped on the farms, became a hunter, and tried to live peacefully. Especially after I found Yuze.”

“The wolf.” Chen Ren said.

Zi Wen nodded, his face now lit with a soft smile. “Little Yuze. A stray beast wolf. Barely alive when I found him in a trap. I raised him, and he’s been my companion ever since.”

Zi Wen’s gaze returned to Chen Ren, his shoulders sinking. “That’s my story. Pathetic, I know. I actually came here because... I was curious about you. But now I know even someone like you wouldn’t want a cultivator like me—someone with no prospects, who ran away from the first real challenge they faced.”

Silence fell, heavy and unyielding. Zi Wen’s words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. Chen Ren studied him, his expression unreadable, but behind his calm exterior, his thoughts churned.

He thought of all the cultivators like Zi Wen—those who were cast aside, mocked, and crushed under the weight of expectations. How many had given up? How many were bullied into believing they were worthless by others who thought themselves superior?

Zi Han shifted closer to his brother, resting a hand on Zi Wen’s shoulder. “You know that’s not true, Brother.”

Zi Wen let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I didn’t lie. That is what happened. I gave up. I went back on everything that makes a cultivator—resilience, growth, strength. I abandoned all of it.”

Zi Han’s grip tightened. “No, you didn’t. You tried—”

“I failed,” Zi Wen snapped, cutting him off. “That’s what matters. I couldn’t overcome it. I ran. Doesn’t that prove I wasn’t cut out for it?” His voice cracked slightly, but he steadied it with a deep breath.

Before Zi Han could respond, Chen Ren spoke. “I don’t think you went back on what a cultivator should be.”

Both brothers turned to him, surprised. Zi Wen frowned, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t think you’re weak, and I don’t think you failed in the way you think you did. From what you’ve told me, you didn’t just roll over. You stood up every day and tried to beat that so-called young master. You kept going, even when the odds were stacked against you. That shows resilience.”

Zi Wen let out a hollow laugh. “Resilience doesn’t matter if you lose in the end.”

Chen Ren shook his head. “You only lost because the martial dao isn’t your path.”

“What?”

“You were walking a dao that rejects you—and you reject it—even if you don’t realize it yet,” Chen Ren explained.

“I don’t understand,” Zi Wen admitted, frustration creeping into his tone.

Chen Ren didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze drifted to the door, where a wolf-shaped shadow lingered just outside. A smirk played on his lips as he turned back to the brothers. “I’ll explain it to you. But right now, I don’t think we have the time. Because there’s a long line of candidates waiting out there. So, for now, I’ll just say this—I don’t care about your past. What I care about is whether you’re ready to move forward. If you are, I’d be more than happy to have you and your brother in my sect.”

Zi Wen’s eyes widened slightly. “You… You would?”

“Of course,” Chen Ren said with a shrug, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “But let’s be clear—I’d still need to conduct an interview first. No free passes, even for interesting candidates like you. If you pass, I’ll welcome you both into the Divine Coin Sect.”

Zi Wen hesitated, his mouth opening to say something, but Chen Ren held up a hand to stop him.

“And I know you’ve had bad experiences in your previous sect,” Chen Ren continued. “But let me make one thing clear—no one in the Divine Coin Sect will treat you like that. We’ll have strict regulations to ensure that stronger members don’t bully weaker ones. Sparring is for growth, not for venting frustrations or showing off.”

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing. “So, what do you say?”

Zi Wen froze. He looked at his younger brother, who was already smiling.

Zi Han spoke up before his brother could. “We’re in.”

Chen Ren gave a small nod, then glanced at Yalan, who sat, appearing for all the world like an ordinary cat. With that, Chen Ren turned back to the brothers.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s start the interview.”

Like with the candidates before them, Chen Ren’s questions ranged across various topics—goals, integrity, mathematics, and more. He wanted to see not only their capabilities but also their character.

Zi Wen was composed but cautious in his answers. His desire to rekindle his ambition as a cultivator shone through, though there was a lingering hesitation in his voice. His brother, Zi Han, on the other hand, surprised Chen Ren. Despite lacking spirit roots, Zi Han excelled in mathematical questions, answering them faster and more accurately than Zi Wen. His sharp mind compensated for what he lacked in cultivation potential.

Both brothers could read and write, which was another point in their favor. Their reasons for joining the Divine Coin Sect were honest and grounded: Zi Wen sought redemption and growth, while Zi Han, tired of his past as a guard and occasional bandit, yearned for purpose and belonging.

Chen Ren found himself nodding as their answers aligned with what he had in mind. The two might not be extraordinary by conventional standards, but they had qualities that could help build the Divine Coin Sect into something greater.

Finally, he inhaled and asked the final question. “This will be a hypothetical scenario.”

The brothers exchanged a glance, then focused on Chen Ren as he outlined the scenario—the same question about profiting during a war. As Zi Wen opened his mouth to answer, Chen Ren held up a hand, stopping him. “I’ll give you a different question,” he said, turning his attention to Zi Han.

Zi Han furrowed his brow, thinking deeply before responding. “I’ve never been in a war,” he admitted, “but if something like this is happening, there’s no point in siding with anyone. Instead, it’s better to stay in the shadows.”

Chen Ren’s eyebrows raised slightly in interest. “Why is that?”

“Because,” Zi Han said after a brief pause, “until the end, you don’t know who might win. You can make a bet on someone, but that’s always a risk. There’s no reason to take it when better options exist for making a profit.”

“What are these better options you mentioned?”

Zi Han straightened. “In war, the essentials are rations, weapons, manpower, and countless other supplies. Controlling those industries is the way to profit. You can sell to both sides using proxies, staying neutral and earning a fortune while others exhaust themselves fighting.”

Chen Ren’s smile deepened, a spark of approval lighting his expression. “Very well. That’s a good answer.” He turned to Zi Wen. “As for you, I’m not going to give you a similar question.”

Zi Wen nodded cautiously, bracing himself.

“If you were given the chance to take revenge against the sect that cast you out,” Chen Ren asked. “Would you take it? Would you kill the young master who forced you to give up on cultivation?”

Zi Wen froze, his eyes widening. The question clearly caught him off guard. He glanced at his brother, who gave him a subtle, encouraging nod. Taking a deep breath, Zi Wen lowered his gaze, deep in thought.

“I won’t lie. If I became strong enough and that man stood before me again, I’d want to spar with him. To prove to myself that I could beat him.” He paused, his fists clenching. “But would I kill him? I don’t know. Revenge doesn’t drive me anymore. It’s been too long, and I’m not petty enough to chase after someone who might not even remember me. I’ve realized something: it’s better to focus on improving myself than wasting time on the past.”

Chen Ren gave a genuine smile, satisfied with the answer. “Very well. You’ve both passed. Welcome to the Divine Coin Sect.”

Zi Han’s face broke into a wide grin, and he immediately bowed low. “Thank you, Sect Leader Chen!”

Zi Wen, more reserved, rose from his seat and bowed as well. Though stoic, there was a quiet sincerity in his voice. “Thank you, Sect Leader Chen.”

Chen Ren waved his hand lightly. “You can both return for now. Once recruitment is complete, I’ll call for you.” He then focused on Zi Wen. “I know you have questions—about my spirit roots and what I said about martial dao not being your path. I’ll explain everything after recruitment is done.”

“Thank you.”

With that, the brothers left, leaving Chen Ren and Yalan alone in the room.

After the brothers had left, the room fell silent, save for the faint scratching of Chen Ren’s quill as he jotted down notes. Setting it aside, he turned to Yalan, who was perched lazily behind.

“Looks like we got two good members,” Chen Ren said with a small smile.

Yalan stretched, her tail flicking lazily before she glanced at him. “One.”

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow.

“The older one might have some potential,” Yalan clarified. “But the younger one? He doesn’t even have spirit roots. At best, he’ll make a good worker. I doubt he’ll ever be of much use offensively.”

A low chuckle escaped Chen Ren. “Give it time. You’ll see.”

Yalan narrowed her eyes, studying him intently. “What’s going on in that mind of yours, Chen Ren?”

“Nothing much,” he replied, the corners of his mouth curving into a sly smile. “You’ll know in time.”

“Hmph.” Yalan snickered, hopping down from her place. “Always so cryptic. Fine, let’s continue with the recruitment then. Though I doubt your so-called optimism will bear any fruit.”

Chen Ren stood and stretched, motioning toward the door for the next candidate. “Who knows? We might just find another cultivator among these villagers.”

Yalan let out a dry laugh. “If we do, I’ll eat my tail. I’d be surprised if there’s another cultivator in this entire group.”

Chen Ren grinned. “Then let’s see whose predictions come true.”

As Yalan settled beside him, Chen Ren called out for the next candidate.

***

The smell of sawdust filled his nostrils. The man sat cross-legged on the wooden floor of his small hut, his hands deftly carving patterns into the wooden puppet in front of him. The puppet, no larger than a toddler, was detailed down to the folds of its clothing, its wooden fingers joined for mobility. A set of tiny symbols, snaked along its limbs.

“The balance is off. If the hand’s embedded here, it’ll throw off the leg’s flexibility... I need to realign this section—”

Knock, knock.

The sudden interruption made his hand slip, the blade nicking the puppet’s arm. His jaw clenched, irritation flaring as he set the carving tool down with a loud thunk. Rising to his feet, he stomped toward the door.

“Who dares—” He flung the door open, only to be greeted by the sight of a scruffy-haired boy grinning up at him. The boy barely came up to his waist, his patched-up shirt hanging loose on his thin frame.

“What do you want, little Guo?” the man growled, his tone sharp.

“Brother Hong,” the boy chirped, undeterred by the glare. “Did you hear? A sect’s recruiting people in Meadow Village!”

Hong’s eyes narrowed, his irritation giving way to faint curiosity. “A sect? What’s its name?”

“The Divine Coin Sect!” Zhou declared proudly, his grin widening.

“Divine Coin Sect?” Hong repeated, his brows knitting together. He rolled the name around in his mind but came up blank. “Never heard of it. Why are you telling me this?”

Zhou crossed his arms, clearly enjoying himself. “My mom said they’re taking mortals too. She told me to tell you because maybe you can join and stop sitting at home playing with your dolls.”

Before Hong could react, Zhou let out a loud laugh, turned, and sprinted away down the dirt path.

“Damn brat,” Hong muttered, shaking his head as he closed the door. He returned to the puppet, picking up his tools, but his focus was gone. The boy’s words nagged at him.

“A sect taking in mortals?” he murmured, his knife pausing mid-cut. “That’s... unusual. No sect worth its name recruits mortals, not even for menial work. That’s what outer disciples are for.”

His thoughts spiraled. “I’ve never heard of this Divine Coin Sect either. A new sect? Or...” A sudden chill ran down his spine as his mind conjured the worst possibility.

“A demonic sect.” The words escaped his lips like a curse. “They’re trying to gather mortals for a ritual sacrifice, aren’t they?”

The more Hong thought about it, the more convinced he became. “It’s too suspicious. A sect no one’s heard of, recruiting mortals? It’s either a trap or something worse.”

He glanced at the puppet on his workbench, its incomplete form seeming to mock him. With a sigh, he set down his tools and stood, grabbing his cloak.

“I need to check this out,” he muttered, striding toward the door.

Once outside, Hong glanced toward the edge of the village, where the forest was. He took a deep breath, then tapped into his qi. The energy surged through his body, and with a leap, he disappeared into the trees, his speed a blur to the naked eye.

The dense forest whipped past him as he pushed his cultivation, covering miles in mere minutes. His mind raced as fast as his feet. If this really is a demonic sect, I need to find out before they harm anyone.

As the trees thinned, the sprawling fields of Meadow Village came into view. Hong slowed his pace, his keen eyes scanning the area. He didn’t have to look far.

A large crowd had already gathered in the village square, forming a line that stretched toward the entrance of the house. A burly old man stood at the front of the crowd, his hands clasped in front of him as he nodded and talked to the village men, who were clearly excited. Behind him was a small young woman—probably a maid. Around them were a group of kids, helping to keep the line in order because of the eager crowd.

Hong frowned as he approached the scene. “Looks like I’ve found them.”

As Hong found himself among the crowd, the murmur of voices reached his ears. Villagers whispered excitedly about two brothers who had been accepted into the sect. Snippets of conversation flitted past him,

“They say they had to go through an interview... they say he is asking questions.”

“Must be nice to get in so easily.”

“Easily? I heard they answered a lot of questions.”

The more Hong listened, the deeper his frown grew. His confusion was mounting. He felt no trace of demonic qi in the air—none of the sinister energy he expected to find if this were truly a trap. Instead, there was an odd sense of anticipation and unease, but nothing outright malicious.

As he pushed closer to get a better look at the house where the so-called “recruitment” was taking place, a voice yelled at him..

“Hey! Get in line like everyone else!”

Hong turned to see an older man glaring at him, arms crossed. Several other villagers shot him similarly annoyed looks.

“I...” Hong started, but then quickly clamped his mouth shut. Drawing too much attention to himself could jeopardize his cover. With a reluctant sigh, he muttered, “Fine,” and shuffled to the back of the line.

He stood there, arms crossed, his sharp eyes taking in everything around him. People came and went from the house, most emerging with crestfallen faces. He could hear snippets of their disappointment.

“He said I didn’t have a spirit root.”

“He didn’t even take me for labor work...”

“Young Master Chen Ren said he’ll let me know through Chief Muyang.”

So, they’re not taking just anyone, Hong mused. He scanned the area again, his senses reaching out for even the faintest trace of foul play, but there was nothing. The people leaving were sad, not terrified. This... doesn’t feel like a demonic sect at all. So, what are they up to? Chen Ren, was it?

The line moved slowly, and with each step forward, Hong’s curiosity deepened. By the time he reached the entrance, his nerves were taut with a mix of confusion and suspicion.

Finally, his turn came, and he stepped into the room.

The interior was surprisingly bare. Two chairs, but the only other occupants were a man seated calmly behind a wooden table and a sleek white cat curled up at his feet. Her amber eyes fixed on Hong the moment he entered.

Hong’s gaze raked over the room again, looking for an aptitude stone or any other tools typically used in such tests, but there was nothing. No aptitude stone? he thought, his brow furrowing. How is he testing people then?

His sharp eyes flicked back to the man who was seated.

At first glance, the man—Chen Ren—seemed ordinary. Dark hair, robes that spoke of wealth—but not too much wealth, just the right amount. And the demeanor of a usual mortal, but as Hong extended his senses to probe him, he felt the unmistakable aura of a cultivator. It was subtle but undeniable.

So, he’s the real deal. But what’s his game?

“Welcome. Please, take a seat,” Chen Ren spoke up.

Hong hesitated for a moment before stepping forward. “What’s your name?” the man asked.

“Hong Yi,” he replied curtly, eyeing the man warily.

Chen Ren nodded, jotting something down on a piece of parchment. “Good. Sit down, Hong Yi. We’ll begin the aptitude test shortly.”

Hong barely suppressed a snicker as he lowered himself into the chair. No aptitude stone, no array... let’s see how you plan to pull this off. If this is your way of lying to people, then I will show everyone the truth.

Hong sat stiffly in the chair, his silver eyes locked onto the man in front of him. The calm behavior of this supposed sect leader was unsettling. There was no grand display of power, no oppressive aura to assert dominance—just a quiet confidence. The white cat still sat at the man’s feet, its gaze unbroken as if it saw straight through him.

He suddenly rose from his chair and stepped closer, extending a hand toward Hong.

“What are you doing?” Hong asked, moving back—out of reach.

“Relax, this won’t hurt.”

Hong tensed as the man placed a hand on his shoulder, but to his surprise, no surge of qi invaded his body. He had been prepared to resist any attempt to pry into his cultivation base, yet there was nothing—no force, no invasive technique.

What is this?

Instead of focusing on the man, Hong’s attention drifted to the white cat. Something about the way it watched him sent a chill down his spine.

Chen Ren’s eyes began to shift, his brow furrowing, then his lips twitching in what might have been amusement or annoyance. After a moment, he removed his hand and crossed his arms.

“You have sixty-seven spirit roots,” the man said flatly.

Hong’s jaw tightened, his mind racing.

“And you’re in the qi refinement realm. First star.”

Hong’s breath caught, his eyes narrowing sharply. His concealment technique should have masked his cultivation base entirely. There was no way this man could have seen through it so easily.

“Why are you here?”

Hong’s eyes widened at that question. “How... How do you know that?”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead here.

64. Sect recruitment (3)

Chen Ren froze as he looked up at the cultivator in front of him, who looked equally shocked. For a while, neither of them spoke, and time itself seemed to have frozen as they stared at each other.

A storm of thoughts whirled in his mind. Why was such a strong cultivator here? It was clear that the man wasn’t just some wandering rogue looking for recruitment—no, someone of his cultivation and roots could likely secure a spot in a Guardian sect if he wanted, at least as an outer disciple. So why had he come? What was his goal?

Before he could voice the question, the cultivator moved. His expression shifted from confusion to hostility in an instant, and he shot up from his chair, thrusting a palm strike toward Chen Ren.

Chen Ren’s instincts screamed at him, and he dodged just in time. Lightning arced through his body as he countered, but before he could land a blow, the man suddenly froze.

Then, with a choked gasp, he was slammed to the ground.

His eyes widened in horror as an invisible force bore down on him, pinning him in place. Chen Ren extinguished his lightning and stepped back, realizing what had happened.

Yalan.

She had focused her aura solely on the rogue cultivator, and now he was nearly kissing the floor under its weight.

Taking advantage of the situation, Chen Ren quickly moved to shut the door, ensuring no one outside would see or hear what was happening.

Yalan stepped forward, stretching out her limbs as if she didn’t just push a large man down. "Who are you to attack someone I swore to protect?" she asked and narrowed her eyes.

The man's breath hitched, his pupils contracting as he looked at Yalan and slowly, comprehension dawned on his face. He was in the presence of someone who could end him as easily as stepping on an ant.

His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, panic flickering in his eyes.

Chen Ren glanced at Yalan and gestured for her to ease the pressure. A moment later, the weight bearing down on the man lessened, allowing his shoulders to relax slightly. But he still remained on his knees, clearly shaken.

He looked up at them, swallowing hard before speaking. "A meridian expansion realm master…" he muttered, almost as if confirming it to himself.

Chen Ren crossed his arms. "At least your qi perception is decent. Now, will you tell me what you're doing here? And why did you suddenly attack me?"

The man gulped, his eyes shifting to something between regret and fear. He looked like someone who had stepped into a place he never should have entered.

"My name is Hong Yi," he said at last. "I've been staying in the nearby Grassfield Village for a few months now. When I heard about a sect recruiting mortals and conducting aptitude tests, I got curious. Especially because I had never heard its name before."

He hesitated before continuing. "I… I thought it might be a demonic sect trying to gather sacrifices. Please, forgive me. I hadn't expected that such a powerful master beast would be behind it."

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow. "Now you know. But I do wonder if you're lying."

Hong Yi shook his head frantically. "No, no! I swear, I’ve told you the truth!"

Chen Ren studied the man in silence, his sharp gaze searching for any trace of falsehood. Hong Yi fidgeted under the scrutiny, but his fear was genuine—or at least, he wasn’t putting on an act.

After a moment, Chen Ren nodded toward Yalan.

She immediately withdrew her aura, and Hong Yi nearly collapsed, sucking in a deep breath as if he had just escaped the jaws of death. Relief washed over his face, but before he could move from his kneeling position, Chen Ren spoke.

"You can’t leave yet," he said calmly. "I’m still curious about a few things, and it would be in your best interest to tell the truth."

Hong Yi stiffened but nodded quickly.

Chen Ren leaned against the chair "So, what are you doing in the village? With your spirit roots, I doubt you’re just some wandering rogue cultivator."

The man gulped, hesitation flickering in his eyes. "My situation is… complicated."

Chen Ren gave him a dry look. "You’re not the only one with a complicated situation here. Just talk."

A tense silence followed before Hong Yi finally sighed in defeat. "I’m a deserter from the Blood Iron Sect."

Yalan’s eyes narrowed. "A deserter? Why did you run away?"

Hong Yi hesitated, his fists clenching as if weighing whether to reveal the truth or not. But after a moment, he seemed to realize that hiding anything would only make things worse.

His shoulders slumped, and he spoke.

"It’s because I gained access to a meridian expansion realm cultivator’s inheritance."

Chen Ren’s eyebrows rose slightly, and even Yalan cast a surprise glance at him.

But neither interrupted, letting the man continue.

"It wasn’t an offensive technique, a cultivation manual, or even an artifact," Hong Yi added bitterly. "It’s… not something most cultivators would even have any use for."

Chen Ren noted the way Hong Yi’s hands curled slightly, the way his voice carried a trace of wariness—he clearly thought they were going to take the inheritance from him. Maybe that was exactly what had happened in his sect.

Still, Chen Ren ignored those thoughts for now and asked the important question.

"What kind of inheritance was it?"

Hong Yi took a deep breath before answering. "The inheritance of a Puppet Master."

Chen Ren stilled. "Puppet Master…" he muttered under his breath.

The term stirred a distant memory—one of the many books he had read after coming to this world. It had been a small mention, barely a footnote, but he recalled the basics.

Puppets were another cultivation discipline, a rare and esoteric path that involved crafting constructs and fusing a part of oneself with them to establish control. It was an art that required precision, resources, and deep knowledge of formations.

It was a rare art—rarer than all three disciplines Chen Ren was currently learning. Puppet Masters weren’t just uncommon; they were almost myths, their techniques scattered and lost across generations.

And now, there was one kneeling right in front of him.

As he mused on this, Hong Yi continued.

"I found it during one of my adventures, deep beneath the caves of my sect. I don't know how, but the sect master found out about it soon after." His voice turned bitter. "At first, he was disappointed. My sect is a purely martial sect—they only house alchemists alongside their martial cultivators. A Puppet Master had no place among them."

He let out a dry chuckle. "But even then, it was still a novelty. Something unique. So for a while, I was treated well. They made me a core disciple and showered me with resources."

Yalan narrowed her eyes. "What changed?"

Hong Yi frowned, as if thinking back to something unpleasant. Then, after a moment, he exhaled.

"One of the elders… he didn’t like my sudden rise. So he reached out to an Established sect far in the south of the empire—one that already had Puppet Masters among their ranks." His voice grew darker. "And they made an offer. They promised my sect a fortune in resources, enough to help the sect master break through to the next realm… in exchange for my inheritance."

Chen Ren tensed, realising what might have happened. "But the inheritance you received isn’t something tangible, is it?"

Hong Yi gave a hollow smile. "No. It’s attached to my soul. It was knowledge—deep knowledge passed directly into my mind. I couldn’t just hand it over like an artifact or a scroll."

His hands clenched into fists. "So they gave me two options. Either I submit myself to the sect, allow them to strip every piece of knowledge from my mind, or they kill me and use an artifact to harvest my soul for it."

Chen Ren’s breath hitched, and his eyes darted toward Yalan.

"Do righteous sects even have things like soul-harvesting artifacts?"

"Some do. The line between so-called righteous and demonic practices is thin. And from what he's telling us, it sounds like his sect was willing to dispose of him for the sake of their leader’s breakthrough,” Yalan answered.

Hong Yi nodded grimly. "That’s why I ran. The moment I learned of their plan, I escaped as far as I could and hid myself in here, posing as an ordinary traveler. I barely leave my house, fearing that my cover might be blown."

He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "The only reason I came out today was because I thought you all were demonic cultivators. I figured I had to act before you did something terrible." He looked down. "I’m sorry for that."

Chen Ren barely heard him. His mind was racing.

A soul inheritance—especially one related to puppetry. That was a special kind of power. Power that intrigued him. He could think of countless cultivators who would go to any lengths for such an inheritance, not only because of the art of puppet making, but simply because it was a meridian expansion realm inheritance.

Those were far and few between in the whole empire. And judging by Hong Yi’s expression—the way he sat there, stiff and resigned—he fully expected to die here.

Fortunately for him, Chen Ren wasn’t one to force things.

His gaze shifted to Yalan, and with a mere thought, he mentally asked, What do you think?

Her response came almost instantly. I don’t think he’s lying, but yeah… his story is interesting. He’s lucky his sect hasn’t found him yet. He also can’t go to another sect since they might just turn him over. I doubt he’s in any position to trust someone.

Chen Ren nodded slightly. Yeah, but his power is interesting enough for me to want him.

Yalan’s voice turned dry. Don’t you know that would get the ire of an established sect?

I know, Chen Ren admitted, but a Puppet Master inheritance is too good to let go. Still, I don’t want to make a hasty decision before getting to know him.

He turned his attention back to Hong Yi.

"Your situation seems like a bad one to be in."

The man let out a short, humorless laugh. "I know. I live in constant fear of dying. The only thing I can do is work on my cultivation and my puppets—make sure I’m strong enough to face any trouble that comes my way. Or at least stall enough to run away again."

Chen Ren crossed his arms. "I don’t think that’s the only thing you can do."

Hong Yi frowned. "What else can I do?"

"Join my sect."

The man’s eyes widened slightly, but before he could respond, Chen Ren continued.

"I know we’re new, and you have your reservations. But if you join us, we wouldn’t give you away to anyone. And we’d make sure your rights are prioritized."

Even after hearing that, Hong Yi still didn’t look convinced. Chen Ren understood why.

The place barely resembled a proper sect. There were no grand halls, no established reputation—only Yalan’s presence might make it seem legitimate. To Hong Yi, it was probably just another risk. And not a good one at that.

After a moment, the man exhaled. "I need time to think about it."

Chen Ren had expected it. No one in their right mind, and had such risk and powers would be convinced that easily.

He nodded before pausing as another idea came to his mind. “How about this? In two days, come back here, and I’ll show you why you should join my sect. Bring your puppet too—I’d love to see it."

Hong Yi hesitated before finally nodding, though it was clear he was simply agreeing due to fear of dying.

Yalan, who had remained silent until now, suddenly spoke, her voice calm yet carrying an unmistakable weight.

"And don’t try to run away," she said.

Hong Yi flinched.

"We’re not going to contact your former sect or anything. If we wanted to do that, we wouldn’t be letting you go right now." Her eyes narrowed. "But if you do try to run, just know that tracking you down would be easy for me."

Hong Yi swallowed hard. "I won’t, Master—"

Yalan cut him off. "Yalan."

"...Thank you, Master Yalan," he said quickly, bowing. "Thank you for not killing me."

Then, without another word, he hurried away.

Chen Ren watched Hong Yi disappear through the door, then chuckled. "That's a strange way of saying goodbye."

Yalan turned to him, unimpressed. "Are you really planning to pick a fight with an Established sect? They won’t let go of the inheritance so easily."

Chen Ren’s amusement faded as he met her gaze. He knew she was right.

As a sect master, he needed to choose his battles wisely. A single misstep, and his sect could be crushed before it even had the chance to grow. But at the same time, he wasn’t someone who turned away from an opportunity just because it was risky—especially not when it had come knocking on his door without him even searching for it.

Still, caution was necessary.

"I need to understand the man more first," Chen Ren said. "I’m not planning on starting a war with a sect. But I do want him in the sect. Puppet Masters are rare, and having that kind of power in our ranks would help solve a lot of our combat power issues."

He crossed his arms. "That being said, I’ll only recruit him if I can make sure his former sect won’t come after us. That’s why I gave him two days. I need to understand his situation better before making a move."

Yalan studied him for a moment before shrugging. "Whatever. At least we’ve found one more good prospect for the sect. Let’s hope there are more."

Chen Ren smirked. "Let’s see."

The rest of the day, they continued their search, but it was fruitless.

They didn’t find anyone worth taking in—neither mortals nor cultivators. Some had potential, but their mindsets or circumstances weren’t a good fit for the sect. Others simply lacked talent or drive.

Still, Chen Ren didn’t lose hope. There were plenty of people left to evaluate, and with time, he was confident they’d find more promising individuals.

For now, they decided to resume the tests and interviews tomorrow.

***

Although the same problems persisted the next day—people lacking even basic literacy, some showing no real ambition for growth—Chen Ren managed to find a few individuals who seemed like they would genuinely stick with the sect. They weren’t necessarily the strongest or the smartest, but they had something else: determination. And in the long run, that was more valuable than raw talent alone.

But the real surprise came toward the end of the day.

Among the last few villagers he tested was a young man—just eighteen years old, with the rough hands and sun-darkened skin of a farmer. His name was Luo Heng, and up until this moment, he had lived his entire life believing that his fate was tied to the soil beneath his feet. He had never once imagined himself as a cultivator.

Yet, when Chen Ren examined him, he found that the boy had nineteen spirit roots. A far cry from the prodigies of great sects, but to Chen Ren, who was building a foundation from nothing, it was still potential. And potential was worth nurturing.

The moment Luo Heng realized what this meant, his entire face lit up in awe and disbelief. “I… I can cultivate?” he asked, almost afraid to believe it.

Chen Ren smiled. “You tell me. Do you want to cultivate?”

“Yes! Yes, I do!” Luo Heng said immediately, his voice shaking with excitement.

Even if the boy wasn’t literate, even if he lacked any prior training, enthusiasm like that couldn’t be ignored with his spirit roots. Chen Ren decided to take him in.

With that, recruitment was finally complete.

Chen Ren wasted no time in spreading the news. He sent word through the Chief Muyang, announcing the names of those who had been accepted. Some would serve in different capacities within the sect, but all of them were now part of it.

And the very next day, he gathered them all for their initiation ceremony—not just to welcome them, but to teach them something far more important.

A lesson that most sects ignored.

A lesson about the Dao—and why their sect would not focus solely on martial strength alone.

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

PS - We are looking for beta readers for Dao of Money. You would be able to read upto latest chapter on Patreon and even more for free. If you are interested, please text me on discord or in my server. My ID - beebee0162

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65. A lesson on Dao

Chen Ren stood in one of the biggest rooms he could find in the buildings he now owned. The space was large, its high ceiling, and the emptiness after the cleanup making voices echo slightly, and in front of him stood every new recruit of the Divine Coin Sect.

Although he had expected a decent number of people to join, he was still pleasantly surprised—twelve members from the nearby villages. Twelve.

Zushi was the first among them. She stood near the front, looking calm but attentive. Her eyes were plastered on Chen Ren, and next to her was Luo Heng, the young man who’d no idea that he was a cultivator, and had lived his entire life as a farmer.

Then there was Tao Li, a man in his mid thirties who was partially blind but had the wits of someone who’s twice his age. He had answered every question effortlessly, but precisely—the answers fitting to each question. On the back sat the two brothers, Zi Wen and Zi Han, looking up at him and whispering something to each other.

And there was also Hong Yi puppet cultivator who hadn't joined the sect yet, but had come to meet him just as their arrangement. He kept his distance, as if unsure whether to stay or leave. Chen Ren hadn’t seen his puppet anywhere, but at least the man had come. That was a good sign. Convincing him to fully join would take work, but he saw potential.

Apart from these people, the rest of the men and women fit his standards enough to be taken inside. In a way, it was good to find literate people. That alone made things easier. But what excited him the most were the cultivators among them.

On the side stood his original members—Xiulan, Yalan, the kids, and Anji.

Taking a deep breath, he swept his gaze around the room for the final time and spoke.

“Everyone, I would like to first congratulate you on joining the Divine Coin Sect. All of you have shown qualities like grit, determination, good aptitude, and intelligence during our interviews. And I can promise you this—you won’t regret your choice.”

The mortal members straightened, excitement flickering in their eyes. Among the cultivators, only Luo Heng looked enthusiastic. The other two remained unreadable, their expressions giving away nothing.

Chen Ren continued. “Unlike other sects, we do not focus solely on martial arts. Our sect is built on business, trade, and wealth. But make no mistake—we will not neglect the path of cultivation. Strength and wisdom go hand in hand, and this sect will be a place where both flourish. No one will be cast aside based on their background, status, or cultivation. Everyone has a role, and everyone will benefit.”

He explained further, speaking of the sect’s future, the opportunities it would create, and the strength they would build—not through blind ambition, but through strategy, discipline, and profit.

When he finally asked, “Are there any questions?” Silence hung in the air for a moment. Some recruits hesitated, glancing at each other.

Then Zushi stepped forward. “Sect Leader,” she said, “our sect has both mortals and cultivators standing as equals. But does that mean we, the mortals, will also learn martial arts like them?”

Chen Ren met Zushi’s gaze and nodded. “The primary duty of mortals in the sect will be different. Your focus will be on sales, marketing, and delivery.” He paused, scanning their faces for any hint of hesitation. “The Divine Coin Sect already has its hands in a few businesses, and as we expand, you’ll be the ones managing them.”

Some of the mortal recruits looked at each other, murmuring.

“But,” Chen Ren continued, “that doesn’t mean you won’t be trained. Strength is important in all walks of life. You’ll be required to do basic physical training every day. More than that, you’ll learn about cultivators—their needs, their goods, and their methods. In the future, we’ll be selling to them, so understanding their world will be necessary.”

That got their attention. Zushi nodded, her small eyes flashing with understanding, while Tao Li stroked his chin in thought.

“And after some time,” Chen Ren added, “there will be special training for all mortals.”

That made a few of them straighten in interest.

Han Fei, a herbalist who’d been in the same stream for generations raised a hand. Chen Ren remembered his face well due to the bushy eyebrows he had. “What kind of training?”

Chen Ren only smiled. “You’ll know when the time comes.”

He let that settle before shifting his gaze toward the cultivators standing at the back. Zi Wen looked intrigued, Hong Yi’s expression was unreadable like usual, and Luo Heng–the youngster among the group-had an openly curious expression on his face.

“Mortals will focus on sales,” Chen Ren said, “but cultivators will be more involved in production. That means learning disciplines like alchemy, forging, and artifact crafting.” He let the words sink in before continuing. “There won’t be any force. You’ll be free to learn as you choose. But you will also be required for protection when necessary. Beyond that, you’ll have time to cultivate and walk your own Dao. The sect will support you in that.”

Zi Han crossed his arms, tilting his head. “How will the sect help?” he asked. “Do we have a lot of resources—pills, treasures, things like that? And what about masters? If we’re learning disciplines, who will teach us?”

Chen Ren took a slow breath. “Our sect is new. Right now, we don’t have a stockpile of resources, but we will. As we grow wealthier, we’ll buy what’s needed—pills, materials, manuals.”

Zi Han gave a small nod at that, but his eyes still held some doubt.

“As for masters,” Chen Ren continued. “We have books on various disciplines. They’ll serve as a foundation. And in time, we’ll attract more cultivators who can teach. But resources and masters aren’t the only things that help a cultivator grow.”

At that, Zi Wen finally spoke. “What else is there?” His voice was deep and calm. “What kind of support can you offer besides resources?”

Chen Ren’s gaze settled on him. “Insights into your Dao.”

Zi Wen frowned slightly, but before he could ask more, his expression shifted, as if another thought had struck him. He hesitated, then finally spoke again.

“I apologize if this is disrespectful, Sect Leader,” he said, carefully measuring his words. “But I would like to know—who is the strongest cultivator in our sect?” His sharp eyes met Chen Ren’s. “I know you are the sect leader, but—”

“But I’m only in the qi refinement realm, right?” he said, finishing Zi Wen’s unspoken thoughts. “You’re worried about the safety of the sect.”

Zi Wen nodded, but his eyes revealed a trace of concern. It was a question that probably rang in everyone’s mind but they refused to speak up.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Chen Ren continued. “We have a sect guardian among our ranks—a meridian expansion realm cultivator, one of the strongest beings in the Kalian Empire. She’ll also be available to help with martial training if you have any problems.”

The words hung in the air for a moment before realization dawned on Zi Wen. His eyes widened. “A meridian expansion master?” he asked.

Someone from the group gasped out loud at that. But Chen Ren maintained his calm demeanor.

“Yes.” Chen Ren nodded. “She’s the protector of our sect. As long as she’s here, you don’t have to worry about our safety.”

Zi Wen slowly exhaled, processing the information before giving a firm nod. “I see.”

From the side, Yalan smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction. The other recruits stirred, excitement buzzing among them. Even the mortals—despite not fully grasping the weight of the words—could tell this was significant.

Only one person remained quiet. The puppet cultivator, Hong Yi. His gaze flickered toward Yalan, lips pressing into a thin line, clearly remembering their interaction.

Chen Ren let the moment settle before shifting the conversation. “Any more questions for now?”

Silence. A few hesitant glances, but no one spoke up.

Satisfied, he moved forward. “Earlier, you asked what kind of insights the sect could give you. Let’s talk about that.” His tone shifted, drawing their full attention. “These insights will be about the different types of Dao—because the Martial Dao isn’t the only path.”

A few of the mortals looked puzzled, while the cultivators narrowed their eyes in thought.

“I know some of you may find this confusing,” Chen Ren admitted. “So let’s put it simply. Think of Dao as your path—the one you want to walk, the foundation your purpose is built around.”

He paused, scanning the room to make sure they were following. The mortals exchanged uncertain glances, but Zushi seemed to grasp it first, nodding in understanding.

“Most sects in the empire focus on a singular Dao—the Martial Dao,” Chen Ren continued. “Some sects and clans specialize in variations of it, like the Dao of the Sword, the Dao of the Spear, and similar martial paths. Others center around professions like alchemy or blacksmithing.”

He let the words sink in before raising a question of his own. “But are those the only Daos in the world?”

Chen Ren let his question linger in the air, watching the cultivators carefully. It was the puppet cultivator who broke the silence first.

“You’re talking about esoteric daos,” Hong Yi said.

A pleased smile tugged at Chen Ren’s lips. “Exactly,” he said. “These are the rare Daos—not many cultivators walk upon them, but those who do are considered strong simply because of how unpredictable they can be.” His gaze swept across the group, lingering on the ones who had been the most skeptical. “Divine Coin Sect is also based on such a Dao—the Dao of Money.”

A murmur spread through the group, some looking confused while others appeared intrigued. Yalan’s smirk widened slightly, clearly already aware of where this was going.

“Not only that, but our sect is going to specialize in these esoteric Daos. We will encourage every disciple to think deeply about their own path. Why?. Because not only is it the fastest way to reach the top, but it also makes the issue of low spirit roots meaningless.”

Zi Wen’s brows furrowed, his sharp mind latching onto the statement. “What do you mean by that?” he asked.

“Yeah, I don’t get it.”

One of the mortals spoke up. Chen Ren ignored the mortal and focused on Zi Wen.

“I knew you’d be interested.” He let the anticipation build for a moment before speaking again. “You already know how many spirit roots I have, don’t you?”

Zi Wen hesitated before nodding. “Yes.”

“And yet,” Chen Ren continued, “I’ve reached the qi refinement realm in just the last few months—from third star body forging realm.”

Zi Wen’s expression tightened as he put the pieces together. “It was because you focused on your Dao of Money,” he murmured.

“Exactly,” Chen Ren confirmed. “I focused on my Dao, pursued accomplishments within it, and paired it with the right amount of insight. You can do the same. And if you do, then spirit roots won’t matter anymore.”

Chen Ren had talked about this extensively with Yalan. Cultivation, at its core, was about taking in the energy of the world and refining it within oneself. That much was undeniable. But if one walked their Dao, the energy would begin to move as if it had a mind of its own, aligning with the cultivator’s path and empowering them naturally. It took the issue of spirit roots out of the game completely.

It was no different from how a sword cultivator’s strength increased not just by absorbing Qi but by mastering sword techniques, refining his understanding of the blade, and deepening his connection to it. A blacksmith cultivator didn’t rely solely on Qi intake—his cultivation progressed as he forged better and better weapons, strengthening his Dao of the Forge with each success.

As Chen Ren was lost in thought, Hong Yi spoke again. “Even if what you say makes sense, Sect Leader… esoteric Daos are called esoteric for a reason. They’re rare. Walking such a path and gaining insights into them is extremely difficult. Not many pursue these paths for a reason.”

Chen Ren’s gaze flicked to him, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Why do you think that is?” he asked. “Why are there so few esoteric Dao cultivators?”

Hong Yi frowned, arms crossing as he mulled over the question. Seconds passed. Then more. In the end, he let out a quiet breath. “I don’t know.”

Chen Ren’s voice was steady as he answered. “It’s because our cultivation structure is inherently flawed.”

That made a few people straighten up, their attention sharpening.

“Instead of letting a cultivator choose their own path, they are pushed toward the martial path—because to most people, that is the only way to create powerful cultivators,” Chen Ren continued. “Even in sects that allow disciples to learn alchemy, forging, or arrays, those disciplines are always seen as secondary to the Martial Dao. And by the time a cultivator has advanced too far on that path, it becomes nearly impossible for them to change their Dao.”

The room was silent for a long moment. Some looked contemplative, others seemed uncertain, and a few had eyes gleaming with realization.

“But what if we didn’t follow that structure?”

Chen Ren exhaled slowly. This had been something that he’d spoken with Yalan, and even she’d agreed throughout their conversations.

The whole system was flawed. In a way, it wasn’t different from how kids who were born and raised in Asian countries were being forced into STEM fields they had no passion for. Like how a child was being pushed into studying alchemy in this world when their heart lies with arrays. Or being forced into martial cultivation when they have a natural talent for healing.

“And unlike those children who can change careers later, cultivation isn’t so forgiving. Once a cultivator goes too far down a path, it’s nearly impossible to turn back. That’s why esoteric Dao cultivators are so rare. Most never get the chance to walk their true path. And the few who do? They tend to be rogues, because no sect would support them.”

At his words, he saw different reactions from the group. Anji stood to the side, eyes narrowed in deep thought. Luo Heng mirrored the expression, as if trying to make sense of it all. Zi Wen and Hong Yi however, seemed more analytical, searching him for any deception in his words.

They found none.

Chen Ren could see the shift in their eyes, the slight change in how they looked at him. It wasn’t trust, not yet, but it was something close.

Ignoring their reactions, he moved on. “And to prove my point, let me tell you something—there’s already an esoteric Dao cultivator in this room besides me.”

That got their attention. Eyes widened. Some glanced around, looking at each other. Even the mortals, who didn’t fully grasp cultivation, perked up in curiosity.

Chen Ren smirked. Then he raised a hand and pointed directly at Zi Wen.

“It’s you.”

Zi Wen blinked. “Me?”

“Yes.”

A stunned silence. Then Zi Wen frowned. “How? How is it me”

Chen Ren tilted his head. “You might not have realized it yet, but you’ve unconsciously walked onto the Dao of Taming. You just haven’t aligned with it yet, which is why you haven’t gained any benefits from it.”

Zi Wen’s expression flickered. “Because of Little Yuze?”

“Yes. Beasts aren’t supposed to be easily tamed. Even if you got him as a whelp, the connection between you two, the way he listens to you—it all points toward something much deeper than simple training. In the texts I’ve read, this is a sign of someone on the Dao of Taming.”

Zi Wen looked down, visibly processing the revelation. Some of the others exchanged looks. A murmur ran through the group.

He crossed his arms and waited, giving the man some time to process it. Zi Wen remained silent, his brows furrowed in deep contemplation. Chen Ren could tell that he was turning the idea over in his head, trying to grasp what it truly meant to walk a Dao that wasn’t tied to raw martial strength. But he had no doubt—given enough time, Zi Wen would connect with his path.

Letting Zi Wen dwell in his thoughts, he turned to the rest of the group. His gaze swept across them, taking in their mixed expressions of curiosity, excitement, and apprehension.

“I implore all of you to think carefully about your Dao,” he said. “It doesn’t have to be a martial one. You are all free to walk and learn any path that resonates with you. Even those of you who are mortals.”

A few of the non-cultivators blinked in surprise, as if they hadn’t expected to be included in such a statement.

“You may not be able to perform feats like a cultivator,” Chen Ren continued, “but having a path, a purpose that aligns with who you are, will still allow you to achieve great things. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sect Leader!” came the resounding reply.

Chen Ren nodded in satisfaction.

His gaze shifted towards Hong Yi. The man was still lost in thought, his fingers twitching slightly as if adjusting invisible strings. Chen Ren had initially suspected him to be reluctant about joining, but now… now he seemed to be taking this seriously. That was good. That was what he needed.

But still, there were things that needed to be settled.

Before he could move forward with his plans, he needed to deal with this man. Learn more about him. Decide whether he was truly someone who could be trusted in the sect’s ranks.

And after that?

Chen Ren’s lips curled slightly.

Then he could finally begin production on his next creations.

The ones that would sweep across the empire like a storm. The ones that would carve his name into history. It would be the prelude before dominating the immortal market.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

66. Puppets and beer

Once the initiation class was over, Chen Ren sent everyone off.

Xiulan took charge of the mortals, leading them to another area where she would explain more about the sect—what they would do, what their duties were, and what they would learn.

Unlike normal sects, where disciples followed a master and learned directly from them, the Divine Coin Sect was different. It would teach through structured lessons, and everyone had to take part.

The lessons covered many things. Sales techniques that Chen Ren had written down, reading and writing, and even more math lessons than they expected. He didn't want his disciples getting tricked just because they didn’t know how numbers worked. He had already gone over all of this with Xiulan, and she was more than capable of handling it as the sect manager.

As for the cultivators, he kept them back a little longer. Instead of rushing them straight into training, he wanted them to think carefully about their path. What did they want to pursue? What was their Dao?

Of course, a part of this was because Chen Ren didn’t actually have any cultivation manuals to give them. The only one he had was the Chen clan's manual [Thunderstorm Sutra], and according to Yalan, none of them had lightning-aspected spiritual roots.

Zi Wen was fine—he still had his old manual from his previous sect, and Yalan could probably help him improve it. But Luo Heng needed a new one, and that was a problem Chen Ren would have to deal with soon.

After speaking with both of them, he turned to Hong Yi. Unlike the others, he wasn’t officially part of the sect yet. But if he could get him to join the sect, it would mean increasing the sect's average strength by a lot, excluding Yalan of course.

Chen Ren led him to the back of the building, toward a small clearing just before the mountains. Hong Yi silently followed him.

There, with the wind rustling the trees, he finally spoke.

“So? What did you think of the lecture?”

Hong Yi looked at him, clearly rethinking about it. Then, after a moment, he said, “It was... interesting.”

He paused, glancing at the sect buildings before looking back at Chen Ren.

“I’ve heard of sects with different branches, each focused on their own disciplines. But I’ve never heard of one focused on money.”

Hong Yi paused once again, as if gathering his thoughts. Then, he spoke. "As for the talk on Dao... I gained good insight from it. I think it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while now."

Chen Ren studied him before asking, "You follow the Martial Dao, right?"

Hong Yi nodded. "Yes. I’ve followed it for the last three years, ever since I started cultivating. For a long time, it felt like my path. But... since I got the inheritance, I feel like something is clashing with it." He clenched his fists, frustration showing on his face. "I’m not improving as fast as I should. I don’t practice my martial arts much anymore. I only focus on my puppets. Because of that... I’m falling behind in the Martial Dao." His voice lowered. "And I’ve started to question if it’s truly the way for me."

Chen Ren crossed his arms, watching him carefully. "You’re still young. You haven’t gone too far into cultivation yet. I think you can still change to the path you truly wish to walk on." He let the words settle before continuing. "In the end, it’s more philosophical than anything. It’s in your mind. Your Dao has to align with what you want. If you can do that, I believe you’ll be fine."

For a moment, there was only silence. The wind whispered through the trees. The boulder nearby stood still, unmoving, as if it had been there forever. The air was peaceful, untouched by doubt or hesitation.

Chen Ren looked around before turning back to Hong Yi. "I don’t see your puppets. I thought I told you to bring them."

Hong Yi blinked. "I brought them."

"Then where—"

Before Chen Ren could finish, Hong Yi whistled. A sharp, clear sound cut through the air.

Chen Ren frowned, wondering what he was doing. Then, he noticed movement in the mountain.

A figure leaped out and landed lightly on the ground.

It was wooden. Not taller than three feet. Humanoid. Its body was shaped like a person, but its features were simple. Two eye-like shapes were carved into its face, but there was no mouth, no nose. It almost looked like a wooden statue.

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow.

"I hid it in the mountain," Hong Yi admitted. "I didn’t want to be seen with it."

Chen Ren looked at the puppet then back to him. "How does it work?"

"It’s... hard to explain," Hong Yi said. He walked over to the puppet and placed a hand on its shoulder. "It’s like a soul link between me and it. The puppet understands basic commands. I made them respond to whistles since I was always good with them. And because it’s hard for enemies to figure out what I’m doing."

Chen Ren nodded slowly. "So it’s a bit like programming."

Hong Yi tilted his head. "Programming?"

Chen Ren thought for a moment. How was he supposed to explain this?

Finally, he said, "Think of it like giving someone commands, but in a really specific way. Each command makes for a specific effect. If you want to program it to fight, you will do a specific command. If you want it to walk, you will do a specific command. Like that." He frowned. "I don’t know how to explain it further, but... it’s like that."

Hong Yi nodded slowly. "I believe I get the gist of it."

Chen Ren smiled before pointing at the puppet once again. "How strong are they?"

Hong Yi smirked. Instead of answering, he stepped back and whistled again.

The wooden puppet moved. Its joints clicked slightly, but its steps were steady. It walked towards the boulder at the center of the clearing, raised its fist, and punched.

Boom!

A deep dent appeared in the stone.

Chen Ren’s brows lifted in surprise.

Without hesitation, the puppet drew back its arm and struck again. This time, the entire boulder cracked and crumbled into chunks.

Chen Ren blinked. That’s stronger than I expected.

Hong Yi looked proud. "This one is in the fifth star of the body forging realm. I haven’t been able to ‘program’ martial techniques into them yet, but they’re still formidable."

Chen Ren nodded. They were much stronger than he’d expected. "I can see that." He glanced at Hong Yi. "How many do you have?"

Hong Yi hesitated. He pressed his lips together, looking as if he didn’t want to reveal the number. After a moment, he sighed. "...Twelve right now. I’ve hidden them in the mountains, mostly. All of them range from the third to fifth star of body forging."

Chen Ren hummed. That was more than he expected.

"Can you make them stronger?" he asked.

"Yes," Hong Yi said immediately. "But it depends on materials. Spirit wood is especially important. If I want them to have elemental affinities and be smarter, I’d need more resources—and someone with knowledge of arrays and runic symbols."

Chen Ren raised a brow. "Arrays?"

Hong Yi nodded. "Apparently, I can engrave arrays into their cores. If I place elemental beads around the array, they can use elemental techniques." He frowned slightly. "It’s a bit hard to describe. Even harder to do."

Chen Ren stayed quiet, his mind already spinning with possibilities.

Puppets like these… They wouldn’t just be useful for defending the sect. He could send them with his sales teams to different cities when they moved to expand. The Kalian Empire was a dangerous place. Beasts roamed freely alongside bandits, and traveling long distances wasn’t something ordinary people did. Even merchants had to hire guards—sometimes even rogue cultivators at the body forging realm.

But with these puppets, I might be able to solve that problem.

Not just for himself, but for the people too.

His gaze returned to Hong Yi. "I’m impressed by the puppets. And honestly, I’m impressed by you." He exhaled and said, "So, once again, I’d like to offer you a place in the Divine Coin Sect."

Hong Yi’s expression shifted. He still looked uncertain. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. Chen Ren didn’t know he was holding his breath until the man in front of him opened his eyes. The eyes; they were filled with a ‘sorry’ to come. He was about to reject the offer again—

But before he could, Chen Ren spoke.

"I know your hesitation. You don’t think the Divine Coin Sect will be able to protect you against your former sect." he pursed his lips. "That’s your biggest concern, isn’t it?"

Hong Yi stiffened. Then, slowly, he nodded.

Chen Ren smiled slightly. "Then what if I can solve that?"

Hong Yi's eyes widened. For a moment, a flicker of hope crossed his face—but it was quickly replaced by doubt. He shook his head, concern evident in his gaze.

"I don’t think it’ll work," he muttered. "The sect leader of Blood Iron Sect himself is a meridian expansion realm cultivator and Master Yalan might be able to deal with him, but there's hundreds of cultivators under him."

Chen Ren shook his head. "No, I don’t plan on asking Yalan to negotiate with them or protect you." His expression turned serious. "I know their manpower is too much for us to handle head-on."

Hong Yi frowned. "Then what—?"

Chen Ren raised a hand. "I’ll tell you soon. I’m still fine-tuning the plan. But if I manage to do it, will you join the Divine Coin Sect?"

There was no hesitation in Hong Yi’s response. "If you can do it, I’ll happily join—if my inheritance stays with me."

Chen Ren smirked. "It will. I wouldn’t ask for something that personal." He crossed his arms. "But I’ll need information on your former sect. I’ll be traveling soon.”

Hong Yi raised an eyebrow. "For me?"

Chen Ren chuckled. "That, and for the next step of Divine Coin Sect’s expansion, basically to set up the supply chain for our next product."

***

Chen Ren wiped the sweat from his brow as he carefully hoisted another earthen pot filled with fermented mash, setting it down near the crude distillation setup he had pieced together. Copper tubing, sealed joints, and a few makeshift condensers lined the back of the house, where he had been experimenting for the past few days.

As he adjusted one of the tubes leading to a collection container, testing the seal, he heard Yalan’s voice from behind him.

"So, this is going to be your next big product?"

He glanced at her, then back at the equipment. "Yes. One thing the Kalian Empire has a massive market for is alcohol. And all the ones we tasted on our trip to this village…" He frowned. "They were weak. There’s definitely a gap for something stronger."

Yalan stepped closer, examining the setup with mild curiosity. "So you're making this—moonshine—just for that reason?"

"Not just moonshine." Chen Ren grinned. "Homemade cider, bathtub gin, and whatever else I can get working. My father was a big fan of alcohol, so I know a bit about the stronger stuff."

Yalan didn’t even blink. "So he was an alcoholic."

Chen Ren let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah. The local pubs loved him. He was basically their best customer." He paused for a moment as old memories surfaced, but he quickly pushed them away, refocusing on his work.

He checked the tubing again, watching as the first trickles of liquid began to move through the still. The vapors condensed, dripping steadily into the container he had set up. It wasn’t perfect yet—he’d have to distill it at least twice to get a high enough concentration—but it was a start.

"If this works," he muttered, more to himself than to Yalan, "I’ll start testing rice wine and other variations. If moonshine doesn’t sell well, something else will." He smirked. "But I have a good feeling about this. A little trial and error, and we’ll have something strong enough to shake up the market."

Chen Ren carefully adjusted the flame beneath the pot, watching as the liquid inside began to simmer. Thin tendrils of vapor curled upward, traveling through the coil of copper tubing toward the collection container. The first clear drops of alcohol began to drip, and he exhaled in satisfaction.

As he worked, Yalan fell into an unusual silence, watching him like a hawk. And he could tell that the wheels of her brain were spinning.

"You do know that getting into the alcohol business means more trouble, right? It’s an established market, like you said."

"I know," Chen Ren replied without hesitation. "And trouble is something that’s going to follow me no matter what I do." He straightened, wiping his hands on his sleeves. "Even then, I don’t plan on fighting other clans for their businesses. I’ll just be the supplier instead of creating my own pubs. I don’t have the money to buy properties for that."

"Then how do you plan to make money from it?"

"Once we refine the formula, I’ll travel to form contracts with major pub businesses. Sell it directly to them instead of competing. That’ll be the first step in developing something even bigger—spirit alcohol."

At that, Yalan actually laughed. "Spirit alcohol? That’s a secret recipe. Only a few sects know how to make it, and even then, it’s not easy."

Chen Ren shrugged—not new to this piece of information. "I know. I’ve heard. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try. If I can infuse my qi into these spirits properly, I might be able to figure out the formula myself. When I go back to Cloud Mist City, I’ll ask Qing He about it, too. She might know something."

"Maybe," Yalan conceded, stretching lazily in the sunlight. "But even if you do get the process down, you’d still need spirit materials. Spirit rice, at the very least. And I don’t see anyone growing that around here."

Chen Ren exhaled, shaking his head. That was another complication. Every business in this world—especially those tied to cultivation—was filled with hurdles. Even the simplest resources required spiritual properties, and that meant they were expensive.

Pushing the thought aside for now, he turned back to the distillation process, monitoring the slow drip of liquid into the container. But as he worked, his gaze flickered back to Yalan, who sat basking in the sun, seemingly unconcerned with anything at all.

That reminded him—there was something he had wanted to ask her.

Chen Ren wiped his hands again and glanced at Yalan. "By the way, there’s something I need to show you."

She tilted her head. "What?"

Reaching into his robes, he pulled out the small egg he had taken from the Soaring Sword Sect’s treasury and handed it to her. "I found this when I was in the sect. The elder let me take it, and said it was a dead egg. Do you think we can make use of it in some way?"

Yalan took the egg and inspected it carefully, her claws brushing over its surface as she concentrated. After a moment, she hummed. "I don’t know what beast this egg belonged to. A lot of eggs look like this, and it’s really small, so it can’t be from anything huge." She flipped it over using her small paws, eyes narrowing. "It is dead, like the elder told you, but there are some faint traces of qi lingering inside."

Chen Ren’s eyes lit up. "So it might still be useful?"

"Depends," Yalan said dryly. "Might make for a good breakfast if it’s not poisonous from being dead for so long. You should throw it away."

Chen Ren sighed as she set the egg down on the grass. He reached over and picked it back up, tucking it back into his robes. "I don’t really want to. Don’t you think it might turn into some hidden treasure or something?"

Yalan squinted at him. "Why would you think that?"

"Cultivation logic," he declared. "The way I found it. It was just sitting there in a treasury, untouched amidst far better treasures. Even the elder didn't know what it was doing there. Everything in my being said that there's a reason why a dead egg is there. It's fate basically.”

As he finished the explanation, Yalan stared at him like he was an idiot. She didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and Chen Ren, too, kept staring—waiting for her to speak her mind.

“What?” he finally asked.

"I don’t know why you think the world works like that. It really doesn’t."

Chen Ren opened his mouth to defend himself, but movement caught his attention. His eyes flicked to the distillation setup, where the first proper bowl of alcohol was filling drop by drop. He quickly picked it up, bringing it close to his nose. The scent was sharp and unrefined, and when he took a sip, it burned down his throat in a way that wasn’t entirely pleasant.

He smacked his lips, frowning. "Needs work."

Still, he was making progress. With the mortal members in the sect now and the base alcohol being cheap, he was confident that once he got the right formula, he’d be able to build a proper foundation for a brewery. A brewery that could eventually supply the strongest alcohol in the region. The profits would be huge.

But just as he was thinking that, something moved in the trees beyond the house.

His head snapped up, and he saw Yalan shift slightly, eyes narrowing as she, too, noticed the movement.

Chen Ren tensed, glancing at Yalan. "A wild beast?"

"Maybe," she murmured, eyes scanning the treeline. "Nothing too strong, though. The forest around here doesn’t have many beasts you can’t handle."

He nodded, keeping his senses sharp. Then, the sound of rustling grass grew louder—something was moving fast, weaving through the undergrowth like a darting shadow. Chen Ren barely had time to react before a small head poked out from the foliage. His eyes widened.

White fur, soft and rustling in the wind, covered a small, sleek body. It had large, sharp front teeth, a bushy tail curled slightly at the end, and small claws that looked deceptively delicate. Its eyes, bright, flickered between them before its little nose twitched. The beast resembled a squirrel but had an oddly refined presence, almost as if it was more aware than a normal beast.

Chen Ren relaxed slightly. "Just a squirrel—"

Before he could finish, the creature froze, its gaze locking onto the bowl of distilled alcohol in his hand.

Chen Ren hesitated. What’s it—

Then, in a blur of motion, the squirrel bolted forward, a streak of white fur crossing the distance in an instant.

"Hey!" He barely had time to react before the creature skidded onto the table, stretched up on its hind legs, and—before he could pull the bowl away—took a big sip of the freshly distilled alcohol.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

67. Whiskey

A scent wafted through the leaves, slipping past the annoyingly tall trees to enter his nose. The little beast sniffed, ears twitching. He did not know what it was, only that he had to try it.

The berries and herbs of the wilderness had long ceased to satisfy him. They filled his stomach, but there was no pleasure in them. A great being such as himself deserved more. The large, two-legged creatures who spoke in strange tongues and built their little houses with wood and hay—surely, they should be serving him, presenting him with offerings worthy of his stature. And yet, they had proven disappointingly unwilling, always offering the same tasteless berries. Over and over. And over.

He was sick of it.

So, he moved.

Through branches, over leaves, past the screeching birds that dared get in his way. He leapt, tumbled through the underbrush, and finally, he arrived.

A clearing.

A large pot sat in the middle, strange tubes connected to it, wisps of heat rising into the air. And beside it stood one of the two-legged creatures.

He eyed him warily. Tall. Just enough broad shoulders to fit his height. His fur—no, his clothes—were dull, the color of dust and dirt. His mane was dark, tied back, but strands fell over his forehead, messier than the usual ones that walked this land. His black eyes locked onto him, and for a moment, the little beast stiffened.

Danger.

It was the same feeling he had felt when he had accidentally stepped into the path of a wolf that roamed the forest, acting as a protector of sorts. A silent weight pressing down, a fleeting thought that he was prey.

Then, it passed.

He flicked his tail, shaking the feeling away and turned his gaze. Next to the human sat another creature—not one of his kind, but close. A feline. A hunter. Not a beast of the wild but not fully tamed either. She basked in the sun, relaxed, yet her sharp amber eyes followed him with interest.

He cared for neither of them.

His true target lay just ahead.

A large bowl, filled to the brim with something that carried that intoxicating scent. Beside it, a smaller one, just as inviting. He sniffed the air again, his blessed tongue already tingling with anticipation.

He could not stop.

Food awaited him.

So he sprinted forward.

The human’s eyes widened in surprise, but he was too mesmerized by his majestic self to react. A fitting response. Most creatures found themselves stunned when faced with such unparalleled grace.

The small bowl was close now. The scent—rich, sharp, and unlike anything he had ever tasted—filled his nose, making his whiskers twitch. He took one last sniff, confirming what he already knew.

This was it.

Without hesitation, he plunged in.

A bitter taste hit his tongue first, but he powered through. His refined palate adjusted swiftly, savoring the complexity of the liquid. He drank and drank, the warmth spreading in his belly, coating his tongue in its novel richness. A deep satisfaction settled in his chest. Finally. Finally, something worthy of him.

When the bowl was empty, he licked his lips, let out a contented sigh, and patted his stomach with his paws.

Only then did he glance up at the human.

The two-legged creature was staring at him, mouth slightly open, looking utterly stunned. The little beast blinked. He didn’t know why. Maybe the human had never witnessed such elegance up close before. Understandable.

Deciding to break him out of his daze, he scampered forward, stopping at the human’s feet. The large creature crouched, eyes scanning him with some strange intent, before extending a hand.

Ah. He understood.

With a dignified leap, he climbed up, perching himself upon the broad shoulder. From here, the view was excellent. The trees stretched out in the distance, the sun bathed the clearing in warmth, and he—he felt grand. Larger than life.

He lifted his paws in triumph.

Yes. Perhaps he had just acquired his first true servant.

As he basked in his glory, the human turned to the feline and muttered, “The squirrel doesn’t seem affected by the alcohol.”

Squirrel?

His tail bristled.

He knew many names for his divine species, but "squirrel" was not one of them. How dare the human compare him to those mundane, nut-hoarding pests? He prepared to deliver a righteous smack to the fool’s face when the feline spoke.

“I don’t think it’s a squirrel,” she said, her amber eyes gleaming with knowledge. “I believe it’s a lunari. And a male lunari at that. They are rarer than their female counterparts.”

He froze.

For the first time in his long life—spanning four hundred and sixty nine sunsets—he was genuinely surprised.

The feline… could speak?

Not just understand, as all majestic beings like himself could, but speak the strange language of the two-legged ones.

How?

As he pondered this revelation, the feline spoke again, calmly.

“I think it’s because it’s a spirit beast. Not really strong. Just Tier 1… and even then, a low Tier 1. But a spirit beast nonetheless.”

A spirit beast? He scoffed internally. Of course, he was a spirit beast. He was more than just some ordinary animal.

But wait—did she say low Tier 1?

His tail twitched in irritation. His fur bristled, standing on end like the spines of an angered porcupine.

Low Tier 1? The more he thought about it, the more his anger increased.

The cat’s voice was calm, almost indifferent, but to his ears, it carried the weight of condescension. His tail flicked once, then again, sharp and agitated. His small claws pressed into the fabric of the human’s shoulder, a silent protest. He was not weak. He was not some lowly creature to be pitied. He was—

A warmth settled on his head.

He froze.

Fingers pressed lightly between his ears, ruffling the fur in slow, rhythmic strokes. A shiver ran down his spine. His first instinct was to swipe the hand away, to remind this human of his place, but… the touch was nice. A deep warmth spread from the top of his head down his back, loosening the tension in his limbs. His tail, which had been flicking angrily, stilled, curling slightly in contentment.

Strange.

He blinked up at the human, who had turned back to the cat. His voice was steady, thoughtful.

“So, should we keep him? He's cute.”

The cat gave him another long, unreadable look before flicking her tail.

“Your choice,” she said, stretching out in the sunlight. “Just keep him away from the alcohol, or you’ll never make enough to sell.”

The human hummed, considering, before shifting his gaze back to him. He met his dark eyes—deep, endless, reflecting something unreadable.

“Then I guess I’ll take care of you.”

He said it so simply, like it was already decided. Then the human tilted his head, eyes narrowing in thought. A moment passed.

“Now, what should I name you?”

The beast opened his mouth, ready to tell this foolish human the name of his majestic lineage—

Then he paused.

What… was his name?

His whole life, through four hundred and sixty-nine sunsets, he had moved through the world nameless, known only by the quiet awe of the lesser creatures and the whispered warnings of those smart enough to recognize his greatness. A name?

He had never needed one.

His ears twitched as he studied the human. Well… perhaps he would allow this one to name him. That much, at least, was acceptable for someone who had already proven his worth in head pats.

The human’s brows furrowed, the same expression that he made when debating between more food or a long nap. His lips parted, then closed. Thoughtful. Calculating. Then, finally, his face brightened, eyes lighting with the satisfaction of someone who had reached a grand conclusion.

A slow smirk spread across his lips.

“Whiskey.”

He blinked.

The human grinned. “Your name will be Whiskey.”

Whis Ke.

He turned the sound over in his mind, tasting it like a rare berry plucked straight from the branch. Odd. Sharp. Unlike any of the names he had ever heard the big creatures call one another.

But as he thought about it again and again, something stirred inside him—a strange warmth, something deeper than the alcohol he had just tasted. It was his.

A name.

He rolled his shoulders, puffing out his chest, lifting his paws as if announcing his new title to the world.

Whis Ke.

Yes.

From this day forward, his majestic self would be known as Whis Ke. The name given by his newly acquired human servant.

***

Chen Ren hadn’t expected to gain a spirit beast companion while brewing alcohol, but fate had a peculiar sense of humor. The small creature, covered in sleek white fur with a bushy tail that flicked at the slightest provocation, had attached itself to him after downing a full bowl of discarded alcohol. He licked its tiny paws, eyes half-lidded in satisfaction, before climbing up his arm like he had always belonged there.

Strange little thing. But cute, in an arrogant, self-important way.

More surprising than its presence, however, was its obsession with alcohol. He sniffed at every jar he opened, jumped onto tables to inspect bubbling liquids, and, if he wasn’t careful, dove headfirst into cups meant for testing. He had to start covering his batches, lest he find the tiny drunk curled up inside a brewing pot again. Still, as long as the lunari kept lapping up failed experiments without complaint, he supposed he earned his keep.

Whiskey didn’t mind any scraps that he received. And Chen Ren didn’t complain.

It wasn’t just him the little beast had taken a liking to. Zi Wen had been talking to him more frequently on dao and what it might mean to be a beastmaster and these conversations would mostly happen when Chen Ren would be mid-brew and in one of these talks, Whiskey had realised he found the middle aged cultivator pleasing.

Whiskey often perched on Zi Wen’s knee, tail curled around his body as he watched the man with critical, beady eyes. Zi Wen, in return, stroked his beard in contemplation. Sometimes, he would completely ignore the spirit beast and continue to talk with Chen Ren about dao and beasts; but throughout, Whiskey would be nearby.

It showed that Zi Wen was liked by spirit beasts, and his assumption of Dao of Taming was correct. It made Chen Ren hope for the best; hope that the man would choose his Dao and attempt to connect with it soon.

Then there was Luo Heng, a different sort of visitor. Unlike Zi Wen’s philosophical musings, his curiosity was far more grounded. He asked about cultivation techniques, his life story as someone who had been a cultivator for a long time and how the immortal society worked.

Through his conversation, he was able to get to know the man better, but one particular frustration gnawed at him—the fact that his lightning cultivation manual was utterly useless for him.

It was because the man's spirit roots were earth-aspected. Yalan had confirmed it during the aptitude test, and he wouldn't be able to make use of his lightning manual.

Still, not all paths were blocked.

Chen Ren tossed him a few old mortal grade martial art manuals from his childhood.

“Cultivation isn’t just about one thing. Work on the foundation first,” he said. “Figure out your Dao. You’re better off knowing what path to walk upon as I get you a cultivation manual.”

Luo Heng didn't complain and accepted the manuals and started to practice them with Zi Wen helping him to understand the stances and forms.

While the cultivators wrestled with their paths, the mortals had no such luxury. They had tasks, responsibilities, and deadlines—and Tang Xiulan saw to it that they met them.

Chen Ren had known she was intelligent, but watching her teach was another thing entirely. She grasped concepts quickly, adapted them, and had already organized lessons for the street kids and villager-turned-students.

Basic literacy, arithmetic, and business fundamentals—everything they’d need to handle his growing enterprises.

That was one problem he didn't have to worry about.

Seeing that his sect was slowly forming a rhythm, his mind moved to the next task at hand: alcohol distribution. He needed to finalize his supply chain before scaling production. Once that was set, he could shift focus to expanding his food stalls. Ice cream would have to wait—summer had passed, and he wasn’t foolish enough to push a seasonal product.

Still, the future stretched ahead, full of possibilities.

He knew he needed to produce a fresh batch of the alcohol without an awful taste. And for two weeks, he kept distilling alcohol and trying to get the flavour right. It took a while and a lot of frustration as he kept trying different concentrations and methods until finally, he found himself making a batch that was just good enough to sell. It took another week to create a carriage full of them with his sect members helping out before Chen Ren decided it was finally the time to take a trip around the empire.

Just before he left, he sat across Xiulan, papers scattered across the table as they finalised the plans for the sect’s upcoming expansion.

"Is it really necessary for you to go?" Xiulan’s question cut through the quiet, her fingers fidgeting nervously on her lap. "We’ve just started things here, and I might be able to get some more help."

Chen Ren inhaled through his nose. His eyes met her for the briefest moment and saw how serious she was. “Yes, I did tell you I have a few things to do other than the alcohol supply line.”

“I do know, young master. But that’s what makes me worried. You’re going to an established sect, and from what you’ve told me, it can be dangerous.”

He gave a small nod. “Yes, it is dangerous. But Yalan will be with me. And I think I’ll at least be able to preserve my life and escape with her there, if anything goes wrong.”

Xiulan let out a breath, her posture relaxing slightly as she processed his words. “All right. I’ll make sure to handle the construction and plumbing. Though, I think it might take some time for the village builder and laborers to understand your diagrams.”

Chen Ren smiled wryly, feeling a familiar frustration at the mention of plumbing.

Beyond the hustle of his businesses, Chen Ren had a vision for expanding his place, a long-term goal of building more facilities to accommodate the growing needs of the sect. But for now, his focus was on enhancing the three buildings they already had. More floors, more rooms, and, most importantly, proper plumbing.

Yes, plumbing.

It was something that grated on him about this era—the complete lack of efficient plumbing and proper facilities for nature’s calls. A seemingly minor detail that no one ever seemed to address in any Xianxia novel. It always seemed so absurd to him. Even cultivators, according to Yalan, weren’t exempt. They could survive without food for days, and as a result, their bodily needs were minimal. But that only left one glaring problem: no one had thought to advance the plumbing systems.

Chen Ren wasn’t about to let that slide. He intended to change that, starting with his own buildings.

He felt a sense of contentment as he reviewed the plans—everything sketched out in detail. He’d handed over the blueprints to Xiulan, making sure to emphasize where manual labor would be needed. He trusted her to follow the instructions. She had always been good at executing his plans, and he had no doubt she would manage this one just as effectively.

The door opened then—cutting his thoughts short, and Zi Han stepped in. “Sect Leader Chen, we’re ready to go.”

Chen Ren stood, giving Xiulan one last look. “Okay, I’ll be back in two weeks.” He gave her a reassuring smile, though his mind was already turning to the journey ahead.

He walked outside with Zi Han and Xiulan, and the sight of the modified carriage waiting for him made his chest swell with pride. The carriage, once used for their initial travels, had been altered to fit crates of his newly perfected alcohol, and it was now packed to the brim, ready to make its way across the empire.

The group had gathered. Hong Yi and Anji stood by the carriage, their eyes scanning the surroundings. Yalan was seated on the ground and Whiskey stood on top of the carriage.

As he approached the group, his gaze flicked over Hong Yi, who was deeply engrossed in a map. When Hong Yi noticed him approaching, he lifted his eyes, a skeptical look creeping across his face. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice laced with doubt.

Chen Ren gave a reassuring smile, his confidence unwavering. “Yes, I’m confident,” he replied, then stepped forward and traced his finger along a line on the map. His finger paused at a small town named Black Lotus Town, the first destination on their journey. “We’ll be moving from here,” he said, his finger continuing along the path. “Then we’ll follow this road through the major cities to reach Ashen. This will be our destination.”

The path he outlined was a half-circle, the route weaving through some lesser-known towns. “On our way back,” he continued, “we’ll pass through Cloud Mist City.”

“What’s in Ashen City?” Anji asked.

Chen Ren pointed at a spot on the map, just before the last leg of the journey. “From what I gathered, it houses the Zhu Clan and they have one of the largest breweries in the region, with alcohol businesses spanning multiple cities. We’ll be trying to get in business with them.”

He paused, his finger moving to another part of the map, closer to the halfway point between them and Ashen. “But before we get there,” he added, “we’ll make a stop at the Blood Iron Sect.”

Hong Yi’s eyes changed at the mention of the sect. He gulped, his brow furrowing in concern. “I really hope you’re right about this,” he muttered, the uncertainty now evident in his voice.

It made Anji frown deeper. She clutched the map in her hand.

“Don’t worry,” Chen Ren said. “It won’t be the first time I would made a big organization bow down to me.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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68. Star qi

Chen Ren didn’t particularly enjoy traveling in this world—at least, not by carriage.

The world itself was great. The air was thick with qi, filling his lungs with a refreshing energy that never left him feeling truly exhausted. Towering trees lined the roads, their canopies swaying lazily in the breeze. Rivers cut through fields like silver threads, their waters clear enough to reflect the sky. Everything looked like it had been plucked straight out of a painting.

But none of that changed the fact that the roads were terrible.

The carriage rattled and shook with every pothole, the wooden wheels groaned under the uneven road. And every bump sent a jolt through his spine, and no matter how he adjusted his posture, there was no such thing as comfort. The seats were stiff, the air inside stuffy, and the constant swaying made even resting a chore.

He figured this was mostly a mortal problem. The real cultivators—those who had stepped beyond these struggles—soared through the skies on flying swords, rode atop spirit beasts, or, if they were truly powerful, summoned floating boats like the one Elder Yan Xiu had used. Compared to that, his carriage might as well have been a wooden box strapped to a herd of drunk oxen.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t at that level yet.

The only upside was the frequent stops. Small villages dotted their path, giving the horses and travelers a chance to rest. Chen Ren took these breaks as an opportunity to stretch his legs—literally. While others stretched their backs or loosened their stiff limbs, he ran.

His body moved effortlessly, his feet barely touching the ground before propelling him forward again. The wind rushed past his face, and the pounding of hooves beside him was nothing but a background rhythm. Even when the carriage started rolling again, he kept up easily, the horses unable to leave him behind. It was better than sitting.

Of course, he didn’t spend the entire journey running meaninglessly. He had long since shed his laziness in this world, and he wasn’t about to waste time lounging in the carriage.

Instead, he trained. Whenever they took breaks, and he wasn’t running, he trained.

Not in his lightning techniques—those came naturally, instinctively. No, this time, he focused on something new. A technique he had won in the tournament.

[Starlight Defense], an Earth grade defensive technique.

The name was fancy, but in the world of cultivation, that was normal. He had heard of techniques like [Palm That Cuts the River] and [Immortal Fist of the Heavens.] Compared to those, [Starlight Defense] was straightforward. It did exactly what its name suggested—used the qi of the stars and moon to form a protective barrier around the user.

The diagrams in the manual showed a shimmering cover of light forming over the body, covering vital points like armor woven from the night sky. It sounded impressive. It looked impressive. But there was a catch.

Chen Ren opened his eyes and exhaled, watching the stars stretch across the sky.

He could only cultivate it at night.

“So apparently, it’s mostly potent at night since it uses the qi of the stars and moon,” Chen Ren muttered, leaning back against a fallen log. He picked on the grass beneath them as his eyes shifted from the technique manual in his lap. “I can still use it in the morning, but it won’t be nearly as strong.” He sighed, gaze flickering toward the sky, where the moon had begun its slow climb. “It’s powerful—it’s an Earth-grade technique, after all—but I don’t know how to get around this flaw.”

Across from him, Yalan was sprawled on the grass, stretching her small body. A few paces away, Hong Yi crouched over a pot, stirring the venison soup he had thrown together after hunting a deer. Anji and Zi Han sat nearby, murmuring about something he didn’t bother listening to.

High above, perched on a low-hanging branch, Whiskey lazily chewed on a berry, his tail flicking in amusement.

Yalan glanced up from the fire that was in the middle of them, meeting his gaze. “I don’t think it’s much of a flaw,” she said casually.

Chen Ren frowned. “What do you mean?”

Instead of answering, she purred. “Use the technique.”

He raised an eyebrow. There was no hesitation in her tone, just quiet confidence. Well, there was no harm in trying.

Without another word, he shut his eyes and exhaled slowly, letting his focus sink into the world around him.

Ever since stepping into the qi refinement realm, everything had changed. Almost as if the world has opened itself to him, in terms of spiritual energy mixed in the air. He had even gotten better at recognising different types of qi. It was eye opening, and felt like a whole different level of enlightenment. Before, it had been like looking at a river from a distance—he knew it was there, but it was unreachable. Now, he stood at the river’s edge, able to dip his hands into the flow.

And right now, he was searching for something specific.

Star qi.

It wasn’t as easy to grasp as his lightning qi, which surged and crackled like a living storm within him. The celestial qi was distant, slow-moving, as if existing on a different plane. But as he focused, the mantra of [Starlight Defense] running through his mind, something shifted.

A pull.

The energy trickled toward him, slow but steady. He guided it into his body, moving it through his meridians, letting it flow across his skin. It was subtle at first, like cool mist settling over him. Then, as the technique took hold, the mist thickened.

When he opened his eyes, his entire body shimmered with a faint bluish light. A transparent armor, woven from qi itself, clung to him, covering his vitals in an otherworldly glow. There was no weight to it, no restriction in movement, but he felt different. More protected. More... stable.

Yalan studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Not bad. Looks like a solid technique.”

Chen Ren let out a breath, the glow flickering slightly. “Yeah, it is.” He flexed his fingers, watching the way the qi shifted over his knuckles before fading. “But like I said, the problem is during the day. There’s barely any star or moon qi to draw from. It’s not like my other techniques where I can just use my own aspected qi.”

His voice was steady, but the frustration was there. A technique was only as useful as its availability—and this one, no matter how strong, came with a major limitation. He knew the sun was a star too, but for some reason, the qi was completely different than the one he would feel at night and he wouldn't be able to use it.

“There’s very little star qi in the air during the morning,” Chen Ren said, shaking his head. “That’s the issue.”

Yalan didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she gave him a long, narrowed-eyed look, the kind that made him shift uncomfortably. Then, with a pointed tone, she asked, “Do you really think that technique is so rigid?”

Chen Ren frowned. “What do you mean?”

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I’ll give you a hint.” Her gaze flickered to the sky before closing. “Earth-grade techniques are superior to mortal ones. Starting from this grade, techniques are thoroughly designed—none of them should have such a glaring flaw unless they’re extremely specialized. That means there’s already a way to use your defense technique in the day without losing effectiveness. You just have to think about it.”

Then she went quiet.

She didn’t elaborate, didn’t offer any further clues. Just sat there, calmly, as if waiting for him to figure it out on his own.

Chen Ren turned her words over in his mind. A way to use [Starlight Defense] in the morning? How? There was no way to create star qi—at least, none that he knew of. Even if there was, he didn’t have the ability to do it.

He kept thinking, running through different possibilities. If he couldn’t generate it, what could he do? He considered how the technique worked—pulling in celestial qi from the environment, shaping it into armor. Seconds turned to minutes as he thought of ways to use the technique at all periods.

And then it hit him.

He looked up sharply. “The way to do it… is to store star qi in my body so I can use it during the day.”

Yalan nodded, opening her eyes and looking at him. “Exactly. It won’t be easy, though. Star qi is aspected—your body isn’t naturally aligned with it. But you can still store a limited amount, then recharge it at night. It’s a good system. And while I think you’ll get a better defensive technique eventually, at your current realm, this one will protect you from most attacks.”

Chen Ren hummed, considering her words. She was right. [Starlight Defense] wasn’t perfect, but it was strong. If he could master this method, he’d have a reliable defense at all times.

“Alright,” he said, flexing his fingers. “Let me try it.”

Closing his eyes again, he focused on the qi in the sky—the faint traces of star energy that lingered in the night air. It was distant but present, subtle but steady. He pulled it in, guiding it through his meridians, feeling the energy settle against his skin.

This time, though, he didn’t shape it into armor. Instead, he directed it inward, trying to absorb it into his body.

But the moment the star qi entered him, it slipped away just as easily.

He frowned and tried again, pulling in the energy, attempting to hold onto it. Again, it leaked out as if refusing to stay. Over and over, he repeated the process, adjusting, focusing—but each time, the qi escaped, like water slipping through cupped hands.

Eventually, he exhaled sharply, opening his eyes. A thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead. “It’s not working,” he admitted. “Every time I take in the star qi, it just escapes again.”

Across from him, Yalan simply snickered. “Did you really think it would be that easy?” She tilted her head slightly and scoffed. “Of course, you need to practice. It won’t stick right away.”

Chen Ren sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He had expected a challenge, but this was trickier than he thought.

“Fortunately for you,” Yalan continued, gesturing toward the carriage in the distance, “we have a long journey ahead. Plenty of time to get it right.”

Chen Ren let out a breath, nodding. “Yeah… I guess I better start working on it.”

***

Throughout the journey, Chen Ren’s focus remained on [Starlight Defense]. Each night, under the vast expanse of the sky, he worked to absorb more and more star qi, trying to store it within himself. At first, it was frustrating—each time he gathered the energy, it slipped away before he could make use of it.

But persistence paid off.

Gradually, he refined his control. The trick, he realized, wasn’t to store the excess star qi in his dantian—where it would dissipate too easily—but within his body itself. His skin, his veins, his very flesh became a reservoir, holding the celestial energy like a sponge soaking up water. With this method, the qi lingered longer, and when he called upon it, it responded instantly, forming the protective barrier without delay.

By the time he had a firm grasp of the technique, they had reached their first destination, Black Lotus Town.

It was a place known for two things—its barley, which was sought after by breweries across the region, and its blacksmiths, whose work was said to rival even sect forges. Obviously, that one was a rumour since there were only mortal blacksmiths in the town, but their skill was still considered to be high.

More importantly, it was the place Hong Yi dreaded to come back to. His sect lay to the left of the town, built into the side of a mountain, looming in the distance and due to that, the man's trepidation was understandable.

As they moved through the streets, the air smelled of roasting grains and hot iron.

And for what had to be the hundredth time, Hong Yi asked, “Are you really sure about this?”

Zi Han walked beside Chen Ren on his left, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings. Anji had opted to rest at the inn with Whiskey, exhausted from the long journey. As for Yalan? She had disappeared the moment they entered town, wandering off on her own, as usual.

Chen Ren exhaled through his nose, glancing at Hong Yi. “I’ve already told you what I’m going to do.” His gaze turned serious. “Do you really want to live the life of a deserter forever?”

He expected Hong Yi to flinch at the words, but when he turned to look at him properly—he froze for the third time since they had entered the city.

It wasn’t Hong Yi standing next to him.

The man beside him had a different face—plain, forgettable. His sharp features were gone, replaced with a smoother, almost… regular look. He looked like every other guy on the street. Even his usual dark hair had disappeared, leaving him completely bald.

But when he spoke again, his voice hadn’t changed. “It’s not that simple.”

Chen Ren’s gaze flickered back to the street, taking a deep breath.

Skin mask is really a useful yet creepy artifact. It will take a bit of time to get used to Hong Yi looking so different.

It was a cultivation tool—one that Hong Yi had acquired at the same place he had found his inheritance. It was an artifact used by meridian expansion realm cultivators, capable of altering a person’s entire appearance with just a thought. Even other cultivators would struggle to see through its disguise unless they were of a much higher realm or had a specialized technique.

This was the reason Hong Yi had managed to evade his sect for so long. And the reason he dared to come so close to it now.

Hong Yi sighed. “I don’t want to be a deserter. But what you’re planning… it’s dangerous. What if it goes wrong?” His voice was quieter now. “They’ll certainly be suspicious of you.”

Chen Ren met Hong Yi’s concerned gaze and exhaled. “Yes, I’m aware,” he admitted, “but I’m confident that if anything happens, I’ll be able to run away. You already told me about all the escape routes I can take, and I’ll have Yalan with me, so there’s not much to worry about.”

Even as he said that, though, he was worried.

After all, his plan required him to willingly walk into the jaws of an Established sect to discuss a deserter. Cultivators weren’t exactly known for their patience, and he wouldn’t put it past them to attack first and ask questions later. The only reason he was still going through with it was the combined protection of the cat and the plan he had carefully put together—one that relied entirely on his ability to act.

Still, no point in making Hong Yi more anxious than he already was. Chen Ren patted him on the shoulder. “Just relax. You don’t have to do anything. Focus on preparing for your spot in the Divine Coin Sect.”

Hong Yi hesitated before nodding.

Just then, Chen Ren spotted what he had been looking for—a blacksmith’s shop.

Weapons of all kinds were displayed in front of the open stall, their sharp edges gleaming under the torchlight. Behind them, a forge burned hot, illuminating the muscular silhouettes of several young apprentices hard at work. Sparks flew as they hammered away at glowing steel, their faces streaked with sweat.

As Chen Ren approached, one of the apprentices—a lanky youth with soot on his face—looked up from his work and walked over. “What are you looking for? A sword? Armor? Mace?”

Chen Ren shook his head. “None of that.” His gaze flickered toward the forge. “I’m looking for the blacksmith who owns this shop. I have something to ask him.”

The boy frowned. “Master doesn’t meet just anyone.”

Chen Ren’s lips curled slightly. “I’m not just anyone. I’m a cultivator.”

At that, his expression shifted. He gave Chen Ren a once-over, then glanced at Zi Han and Hong Yi. His eyes lingered Chen Ren again after that, clearly sensing the quiet strength hidden beneath his composed exterior. Deciding this was well beyond his pay rate, he quickly turned and ran toward the forge.

A moment later, a large, burly man stepped forward. His arms were thick with muscle and hair, his shirt rolled up to reveal the burns and scars. His beard was streaked with gray, but his posture carried the confidence of a man who had been forging weapons longer than most people had been alive.

“I heard an esteemed cultivator is looking for me,” the blacksmith said and eyed Chen Ren down. “I’m Forger Tai. How can I help you?”

Chen Ren nodded. “I don’t want to buy anything,” he said, reaching into his robes. “I have a diagram here, and I’m wondering if you’d be able to make something similar.”

He pulled out a rolled-up parchment and handed it over.

The blacksmith took it with a grunt, unrolling it. His brow furrowed as he examined the sketch, his gaze tracing every line, every detail. After a long moment, he muttered, “This isn’t any weapon I’ve seen before.” Tai lifted his head, looking at Chen Ren with narrowed eyes. “What can it even do?”

Chen Ren tapped the diagram. “It’s a ranged weapon,” he explained. “It fires projectiles into the air faster than any bow, and it has lethal explosive power.”

The blacksmith frowned, squinting at the lines and notations on the parchment. He turned the diagram sideways as if that would help him understand it better, then scratched his beard. “A ranged weapon with explosive power?”

Chen Ren nodded.

Tai muttered something under his breath and kept studying the sketch. He asked a few questions—how the projectiles were launched, what kind of force it used, what materials were needed—but the more Chen Ren answered, the more his frown deepened. His thick fingers traced the lines of the design, his brows knitting together in concentration, but in the end, he let out a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I don’t think I can make this. I’m only good with practical weapons—blades, axes, hammers. This… looks like some sort of cultivation artifact.”

Chen Ren’s brows furrowed. He hadn’t expected that response. It wasn’t an artifact, not really—just something this world hadn’t seen before. But even if he tried to explain further, it was clear the blacksmith wouldn’t be able to craft it.

So, he nodded. “I understand.”

Turning to his comrades, he said, “Let’s try more shops.”

Black Lotus Town was known for its blacksmiths—surely one of them had to be capable of making the weapon.

But as they moved from one forge to the next, they received the same responses. Every blacksmith looked at the diagram with confusion, some with curiosity, but all of them eventually admitted defeat. No one could say with confidence that they could craft such a weapon.

By the time they left the last shop, the sun had dipped lower in the sky. Chen Ren exhaled, glancing at Hong Yi and Zi Han. “It seems like we’ll have no luck here,” he said. “Unfortunate.”

Hong Yi nodded, but Zi Han tilted his head slightly, eyes flicking back to the rolled-up diagram. “What even is that weapon, Sect Leader Chen?”

Chen Ren looked at him for a moment before answering. “One of the deadliest weapons in the world. There’s no production of it in the empire yet, but once I find someone capable of making it, our sect will become very formidable.”

“That strong?” Zi Han asked. Chen Ren could see the adrenaline that rushed to his eyes at the mention of power.

He nodded at that.

Hong Yi, however, remained thoughtful, eyes distant. Chen Ren placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Either way, let’s leave the weapon for later,” he said. “For now, we need to deal with your Blood Iron Sect and make you a free man.”

Hong Yi inhaled slowly, then nodded. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

69. Fooling a sect

After a night's stay in Black Lotus Town, the group finally set off toward their main destination. However, when they reached a fork in the road, Chen Ren and Yalan separated from the carriage, choosing to travel on foot toward the Blood Iron Sect.

None of the others followed.

Anji and Zi Han remained behind, Whiskey looked tempted to tag along, but a single glare from Yalan made the squirrel reconsider. As for Hong Yi—he stayed in the carriage without hesitation. He had no intention of following Chen Ren into a place that could very well be his deathbed. Instead, he just gave directions to the sect, ensuring Chen Ren knew where to go.

With that, the two of them moved toward the sect alone.

Despite its intimidating name, the Blood Iron Sect was not a faction that specialized in blood arts. Their cultivation method focused primarily on defensive techniques, deriving strength from the resilience of iron itself. According to Hong Yi, the "blood" part of the name had only been added centuries ago, when a blood-aspected cultivator rose to the position of sect leader.

That alone told Chen Ren one thing, this sect was old.

It wasn't a guardian sect like the Soaring Sword Sect, but it had its own history, its own standing, and more importantly, its own reputation. That meant dealing with them would be far trickier.

As they walked, Chen Ren mentally rehearsed his plan over and over again. He couldn't afford to make any mistakes.

The path took them through a small thicket of forest, winding steadily toward the mountains in the distance. Unlike the Soaring Sword Sect, which was built atop a flattened peak, the Blood Iron Sect was located within the mountain itself. Chen Ren didn't know whether that was due to the sect’s cultivation style or simply because they hadn't found a better location.

Either way, it posed a problem.

With a sect carved directly into a mountain, his escape options would be limited. While Hong Yi had provided some information on the exits, Chen Ren wasn’t confident that he’d be able to slip away if things turned south. Especially not as easily as Hong Yi had described.

Still, he pressed on.

The forest was quiet. Too quiet. And they did what anyone would do—keep an eye for any beasts.

As they walked inside, there were no signs of wild beasts or spirit creatures lurking in the shadows. That meant either the sect had eliminated them, or they had long since fled, unwilling to reside near cultivators. Either way, it worked in Chen Ren’s favor—an easier path meant a faster journey.

After trekking for half a day, they finally neared the sect’s entrance.

Chen Ren paused, scanning the area to get his bearings. That was when Yalan’s voice cut through the silence.

“I sense a barrier up ahead.”

Chen Ren turned to her. “A barrier?”

She nodded. “Yes. Probably a defensive formation protecting the sect. Wealthier sects always place protective arrays around their territory in case of a surprise attack. If you try to approach, you’ll be stopped by the barrier, then disciples should be alerted.”

Chen Ren nodded. “Then that means it’s time to start the plan.”

Yalan gave a slow nod, though reluctance crossed her eyes. Still, she didn’t protest. Instead, a soft glow of qi surrounded her body, and her form began to shrink. Within moments, the elegant feline was gone, replaced by what appeared to be an ordinary, but a very cute kitten.

Chen Ren blinked, then instinctively reached out, scratching under her chin.

Swat!

Her claws batted his hand away, and she gave him a sharp glare. It left a light scratch on his hand.

“Don’t waste time,” she said. “Let’s go fast, so we can get out early.”

Chen Ren let out a small chuckle but complied. He carefully picked her up and tucked her inside the inner pocket of his robe, feeling a faint pulse of energy wrap around him as he did. It was warm, reassuring even, and he allowed himself a small smile.

“I can do this,” he muttered to himself.

Then, reaching into his robes, he retrieved the Skin Mask he had taken from Hong Yi.

The item looked like nothing more than a thin, flexible sheet, yet as soon as he pressed it against his skin and activated his qi, it adhered to his face, its magic taking hold. He fed it a command, shaping his appearance into that of a slightly middle-aged man.

There was no immediate sensation of change. His face felt the same—his features familiar. Yet, when he touched his skin, it was rougher, textured like that of an older man. The transformation had worked. He touched his chin, outer corners of his lips and his cheeks—he felt the way his face had changed.

With everything in place, Chen Ren strode forward, heading toward the mountain in the distance.

It only took five minutes for Yalan’s warning to prove true.

Thud!

He struck something unseen—an invisible barrier that rippled slightly upon contact, confirming its presence. He didn’t try to force his way through. Instead, he waited.

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before two figures approached.

Both were young men, clad in black robes that bore the crest of the Blood Iron Sect—a stylized iron hammer, with a faint red streak running through it like a river of blood. Their postures were rigid, their expressions unreadable.

A single glance at their aura told him what they were.

Body forging realm cultivators.

Likely outer disciples, assigned to patrol duty.

As they came to stand before him, Chen Ren didn’t speak immediately. Instead, he observed them closely, waiting for them to address him first.

He stood still, hands tucked into his sleeves. The air around him was cool, the mountain breeze carrying the faint scent of damp stone and pine. He could hear the soft rustle of leaves in the distance, the occasional chirp of a bird, but beyond that, the world was quiet. Too quiet.

One of them, the taller of the two, let his gaze linger on Chen Ren for a moment before speaking.

“Who are you?” His voice was rough, edged with the confidence of someone used to turning people away. “This is Blood Iron Sect territory. No one other than sect members is allowed here.”

Chen Ren didn’t smile. Instead, his frown deepened. “I’m just a traveling cultivator,” he said. “I have an important matter to discuss with your sect leader.”

The shorter disciple scoffed, folding his arms. “What sect are you from?”

“I’m a rogue cultivator.” Chen Ren met his gaze without hesitation. “Take me to your sect leader.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, almost in sync, the two disciples burst into laughter.

“Our sect leader doesn’t meet just any old man, cultivator or not.” The taller one smirked, arms still crossed as if the matter was already settled.

Chen Ren arched a brow. “Old man?” His voice carried no anger, but there was a weight to his words, a sharpness just beneath the surface. “It seems your sect has failed to teach you how to speak to others properly. Especially ones who can kill you without any trouble.”

The taller disciple’s smirk faltered. His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

Chen Ren didn’t answer right away. Instead, he exhaled softly, letting his qi pulse outward. It wasn’t much—just a thin ripple, a sliver of the pressure he had learned to control under Yalan’s guidance.

Instantly, the atmosphere shifted.

The smiles died.

Both disciples stiffened as a crushing force pressed down on them, invisible but undeniable. The air around them grew heavy, like the weight of a mountain had settled on their shoulders. Their feet slid half a step back before they could stop themselves.

Their breathing hitched. Their fingers twitched. Cold sweat formed at their temples.

“This isn’t even one percent of my power.” He looked at the two, lowering his qi flare. “You would be wise to take me to your sect leader.”

The shorter disciple swallowed hard, his previous arrogance cracking. The taller one clenched his jaw, fists tight at his sides, as if debating whether to argue or comply.

Then Chen Ren spoke again, this time dropping the final piece.

“Tell them I’m here because of one of your disciples—Hong Yi.”

Their faces changed instantly.

The shorter one didn’t hesitate—he turned on his heel and sprinted back toward the sect, moving with the urgency of someone who knew this wasn’t a matter to be taken lightly.

The taller one remained, lips pressed into a thin line, his earlier bravado gone.

Chen Ren didn’t bother with him. He simply waited.

Then, from within his robes, Yalan’s voice brushed against his mind.

“You should’ve crippled one of them if you’re acting like a bigshot.”

Chen Ren didn’t react outwardly, only responding through their shared link.

“I don’t know if any of them have a powerful backer. I’m not here to start a war. I’m not stupid—I know how to pick my battles. Let me play the part of a calm but scary rogue cultivator.”

Yalan made a small, unimpressed noise in his mind but didn’t argue.

And so, with nothing left to do, Chen Ren stood at the sect’s doorstep, waiting.

As he waited, the stillness of the mountain path was soon broken by hurried footsteps. The disciple who had run off earlier was returning, and beside him strode a man who looked like an elder.

The man’s robe bore the same deep black as the disciples’, but his was embroidered with shiny silver symbols on the front, giving it an air of authority. His movements were composed, but his sharp gaze flickered over Chen Ren, assessing him with every step.

Stopping a few feet away, the elder inclined his head in a formal bow. "I am Elder Kang Lhenshi of the Blood Iron Sect." He looked at Chen Ren from top to bottom, and met his eyes again. "I have been told you are here regarding Hong Yi."

Chen Ren nodded. "Yes, I need to speak with your sect leader regarding him. Is he available?"

Elder Kang's eyes barely shifted, but Chen Ren caught the flicker of hesitation in them. The man was trying to sense his cultivation level, carefully deciding whether this was someone he could dismiss or someone that he should be cautious about. It was a smart move, looking to one honed by years of experience with rogue cultivators. Therefore, Chen Ren decided to make things easier for him.

With a subtle movement, he cupped his hands, giving Yalan the signal.

A split second later, a wave of invisible pressure pulsed from his body. It wasn’t his own strength, but Yalan’s, controlled, heavy and precise, just enough to leave an oppressive weight in the air.

Elder Kang’s face went pale instantly. His back stiffened, his nostrils flaring just slightly—small signs of fear he probably thought he was hiding well.

Then, with a quick nod, he forced himself into a more respectful stance. "Yes, the sect leader is available. Please come with me, honored cultivator."

The shift in tone was immediate. Even the way he looked at Chen Ren—it all changed in a millisecond.

Reaching into his sleeve, elder Kang retrieved a small bronze token engraved with a faint, swirling rune. He held it out with both hands.

"Please hold this as you step forward," he instructed.

Chen Ren took the token, its surface cool against his fingers. As soon as he gripped it, he stepped forward, and the once-imperceptible barrier around the sect parted for him, allowing him through without resistance.

The elder gestured for him to follow. "This way."

Chen Ren walked behind him as they approached the mountain, the path growing steeper with every step. A massive arch-shaped entrance yawned before them—a dark, gaping hole in the stone, large enough to accommodate multiple people walking side by side.

Chen Ren eyed the entrance.

Without pausing, Elder Kang stepped inside, and Chen Ren followed.

The moment he crossed the threshold, he realized just how vast the tunnel truly was.

The ceiling stretched high above them, supported by massive stone pillars reinforced with thick iron veins, pulsing and pulsating. He could tell that the whole place was infused with qi. The air inside was cooler. Maybe because of its location—regardless, he felt chills.

Soon, they were walking down a path that was sloped downward, leading further underground rather than straight into the mountain.

As they walked, Elder Kang finally spoke again.

"Honored cultivator," he began, and looked at Chen Ren, offering a gentle smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "You mentioned you are here to discuss Hong Yi. May I ask what this is about?"

Chen Ren didn’t answer immediately. He let the silence linger, watching how the elder’s hands subtly clenched and unclenched at his sides—a sign that he was trying to keep his composure.

Then, finally, Chen Ren spoke.

"Hong Yi is a very important cultivator of your sect, is he?" he asked.

Elder Kang nodded. "Yes. He has been missing for some time, and we are all deeply concerned for him."

Chen Ren fought back the urge to chuckle at Elder Kang’s blatant lie. Deep concern for Hong Yi? Right. More like they were scrambling to figure out what happened to him, just so they could find him if he was alive.

Still, he didn’t call the elder out on it. Instead, he offered a short nod, appearing to be respectful and polite. "I'll speak directly with your sect leader."

“Ah, yes. Of course,” Elder Kang said, but his lips pressed into a thin line. Chen Ren thought the man would be more keen on arguing, but no. With a gesture, he led Chen further down the sloping tunnel.

***

They walked for what felt like ages, the tunnel stretching endlessly before them. The walls, though rough, bore clear signs of human craftsmanship—chiseling marks still faintly visible on the stone. Here and there, iron sconces held flickering lanterns, their weak yellow glow creating long shadows. And all Chen Ren could smell was damp earth and boiling oil.

Then, the tunnel widened.

Chen Ren stepped forward—and his breath hitched slightly.

Beneath him, an entire underground city stretched out like a hidden world. Wow, it’s an entire city—developed at that.

Buildings, cut straight from the stone, lined the cave—inside of the mountain in neat rows. Some structures were reinforced with dark wood, their rooftops decorated with banners bearing the sect’s insignia. The streets were alive with movement—disciples in black robes hurried about, their hushed voices creating a low murmur that filled the chamber.

Further ahead, bridges of sturdy iron filled across deep crevices, connecting different sections of the city. The faint sound of running water echoed through the area, suggesting an underground river somewhere in the depths.

Chen Ren didn’t have time to take it all in.

Elder Kang barely paused, guiding him toward another tunnel on the far side of the city. They passed rows of tall, robed figures standing guard, their eyes flickering toward him in curiosity but saying nothing.

Finally, after another stretch of walking, they reached a chamber carved into the stone.

The elder pushed open a heavy wooden door, revealing a modestly elegant room inside.

Chen Ren stepped in, his gaze flicking over the space.

The walls were smoothly polished, engraved with faint carvings of flowing clouds and mountain peaks. A dark wooden table sat in the center, surrounded by cushioned chairs. A single lantern hung overhead.

Everything here was designed with subtle refinement, not overly extravagant, but not entirely plain either.

Elder Kang gestured to one of the chairs. "Please, have a seat. The sect leader will be with you shortly."

Chen Ren nodded and sat down.

The former’s lips curled into a polite smile. "You must have come a long way. Please rest here until I return."

Without waiting for a response, the elder turned and left, closing the door behind him.

Chen Ren leaned back slightly, his eyes sweeping over the room.

Yalan’s voice rang in his mind. "I believe everything is going smoothly so far."

"Yes," he replied mentally, his eyes taking it all in. "But the most important part is still ahead."

As they conversed, the door creaked open once again.

This time, it wasn’t the elder.

A young disciple, a woman entered, carrying a small lacquered tray. On it sat a delicate porcelain teapot and two matching cups. Without a word, she placed them on the table, bowed low, and silently retreated, closing the door behind him.

Chen Ren’s gaze fell to the steaming cup of tea. He didn’t touch it.

Even though the faint aroma of the tea was tempting, he knew better. For all his posturing as a rogue cultivator, his mind could still be manipulated—and there were poisons and mind-numbing herbs that could affect even someone of his supposed level.

He wasn’t about to take that risk.

Instead, he merely watched the steam curl into the air, waiting patiently for what was to come next.

But as time passed, the quietness of the room expanded. Everything felt too still, even his own heartbeat that was beating heavily in his ears. He had to calm down, therefore, he focused on his breath—inhale and exhale. Seconds stretched into minutes until, at last, the door creaked open again.

This time, two figures entered.

The first was Elder Kang. He carried himself with stiff authority, but Chen Ren noticed how his shoulders were slightly tense, as if wary of how this meeting would unfold.

But it was the man beside him who truly caught Chen Ren’s attention.

Broad-shouldered and towering, the second figure radiated raw strength. His bald head gleamed under the lantern’s glow, and his thick brows were turned into a frown. Unlike the elder, he wore a heavier, more designed robe, its darker fabric filled with embroidered iron-like patterns, almost as if to mirror the name of the sect itself.

Chen Ren could tell immediately—this man didn’t need weapons. Even through the heavy fabric of his robes, the sheer density of his muscles was apparent. His chest and abdomen were solid as iron, and each step he took made the wooden floor groan slightly beneath his weight. He just knew this man had abs beneath all that robe.

This was someone who had trained his body to the peak of its limits.

The sect leader.

The man gave a small nod in greeting before speaking.

"I am the Sect Leader Ma Tianhai of the Blood Iron Sect. I apologize for not providing you with better hospitality. I did not know such an esteemed cultivator would be visiting our humble sect."

Chen Ren remained seated, nodding in return.

"I am Rin Ho," he said, smoothly offering the fake name he had prepared. "A rogue cultivator with an important matter to discuss."

Sect leader Ma's gaze remained steady, but his interest was clear.

"I assume this is about one of our disciples—Hong Yi?"

Chen Ren gave a slow nod.

Ma Tianhai moved toward a chair across from him and sat down, the wooden frame creaking slightly under his weight. His presence dominated the space, yet his posture remained composed, not aggressive.

Beside him, Elder Kang stiffened slightly. His eyes flickered toward Ma Tianhai before quickly darting away, his expression betraying the barest hint of unease.

Chen Ren caught the silent exchange. A subtle glance. A tightening of the jaw. A slight flinch.

"Can you tell me what happened to him first?" Chen Ren asked. "Elder Kang informed me that he has gone missing."

Chen Ren didn't miss it—the way Ma Tianhai visibly tensed, fingers twitching against his sleeve before quickly masking his reaction.

Then, after a beat, he gave a slow nod and locked eyes with Chen Ren.

"Yes," he finally said. "Hong Yi was on a mission in a nearby city when he disappeared. We have searched extensively for him—after all, he was one of our most talented and promising core disciples."

Then, his gaze sharpened.

"Do you have any further information about him?"

Chen Ren nodded. "Yes, I do have information."

He let the words settle for a moment, giving them weight. Then, with a slight sigh, he added, "Though I doubt you will like it, considering how much you seem to care about him."

He watched them closely as he spoke the next words.

"Hong Yi is dead."

The room, once filled with a quiet but steady tension, shifted in an instant.

The elder’s breath caught. His lips parted as if to say something, but he didn't speak. Ma Tianhai's reaction was more controlled—his shoulders barely tensed, his posture remaining firm—but his eyes...

His eyes sharpened, an almost imperceptible flicker of something deeper flashing through them.

Chen Ren didn't stop.

"I found his corpse in the Blein Forest, far from here." He sighed again.

"He was… shredded. Bite marks covered his body—deep gouges of torn flesh and cracked bone. Half of him was already gone, clearly devoured by a Grade 5 beast. I believe it was a green fang direwolf, though I could be wrong. But the teeth marks and the size of the paw prints embedded in the ground matched its kind. It was fresh. Even his head was missing. All that remained was his torso, barely recognizable—his ribs snapped open, his insides hollowed out."

Elder Kang inhaled sharply. Chen Ren’s eyes went to him and immediately saw it—the way the man’s fingers curled into fists at his sides, the slight paling of his skin. It was a natural reaction to hearing about a disciple’s gruesome fate, but he wasn't convinced it was purely grief.

Still, he continued, watching every twitch, every subtle movement.

"I only managed to identify him because I found a sect crest on his remains, with his name engraved on it." He reached into his robes, slowly pulling out the bloodstained metal emblem he had retrieved.

He placed it on the table between them. The soft clink of metal meeting wood was the only sound in the room as no one spoke.

The air grew thick—almost suffocating Chen Ren. Elder Kang turned, locking eyes with Ma Tianhai.

It was quick—just a single glance, but it was enough.

Chen Ren caught it.

The tension in their postures, the way their gazes held for a fraction too long, the silent conversation passing between them. This wasn’t the reaction of a grieving sect leader and elder.

Chen Ren kept his face neutral, but inwardly, he honed in on the exchange. The way Ma Tianhai’s brows furrowed just slightly before smoothing over, the faint twitch in the elder’s fingers, the subtle shift in their auras—as if thinking, adjusting, deciding.

If they believed what Chen Ren was telling them, then his escape would be smooth, effortless. No suspicions, no lingering doubts—just a rogue cultivator delivering unfortunate news before vanishing into the wind. More importantly, Hong Yi would finally be free from the chains that had bound him for years. Dead men carried no burdens.

But if they refused to accept the story… if they questioned him, picked apart his words, dug deeper—then cracks would form. And if they kept digging long enough, they’d find him.

That wasn’t an option.

So he waited.

His breathing was steady, his posture relaxed but not careless. His face remained unreadable, his expression carefully controlled—detached, neutral. If he showed sadness, it would be unnatural. A rogue cultivator mourning a stranger? Suspicious. If he appeared too indifferent, they might think he was hiding something. Dangerous.

So he struck a balance—calm, firm, but with just enough weight in his words to make them believe he had at least some respect for the dead.

A messenger delivering ill tidings.

Nothing more.

All the while, his thoughts churned and churned, and he prayed and prayed.

Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ma Tianhai turned back to him.

His face had changed. Gone was the momentary flicker of shock, replaced by a pointed stare. Chen Ren felt their calculative stares in his bones.

Then, he spoke.

"Why should I believe you, Rin Ho?"

***

Note - There was a small mention of why he can't get star qi in morning because sun is a star in previous chapter. There's a reason for it.

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

70. Selling a lie

Chen Ren had thought long and hard about how to free Hong Yi from the grasp of the Blood Iron Sect. There were few options available to him.

He could openly poach the young cultivator without a care in the world, daring the Blood Iron Sect to challenge him—an act of arrogance that only someone far stronger could afford. And he very well knew that wasn't going to work. He could attempt to negotiate with Ma Tianhai, pleading his case like a merchant haggling over a prized treasure. Which had a higher chance of failing than working. Or he could take the most direct approach—forcing them to let go, one way or another.

But all of these paths had one glaring flaw—he wasn’t strong enough.

Power dictated the rules in the cultivation world, and right now, he didn’t have enough of it to impose his will and stand against a well-known sect. So, he had settled on a different plan, one built on a single, simple thought,

The sect couldn’t look for Hong Yi if he was already dead.

Of course, it was a lie. But a lie only mattered if it was exposed, if he was caught. But this was better than all the other options he came up with.

The real challenge lay in making them believe it.

Now, as he sat in the heart of the Blood Iron Sect, facing Ma Tianhai himself, he felt the weight of his gamble pressing down on him. The man before him, Sect Leader Ma Tianhai, was a figure of quiet menace, his aura coiling through the hall like an unseen serpent.

“Why should I believe you, Rin Ho?”

A formless pressure settled over Chen Ren’s shoulders, threatening to drive him into the floor. His muscles stiffened, his breath hitching for just a moment before another force pushed back against the pressure. Yalan.

The tension in his chest eased as her qi wrapped around him like an invisible shield, steadying his mind. He couldn’t let the man know he was affected. He took a breath, lifting his gaze to meet Ma Tianhai’s eyes. Then, in a calm, neutral tone, he spoke,

“Sect Leader Ma, I am not here to convince you. I am merely delivering the news of one of your disciples' deaths because it is a righteous act and my responsibility as the one who confirmed it.” He forced his vocals to remain even. “If I were lying, do you think I would be sitting here, in the very heart of your sect? Are you truly willing to offend me when I am doing your sect a favor?”

As he said the last words, a silence fell over. Both Elder Kang and Sect leader Ma exchanged glances, their expressions shifting subtly. The oppressive force in the room did not dissipate entirely, but it loosened, just enough for Chen Ren to know his words had landed.

Ma Tianhai’s eyes turned towards him, dark and unreadable. Then, slowly, he exhaled and lowered his gaze just a fraction.

“You misunderstand me, fellow Daoist,” he said.

His fingers curled slightly against the armrest of his chair before relaxing. His gaze flickered downward, and for the first time, a trace of something almost human appeared in his expression.

“Hong Yi was one of our most important disciples. Hearing of his death like this… is difficult to accept.”

The chamber remained silent for a long moment. Then, Sect Leader Ma’s voice cut through the air.

“Can you give us more details on his death?” he asked. “Where did you find him? And… What did you do with his corpse?”

Chen Ren nodded slightly, as if he had expected the question. He exhaled, keeping his expression neutral as he leaned back just a fraction.

“Well,” he began, “I can say for sure that he died to a beast. From the tracks, it was clear that he had been chased for quite a while before the end.” He let that information hang in the air before adding, “I believe it happened about a year ago.”

Ma Tianhai’s expression did not shift, but Chen Ren caught the slight tightening of Elder Kang’s jaw.

“Unfortunately,” he continued, “I don’t know what he was doing there. As for the location, it was west of the heart of the Blein forest. I had ventured deeper myself, looking for certain herbs for a concoction I was brewing.”

A lie that the Iron Blood Sect had no way of knowing.

“And his corpse?” Ma Tianhai asked, his gaze sharpening.

Chen Ren met his eyes without hesitation. “I burned it.”

A sharp intake of breath came from Elder Kang. The man paled visibly, his fingers twitching against his robes. Sect Leader Ma’s eyes narrowed for a split second before his expression smoothed once more.

“You burned it?”

Chen Ren nodded. “Yes. By the time I found him, only bits of his flesh remained. According to cultivation customs, cremation was the proper choice.” His voice remained steady, as if the decision had been entirely reasonable. “I had no artifacts capable of preserving his body long enough to bring him here, so I did what was necessary.”

A slow exhale came from Ma Tianhai. He did not speak immediately, but there was a subtle stiffness in his posture, a tightness at the corner of his mouth.

“…That is really, really unfortunate,” he said at last.

Before the weight of those words could settle, Elder Kang from behind suddenly spoke.

“Daoist…” The man paused, then continued, his voice holding an unmistakable edge. “May I ask you something?”

Chen Ren inclined his head slightly. “Of course, Elder.”

Elder Kang studied him for a moment, then leaned forward. “Why did it take a full year for you to bring this news to us?” His eyes gleamed with something sharp—an unspoken suspicion, perhaps. “Our Blood Iron Sect might not be as grand as a Guardian Sect, but it is hardly obscure. It wouldn’t have been difficult for someone as esteemed and powerful as yourself to find us.”

At that, even Ma Tianhai turned his gaze back to Chen Ren, waiting for his answer.

Chen Ren did not hesitate. He had expected this. His lips curled into an easy smile, his eyes remaining relaxed as he replied,

“As I mentioned, I was searching for rare materials in the forest at the time. Afterward, I entered secluded cultivation. I only emerged last week, and as soon as I did, I made my way here to inform you.” He let his expression turn just a fraction apologetic, but his voice held firm resolve. “I understand the delay may be frustrating, but I trust you understand—my personal cultivation will always be my highest priority.”

Elder Kang squinted at him, but Ma Tianhai only exhaled through his nose, nodding once. “That is fair.”

Another voice, soft as silk, brushed against Chen Ren’s mind.

You’re doing well.

Yalan’s tone carried amusement, but he ignored her, keeping his posture steady. The moment required his full focus.

Ma Tianhai glanced at Elder Kang beside him, then turned back to Chen Ren.

“Wait here for a moment.”

Chen Ren remained silent as Elder Kang stood, stepping away from his seat and exiting through one of the side doors. A brief hush filled the hall. When Elder Kang returned, he carried something in his hands.

A map.

Chen Ren’s gaze flickered over it as Elder Kang unfurled it carefully, revealing the details of a vast, sprawling forest.

Elder Kang’s finger tapped against a specific area.

“The Blein Forest.”

Ma Tianhai’s gaze swept over the unfurled map, then shifted back to Chen Ren.

“Daoist,” he said evenly, “can you point to the location where you found Hong Yi’s corpse? And where did you encounter the beast?”

Chen Ren gave a slow nod, stepping forward to study the map. He didn’t hesitate—hesitation would only breed suspicion. Instead, he moved his finger with confidence, tapping a particular area within the Forest.

“Around here.” His voice was steady, his tone matter-of-fact. “As for the beast that killed him… I don’t know its exact den, but it was a green fang direwolf—a very powerful creature.”

Both Ma Tianhai and Elder Kang exchanged a look before nodding.

The following half-hour passed with them pressing for more details. They asked about the beast—whatever it had left as proof when it was gone. They inquired about the forest—dangerous paths, notable landmarks, known settlements near the area. Each question was answered smoothly, effortlessly. Chen Ren had already constructed the entire narrative in his mind before even stepping foot in the sect. He was careful to provide just enough detail to make it believable while avoiding anything that could be easily disproved.

When their questions finally dwindled, he glanced up, offering them a polite smile.

“I believe you now have a solid idea of where you can find the beast,” he said. “I would love to stay longer, but I have other commitments to attend to.”

He fully expected them to try to detain him—either out of lingering suspicion or a desire to leverage his strength—but to his mild surprise, Sect Leader Ma only gave a slight nod.

“Thank you, Daoist,” he said sincerely. “You have done a great service to my sect today. Please return anytime. The Blood Iron Sect will do its utmost to accommodate all your needs.”

Chen Ren’s lips curled into a gentle smile. “Thank you for your hospitality, Sect Leader Ma Tianhai. Now, I should take my leave.”

Elder Kang beside Ma Tianhai stepped forward. “Allow me to escort you.”

Chen Ren inclined his head in acknowledgment but remained alert as they walked together through the sect grounds. He observed everything—the disciples training in courtyards, the neatly maintained pathways, the defensive formations embedded into the walls. Yet, throughout the entire escort, nothing seemed amiss. No hushed conversations. No discreet gestures signaling hidden intent.

Still, he maintained his composure, answering Elder Kang’s occasional small talk with casual politeness until they reached the sect’s barrier.

At the boundary, Elder Kang came to a halt, bowing slightly.

“Thank you, Daoist. Safe travels.”

Chen Ren returned the bow with the appropriate level of respect, then stepped through the barrier. Only once he had put some distance between himself and the sect did he exhale deeply—the breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding.

He was calm, but his mind was already working through the next steps.

They’ll check the locations I pointed out.

That was inevitable. The Blood Iron Sect would send people to verify his claims, to look for any traces that the incident had truly occurred as he described. But he wasn’t concerned. He had accounted for this from the beginning.

Hong Yi himself had told me he passed by the edge of the Blein Forest while fleeing. He hid in a cave near the entrance for a week.

If the sect conducted an investigation, they would find villages and towns near that region. Some of the locals might vaguely recall seeing a cultivator in Blood Iron Sect robes heading into the forest. That alone would lend credibility to his words.

And if they searched for the beast?

They might find it. Beasts of that level do inhabit the area.

But what could they even do with it?

Hong Yi’s metaphorical remains had long been digested, his tracks erased by time. Even if the sect suspected that verifying the full truth was futile, they would still go through the motions. It was their last ditch attempt to confirm that Hong Yi was dead and they would never get their hands on the inheritance.

Now, only one major problem left.

As Chen Ren walked deeper into the forest, he slipped a hand into his robe and pulled out Yalan. He looked at the small kitten and fought the urge to pet it once again before he whispered.

“You think they’re following us?”

The little kitten stretched in her palm, her amber eyes searching behind.

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. “But I’ll deal with them. They won’t send anyone too strong, so it’ll be easy. They won’t even know what hit them.”

Chen Ren gave a slight nod. He didn’t need to say more—Yalan already knew what to do. With a flicker of movement, she crawled down his arm and disappeared into the underbrush. While moving away, he saw how her size increased to normal.

He continued walking, his ears tuned for anything out of place. Minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty. By the time thirty minutes had gone by, a faint sense of unease began to creep in.

Did something go wrong?

Just as the thought took root, a rustling in the trees made him pause. His muscles tensed instinctively, but before he could react, a familiar figure dropped soundlessly in front of him.

Yalan had returned without a scratch.

“They sent three disciples,” she reported casually. “All at the qi refinement realm. The last one was a bit tricky—probably had some kind of stealth technique—but I disposed of him. When they wake up, they won’t even know what hit them.”

She stretched lazily on the ground. “Ma Tianhai will probably assume you noticed them and handled it yourself. And if he has half a brain, he won’t bother with you any further.”

Chen Ren exhaled quietly and nodded. “Let’s keep moving.”

They continued their way out of the forest. Even though Yalan had assured him there was no one tailing them, Chen Ren found himself glancing over his shoulder more than once, a habit born of caution rather than fear. Only when they finally stepped into the outskirts of the small town did he let his shoulders relax.

This time, instead of slipping into an alley, he walked straight toward the inn they had booked earlier. Moving with purpose, he headed for their room, pushing the door open before stepping inside. Only then did he reach up, remove his mask, and let out a long breath.

“I felt stuffed in that. Fuck, it was horrible,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, and his face, and then he straightened. “Anyway, we should get to the carriage. They’re probably worrying by now.”

Yalan smirked. “Then let’s not keep them waiting.”

He nodded, and with that, they made their way out of the town. The road stretched before them, quiet under the waning moonlight. Chen Ren ran for an hour, his movements swift yet steady, conserving energy as he covered the distance. Eventually, the familiar outline of a slow-moving carriage came into view.

As he neared, Zi Han caught sight of him first, a knowing smile tugging at her lips as he looked back from driving the carriage. Chen Ren merely nodded and signalled for it to stop and stood right besides it.

The doors creaked open, and one by one, the others stepped out. Hong Yi was the first to approach him, his gaze wary, yet undeniably hopeful.

“So?” Hong Yi asked, moving from one foot to another. The man was clearly eager to know what had gone down with his previous sect. He knew how dangerous it had been for Chen Ren to go alone, considering that one little, subtle mistake could cost him his life.

Chen Ren met his eyes evenly, and licked his lips that had been dried due to the wind. “Well, what do you think, considering I’m standing here?”

For a moment, Hong Yi’s face twisted with disbelief. He didn’t want to trust the words, but the proof was undeniable—Chen Ren was right in front of him, alive and well.

“It took some time, but I sold the story. They’ll probably head to Blein Forest to verify it, but we’ll be far gone by then. If you stay careful and keep a low profile for a while, you won’t have any problems.”

A sharp breath escaped Hong Yi. His shoulders slackened, and for the first time since their escape, the tension in his body truly faded. Chen Ren caught the subtle tremble in his hands, the way his eyes glistened as emotion welled up. Then, suddenly, Hong Yi dropped into a deep bow.

“You don’t–”

He stayed there.

“Thank you, Sect Leader Chen,” he said while his voice quivered with emotions. “I, Hong Yi, won’t disappoint you.”

Chen Ren smiled faintly, shaking his head. “I hope you don’t,” he replied and placed his hand on top of Hong Yi’s shoulder. “Because I took a real risk for you.”

Hong Yi straightened, clenching his fists and nodding. “I’ll make sure to prove my usefulness.”

Chen Ren’s smirk widened. “You will. After all, we’ll have plenty of opportunities where we’ll need your puppets.”

“Yes, sect leader Chen Ren. Anything you say, I will do. You’ve saved my life!”

“Well, as long as you stay out of trouble that is.” He let the words hang for a moment before exhaling and stretching his arms. “But first of all… we have alcohol to sell.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

71. A new city, new opportunity

After being in this world for a while, Chen Ren had realized that despite there being a royal family at the center of the Empire, the distribution of power in every big city and its nearby region was different, depending on the clans and sects that dominated them. For example, even though Cloud Mist City had a city lord, there was no denying that the Soaring Sword Sect held a much stronger claim to power, being the Guardian sect of the region.

Like Cloud Mist City, many other cities either had dominant clans or nearby sects sitting at the true center of power. Even when a city lord bore a noble title and officially governed, they could rarely act without considering these clans—organizations that had spent centuries cultivating generations of powerful individuals. Their deep-rooted history made them a force that couldn't be ignored.

Now that he thought about it, Red Peak City—Chen Ren’s home—was much the same. The Chen Clan controlled most aspects of governance, despite the presence of an appointed city lord. It wasn’t that city lords held no power; in some cities, their influence far outweighed that of sects or clans. But in most, it was either a delicate balance—a 50-50 symbiotic relationship—or the clans remained the real heavyweights in the region. Unfortunately, Ashen City fell into the latter category, with a few dominant clans holding the reins of power.

It wasn’t necessarily bad for Chen Ren—except for one issue. These clans were used to having their way. With their wealth and their cultivators, they had established a near-monopoly on businesses in the city and surrounding settlements. Even during his journey toward Ashen City, he had noticed numerous small towns and trade hubs where businesses were clearly owned by these clans—particularly the Zhu Clan.

The Zhu Clan was, without a doubt, the most powerful faction in Ashen City. More importantly, they owned a staggering number of pubs and taverns. If he could strike a business deal with them, he would have a constant market for his alcohol. But before he could dream of making a fortune and advancing his cultivation, he had to figure out a way to get their attention.

“What are you thinking, Sect Leader Chen?”

Chen Ren blinked, pulled from his thoughts by Anji’s voice. He turned to her, briefly considering his words before speaking. “Just thinking about this place—and the powers that occupy it.”

As he spoke, he swept his gaze outside the carriage window, taking in the sight of Ashen City. They had entered the city a while back, and through the carriage’s wooden frame, he could see just how bustling the streets were. Merchant stalls lined the roads, people weaved between buildings, and the energy of trade and power warmed the air. If he wanted to carve a place for himself here, he needed to act carefully.

Yet, beneath the lively facade, something darker clung to the air.

A thin layer of black soot floated through the city, barely perceptible unless one truly focused. It did not choke the lungs nor cloud the vision, but it was there—settling on rooftops, streaking the edges of signboards, dulling the once-bright hues of banners. Even the occasional cultivator who sped past through the streets at full speed left behind a faint swirl of black.

Chen Ren sat within the carriage, one hand idly brushing against the wooden armrest. His gaze flickered toward the sky, where the sun’s light strained to cut through the lingering haze. It was the mark of Ashen City’s namesake—the legacy of a volcano that had erupted centuries ago. Though dormant, its breath still reached out, carried on the wind.

A voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"Are you worried that the Zhu Clan won’t buy our alcohol?" Zi Han leaned forward and asked.

Chen Ren chuckled, shaking his head. "They’ll be interested. Their establishments cater to more than just mortals. Look around—this city teems with cultivators, and not the kind who shut themselves away in caves seeking enlightenment." His fingers tapped against his knee as he observed the crowd outside. "Most of them chase after beasts near the volcano, delve into caves for treasures, then return to spend their earnings on indulgence. They want fine food, warm company, and strong liquor. Ours will be exactly what they’re looking for."

He paused, his gaze sharpening. "The problem isn’t demand. It’s price. A clan like the Zhu won’t pay fair coin if they can twist our arms into selling cheap. If we let them dictate the terms, we’ll be left with crumbs while they feast."

Zi Han frowned slightly, crossing his arms. "So what’s your plan, Sect Master Chen? They have power, influence, and from what you are saying, they don’t play fair."

Anji, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. "Do we even have leverage? If they decide to force us, what then?"

Chen Ren smirked. "Clans are never monolithic. Rivalries exist—both within and outside. We just need to play them against each other."

His fingers traced a slow circle on the wooden surface beside him, mind already running through possibilities. "The first step is a demonstration. Not just to them, but to the city itself. We need to make them feel like they need our product, like they’ll lose something if they don’t act fast. The moment we turn the tables, it’ll be them chasing us."

Zi Han’s expression eased into a comprehending smile. Anji gave a slow nod, understanding dawning in her eyes. Chen Ren turned to look outside; outside the carriage window, Ashen City sprawled before them.

***

While Chen Ren and the others were away, Meadow Village was anything but quiet. Activity buzzed through its streets and courtyards, the air thick with the sounds of construction, training, and murmured conversations. And as Zi Wen made his way through the sect’s compound, he bore witness to it all.

He still wasn’t sure if he should even call it a sect yet. Not in the way true sects were—where towering halls loomed over vast training fields, where disciples practiced in neat ranks under the watchful eyes of elders, and where the weight of centuries settled into every stone and pillar. No, this wasn’t that.

But it would be.

Somewhere deep in his chest, an unshakable certainty had taken root. He couldn’t explain it, but as he walked past the bustling activity, watching the pieces come together, he knew that the Divine Coin Sect was going to become something great.

Through a window, he caught sight of the mortal members seated inside a modest hall, practicing their numbers on wooden slates, their faces scrunched in concentration. Numbers. Not sword techniques or spell incantations, but calculations.

To anyone else, it might seem absurd, but Zi Wen had begun to understand the strange logic of his sect leader. A strong foundation wasn’t just about physical power—it was about knowledge, control, and mastery over more than just one’s fists.

Further ahead, Miss Tang Xiulan was hard at work, speaking with the builders as they fitted massive tubes into place and dug trenches along the sect grounds. Zi Wen frowned, watching as sweat glistened on their brows. Plumbing, they had called it.

Another one of Sect Leader Chen’s strange ideas.

Zi Wen didn’t understand it fully, but he had long since learned that when a sect leader spoke, it was better to listen. And although he still wasn't fully sure of Chen Ren, he knew he was capable and at least had good ideas in that big brain of his.

And the sect leader's words and actions with the locust weren't the only reason to believe in him.

There was also Yalan, a white furred cat that rarely left Sect Leader's Chen's side, acting like an ordinary pet.

But Zi Wen knew the truth.

That was not a mere pet. Yalan was a master of the Meridian Expansion realm, a being whose strength dwarfed most cultivators who walked the land. And yet, she had willingly chosen to remain by Sect Leader Chen’s side.

The day he had found out still sent a chill through him. He had always felt something unusual about that cat—an instinct, a whisper at the back of his mind. A spirit beast of that caliber lending its strength to the sect? The weight of that revelation had only cemented his belief.

The Divine Coin Sect would not remain unknown for long.

And as if that thought had summoned fate itself, he recalled Chen Ren’s words before leaving.

"Zi Wen, if the sect is to grow, you will have a role to play."

Not just as a disciple, not just as another follower. But as a cultivator who would help shape its future.

And so, as he walked the paths of the sect, watching the pieces fall into place, Zi Wen exhaled slowly.

For now, his task was clear. He had to train. He had to connect with his Dao. That was his sole goal.

Connecting to his Dao was proving more difficult than he had expected. It wasn’t as though he lacked hard work—he had cultivated diligently, followed Sect Leader Chen’s advice, and even meditated beneath the old sycamore tree that overlooked the village. But clarity continued to elude him, like mist slipping through his fingers.

Which was why he now found himself searching for Little Yuze.

If he couldn’t grasp his Dao on his own, then perhaps he could find inspiration elsewhere. The spirit wolf despite seeming like a harmless pet was strong and someone he had tamed. If he truly had Dao of Taming, then being near Little Yuze was definitely going to help.

It didn’t take long to find him.

The distant sounds of movement and soft laughter drew Zi Wen’s gaze toward the space that had become the training grounds. There, beneath the late afternoon sun, Luo Heng danced back and forth, his body shifting through clumsy yet determined steps. Opposite him, Little Yuze crouched low, tail wagging as he darted forward with swift but controlled strikes.

Zi Wen’s eyes narrowed slightly. A movement technique?

Luo Heng’s breath came in ragged bursts as he leapt back from a claw swipe, his foot digging into the dirt. His brows furrowed in focus, and just as he landed, he shouted—

"[Drifting Cloud Steps!]"

His form blurred ever so slightly, but before he could fully evade, his foot caught on uneven ground, and he stumbled.

Little Yuze paused, his teal eyes blinking in amusement, clearly holding back.

Luo Heng groaned, brushing dust from his clothes. “Still not right…”

Before he could try again, he heard the approaching footsteps and turned to see Zi Wen striding toward them.

The boy straightened, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Senior Brother Wen! What are you doing here?”

Zi Wen smiled at the title. It was still unfamiliar, but… pleasant.

“I’m here to take Little Yuze for a walk.”

Luo Heng nodded, rubbing the back of his head. “That’s fine. We’ve been practicing for an hour anyway. But… I’m still not getting used to these techniques.” He looked down, his eyes proof of frustration.

Zi Wen folded his arms. “Take your time with it. They’re only mortal-grade techniques—if you rush, you’ll trip over yourself more than you’ll progress. Enjoy the process. You’re still a new cultivator.”

Luo Heng’s eyes flickered with understanding before he gave a determined nod. “Yes, I will, Senior Brother. I’ll think on them while I tend to my field.”

Zi Wen raised an eyebrow. “You’re still keeping up with your farm?”

Luo Heng straightened his back with a hint of pride. “Of course. Sect Leader Chen said I could, and now that the locusts are gone, I can finally care for my crops properly. Besides…” His voice softened slightly. “I inherited it from my father. He passed away last year. I don’t want to let it go.”

Zi Wen studied the boy for a moment before nodding in understanding. “Then keep at it.”

Luo Heng grinned before bidding his farewell, jogging off toward the fields, his steps a little steadier than before.

Zi Wen turned to Little Yuze, who watched him expectantly, tail flicking.

“Come,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s take a walk.”

Little Yuze let out a small huff before lowering himself to the ground. Zi Wen instinctively moved, and before he could think twice, he found himself atop the wolf’s broad back.

The forest stretched before them, dappled sunlight filtering through the thick canopy. The familiar path they took wound through towering trees, their roots twisting across the ground like the veins of the earth itself. The rustling of leaves accompanied their journey, but no wild beast dared approach them.

Zi Wen sat upright, letting the wind brush against his face. The soft fur beneath his hands was warm, and the steady rhythm of Little Yuze’s movements lulled him into a quiet calm.

For the first time in days, his thoughts settled. His mind calmed and his always raising heartbeat was at pace. The frustration of failing to connect with his Dao faded into the background, carried away by the wind. A long, slow sigh left his lips, and he closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the moment.

Before he knew it, they had arrived.

The hilltop was in front of them. The air was fresher here, the scent of damp earth and wildflowers mixing together in a way that felt… grounding.

Little Yuze came to a stop and gently lowered him to the ground before stepping forward and pressing his head against Zi Wen’s chest.

A small laugh escaped him, and he ran his fingers through the wolf’s fur, rubbing and scratching at all the familiar spots. The way Little Yuze leaned into his touch made his heart feel a little lighter.

But then, his hands stilled.

The wolf looked up at him, teal eyes twinkling with curiosity. What’s wrong? they seemed to ask.

Zi Wen exhaled softly and shook his head. “Nothing much,” he murmured. “I was just wondering… am I really someone who can be a Beastmaster?”

Little Yuze blinked at him.

“The Dao of Taming exists, but I never thought it would be my path,” Zi Wen continued. His voice was calm, but a hint of hesitation lingered. “Sect Leader Chen fully believes it is, but… I don’t know. I feel like I’m stuck.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, without warning, a wet tongue dragged across his face.

Zi Wen recoiled. “Ugh—!”

Little Yuze let out a series of short, excited woofs, his tail wagging as if to say, Stop overthinking. Just trust yourself.

Zi Wen wiped at his face, but a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “…Yeah. You’re right. I should stop overthinking. Just because I haven’t connected to my Dao yet doesn’t mean I should be anxious about it.”

Still, a thought lingered in his mind.

“I just…” His fingers curled slightly. “I don’t think I can fully give up on the Martial Dao.”

Little Yuze tilted his head.

“I used to love training,” Zi Wen admitted, his voice softer now, as if he were speaking more to himself than to his companion. “I thought I’d become an immortal cultivator one day—slaying demons, fighting powerful enemies, becoming someone worthy of legends—”

He paused.

A thought entered his mind, quiet but undeniable.

His eyes drifted to Little Yuze.

Did I truly enjoy training as much as I enjoy this?

The memory of those long days resurfaced—the endless hours of striking dummies, the exhaustion of drilling techniques over and over again, the aching limbs and bruised knuckles. He remembered the initial rush of excitement whenever he learned something new, the thrill of growing stronger… but that feeling always faded, replaced by repetition.

It had been rewarding, yes. But had it been fun?

Right now, as he sat beside Little Yuze, scratching behind his ears, the warmth of the afternoon sun on his skin… he couldn’t deny it.

This moment, this feeling—this was happiness.

Even playing with that mischievous squirrel, Whis Ke, had been fun.

But had he ever felt this way about his martial training?

Zi Wen lowered his gaze, lost in thought.

Perhaps… he had been walking the wrong path all along.

Zi Wen stared at the sky, watching as the clouds drifted by, his fingers idly running through the wolf’s fur.

He exhaled.

The realization settled over him like a quiet tide.

His past wasn’t a mistake—it had been good in its own way. But had he been truly happy?

No.

It was nostalgia that had clouded his thoughts.

Back then, he had walked the path of the Martial Dao because it had been his childhood dream. He had believed himself to be chosen—a favored son of the heavens, destined for greatness. But that had been nothing more than a story he told himself, a fantasy spun from the arrogance of youth.

Reality had been different.

But this…

Zi Wen glanced at Little Yuze, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his presence.

This felt different.

The connection he had with the wolf wasn’t something written in fate or dictated by the heavens. It was something real, something forged through time, care, and trust.

Maybe he hadn’t been chosen by the heavens.

But he had been chosen to meet Little Yuze, to take care of him, to befriend him.

And that—

That was enough.

Just then, a strange sensation pulsed through him, a warmth curling in his chest, unfamiliar yet natural. His breath hitched, his fingers twitching against Little Yuze’s fur.

His eyes widened.

He turned sharply to the wolf. “Did you feel that?”

Little Yuze blinked at him before tilting his head, a picture of pure confusion.

Zi Wen’s pulse quickened.

Was this… what i thought it was?

Without another word, he shifted into a meditative position, his breathing steadying.

If this was what he thought it was—if this was the moment where he finally shed his Martial Dao and stepped onto a new path—then he couldn’t let it slip away.

He closed his eyes and let the world around him fade. And then, as he focused inward, he found himself in his Star Space—that vast, endless expanse within him. A place where the echoes of his Dao awaited. And for the first time, he reached forward, not toward the path he had once believed in—

But toward the path that had already been waiting for him.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

72. Best alcohol in the world

Their whole party took a day to get accustomed to Ashen City.

It was far bigger than any place most of them had ever visited. Even Cloud Mist City, which had once seemed massive, paled in comparison. After all, Ashen City was the third largest city in the entire empire, rich with life, trade, and power.

While they stayed at an inn, Chen Ren wasted no time. He sent his people out to gather every bit of information they could about the local bars, taverns, and clans. In a city this large, specifics were hard to come by, but after a night of careful but precise inquiries and subtle negotiations, he had a decent grasp of the major powers and how best to approach them.

As his subordinates moved through the streets, collecting details and rumors, he once again felt grateful that he had worked on recruitment. Having more people under him wasn’t just convenient—it was a necessity. It made everything smoother, faster, and more efficient. Once he secured a proper contract for his supply chain, he planned to hand the entire distribution process over to Zi Han. The man was the most enthusiastic about this venture, and he would thrive handling the logistics.

With the information he needed in hand, Chen Ren didn’t waste another moment.

He gave out commands to his people, setting their roles in motion, and then personally made his way toward the largest bar in Ashen City— The Alehouse, one of the main establishments of the Zhu Family.

The building was a large three-story wooden structure, its wide entrance marked with the Zhu Family’s distinct crest. Even from outside, Chen Ren could hear the dull murmur of voices, the occasional burst of laughter, and the clatter of mugs.

Despite it being morning, a quarter of the bar was still filled with patrons. Some sat nursing their drinks, either still awake from the previous night or starting early for the day. A few were sprawled across the large tables, clearly having passed out sometime before dawn.

Anji, who had accompanied him, shuddered slightly at the atmosphere but didn’t complain.

Together, they walked toward the main counter, where two people—a man and a woman—sat at a polished wooden desk. Both bore the Zhu Family’s insignia on their chests, marking them as members of the clan.

As Chen Ren took a seat, the woman leaned forward with a professional yet somewhat disinterested smile.

"What type of drink would you like? We also serve light snacks to go with them."

The woman gestured to the board behind her, where the prices of the alcohol were listed. The cheapest drink started at 50 copper wen per glass, while the higher-end ones went for 100 copper wen.

He resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow.

Considering how people had complained about his 5 copper wen noodles being expensive, these prices were on an entirely different level. But he understood why—alcohol was still a luxury in the continent. Most common folk didn’t drink it daily, and when they did, they usually settled for cheap liquor rather than the high-quality brews offered in establishments like this.

Ignoring the prices, he turned back to the woman and smiled.

"I’m sorry, but I’m not here to drink or try snacks. Instead, I’d like to meet the manager of this place—I have a new drink for him to try."

At his words, the woman blinked in confusion, clearly not expecting that answer. Before she could respond, the man sitting beside her, who had overheard the conversation, glanced over and approached them.

He crossed his arms. "I’m sorry, but Manager Zhu Yuan doesn’t meet just anyone. He’s a busy man."

Chen Ren’s smile didn’t waver. "I know. He only meets reputable people."

The man nodded. "Then you should understand that if you don’t—"

"And I would like to tell you that I’m one such person," Chen Ren interrupted smoothly, pulling something out of his robes.

The two employees tensed slightly, but their expressions shifted as he placed his sect crest on the counter, sliding it toward them.

A small but unmistakable emblem with the dragon gleamed under the lamp, its design distinct—the crest of the Divine Coin Sect.

The man and woman exchanged glances, now looking at him with a mix of curiosity and caution.

The woman hesitated before asking, "You’re from a sect?"

Chen Ren nodded. "Not just any sect. The Divine Coin Sect. And not only that—I was born into the Chen Clan that controls Red Peak City. I’m sure you’ve heard of them."

Their eyes widened slightly. Even if they hadn’t personally dealt with the Chen Clan, it was a well-known name, being one of the more famous clans in the empire.

He leaned forward slightly. "My name is Chen Ren, and I can tell you this—the opportunity my sect wants to discuss with the Zhu Clan is something you won’t regret."

A pause followed, just as he had expected. They weren’t foolish enough to immediately believe him, but they also couldn’t outright dismiss someone from a sect and an influential clan.

After a moment, the man nodded toward the woman, and she disappeared into the back. Likely to fetch the manager.

As they waited, Chen Ren turned to Anji, who seemed more relaxed now.

He smirked. "See? This is something you should learn if you’re going to take part in business."

She raised an eyebrow. "What? How to interrupt people?"

"No," he chuckled. "Background is everything. If I were just a normal merchant, they’d have thrown me out. But being from a reputable clan and sect makes them reconsider."

Anji shrugged. "I still think they would’ve let you in if you just told them you’re a Cultivator."

"Maybe," Chen Ren admitted with a shrug. "But most members of our sect aren’t Cultivators. Even you aren’t."

At that, he noticed a slight twitch in Anji’s expression, something brief but telling.

He chose to ignore it and continued, "That’s why you need to learn how to throw your background around. And even if you don’t have a background—make one."

Anji shot him an unimpressed look, but before she could respond, he smirked. "You look good enough for them to believe you come from a reputable clan."

A faint flush dusted her cheeks.

Before anything else could be said, the door to the back swung open. The female worker from before stepped out, followed by a bigger man—broad-shouldered and round-faced, with a three-day-old beard that made him look slightly unkempt. His clothes were well-tailored, but there was no hiding the slight bloat in his features or the lingering scent of alcohol that clung to him.

Chen Ren instantly pegged him as someone who enjoyed his own stock a little too much.

Yet, despite that, the man wasn’t old—he was around Chen Ren’s age, maybe a year or two older.

The man approached the counter, placing a large palm on the wooden surface as his gaze settled neutrally on Chen Ren. "I heard you’re from a sect and wish to discuss a business opportunity with the Zhu Clan."

Chen Ren smiled, unfazed. "For Zhu Alehouse, mostly."

A single brow lifted, but there was a subtle shift in the man’s posture, an indicator that he was taking this more seriously now.

"So, what’s the deal?"

Chen Ren chuckled. "Why don’t you try it for yourself?"

At that, he glanced at Anji, who swiftly pulled out a small container she had been carrying. The moment Chen Ren uncorked it, a rich, potent aroma of distilled spirits filled the air.

The fat manager and the two workers instinctively leaned forward, eyes drawn to the swirling liquid inside.

It was clear, almost too clear, yet had a subtle shimmer. Unlike the thick, golden-brown ales they were used to, this drink looked deceptively light—but the scent told an entirely different story.

Zhu Yuan narrowed his eyes. "You’re trying to sell alcohol to the best bar in town?"

Chen Ren grinned. "No. I’m selling the best alcohol."

A slight silence followed before the manager let out a sigh and grabbed a glass. He poured himself a small amount, lifting it to eye level before finally taking a sip.

The moment it touched his tongue, his face changed instantly.

Chen Ren knew what the man was experiencing. A sharp burn, across his mouth and down his throat—like fire igniting every nerve. His face contorted in surprise, and he coughed silently before blinking at Chen Ren in shock.

"My tongue feels like it’s burning. What the hell is this?"

Chen Ren leaned against the counter, smirking. "The strongest drink you’ll ever try. Gives a nice little kick, doesn’t it?"

The man didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he took another sip, slower this time—trying to savor the burn. It wasn’t just fire; underneath the intensity, there was a smoothness, a depth that cheap grain alcohol didn’t have.

Visibly, he let the drink roll over his tongue, exhaling slightly as he finally admitted, "It does… yeah, it really does."

Then he paused, looking at Chen Ren more seriously now.

"I haven’t tried anything like this before. Where did you get it?"

Chen Ren smiled easily. "My sect has an elder who's interested in spirit-making. He ended up creating this, and now we're trying to ensure his work reaches the rest of the Kalian Empire."

A blatant lie.

But talking about elders would make the manager think their sect was bigger and more influential than he had originally assumed—worth forming connections with.

Just as Chen Ren had expected, the fat man stroked his chin, looking thoughtful. "What was the name of your sect again?"

"Divine Coin Sect," Chen Ren answered smoothly.

The man frowned. "Never heard of it."

Chen Ren chuckled. "We like to stay low-key. But our new sect leader is trying to change that—he wants our name to spread across the continent. And what better way than through our creations?"

Zhu Yuan hummed, his lips twitching. He looked interested, at the very least.

Chen Ren took the chance to press further. "So, what do you think? Would you be interested in a supply contract?"

The manager leaned back slightly, considering. "I can consider it."

Then came the real test.

"How much will you be selling it for?"

Chen Ren glanced at the container Anji had placed on the counter, then turned back to the man. "That depends on how much you can shell out."

He wasn't going to name a price first. He wanted to see what kind of offer the manager would make.

The fat man rubbed his chin, then finally said, "Thirty silver wen per container."

Chen Ren’s smile didn’t waver, but internally, he scoffed. As expected, the man was trying to shortchange him.

With everything required to make moonshine—high-quality grains, fermentation agents, distillation materials—his total cost of production already sat at twenty-five silver wen per container.

And that wasn’t even counting the labor costs.

Zhu Yuan knew the value of a product like this. Clearly, he’d been in this business for a long time. A single container held enough alcohol for 20 to 30 glasses, and considering the prices listed earlier, the tavern could easily sell each glass for 2 to 5 silver wen.

If they marketed it as a luxury drink or something suited for cultivators, the price could soar even higher.

Yet, despite that, the manager was offering a measly 30 silver wen?

Chen Ren’s neutral expression didn’t change. But in his mind, he was already deciding on his counteroffer.

Chen Ren had come here expecting this kind of back-and-forth, so he didn't seem the least bit fazed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That's not a price I'm willing to sell it for."

Zhu Yuan frowned but quickly responded. "Fine. 35 silver wen. I won’t go beyond that."

His voice carried absolute certainty, like he thought he was making a generous offer. "You know our bar is the best in the city. You won’t get better rates anywhere else."

Chen Ren’s lips curled into a relaxed smile. "I’ll see about that."

The manager narrowed his eyes. "You’re planning to sell it to other establishments?" His voice carried a more serious weight now. "The Zhu Clan might not like that."

Chen Ren met his gaze straight and raised his eyebrow. "Are you trying to threaten me?"

Zhu Yuan shook his head quickly. "No, but I think you should understand that we're the biggest clan in Ashen City. If you get into business with another pub, we might take offense." He leaned forward slightly. "I believe you already know that—otherwise, you wouldn’t have come here first."

Chen Ren’s smile widened. "I don’t think so."

The manager blinked. "What do you mean?"

Chen Ren chuckled. "Right now, my men are in every other pub in town—showing off this creation."

A flicker of displeasure crossed the fat man’s face.

"The Zhu Clan won’t like that," he warned.

Chen Ren’s expression darkened slightly, and his voice carried a dangerous undertone. "I don’t know if you understand, but you’re standing in front of a cultivator."

The manager visibly tensed, his confidence cracking for the first time.

Chen Ren let the silence hang for a moment before adding, "Moreover, the Zhu Clan might be the biggest in the city, but do you really want to offend a sect like ours?"

Silence.

Zhu Yuan clearly didn’t know how big the Divine Coin Sect actually was, and that uncertainty worked in Chen Ren’s favor. Even if the manager had never heard of it, going against a sect was never a wise move.

Seeing that he had made his point, Chen Ren turned away.

"I’ll be staying at the Heavenly Sleep Inn if you change your mind," he said casually. Then, without sparing the manager another glance, he walked out of the tavern with Anji following close behind.

***

Chen Ren sat cross-legged on the bed. He looked around at the small room in Heavenly Sleep Inn.

Across from him, Zi Han and Hong Yi sat with straight backs, their faces composed but expectant. Anji, still getting used to these kinds of discussions, leaned slightly against the bedpost, listening carefully. On the far side of the bed, Whiskey was curled up, peacefully napping. As for Yalan, she was out, likely gathering information or exploring the city.

Chen Ren finally broke the silence.

"Yes? So what happened?."

Zi Han and Hong Yi exchanged glances before Zi Han took the lead.

"It was as you predicted, Sect Leader," he said. "The bars liked the product. Both places, Shuang Guan and Phoenix Tear Tavern agreed to meet us after we mentioned our sect and let them try the moonshine. They enjoyed it, but..." He hesitated. "They were only willing to pay 20 silver wen per container."

Hong Yi picked up from there. "After some negotiation, we got them to raise the price to 35 and 40, but they refused to go higher. We tried a few other places, but it was the same story."

Chen Ren nodded thoughtfully. 40 silver wen wasn’t bad, and he could turn a solid profit at that rate. But he also knew moonshine was worth far more. With its high concentration, Cultivators in the city would go crazy for it, and those kinds of customers wouldn’t blink before dropping 5 to 6 silver wen for a single glass.

That meant there was still a lot of room to push the price up.

He looked at the people gathered around him and smirked. "Sounds like things are going according to plan."

Anji raised an eyebrow. "Does it? I thought you wanted a higher price?"

Chen Ren chuckled. "I do. But right now, they only know our product is good—they haven't seen its full potential."

Zi Han’s eyes sharpened. "You mean…?"

Chen Ren leaned forward slightly. "We need to raise its demand in the city. Once the demand is high enough, these establishments won’t have a choice. They’ll be pushing each other out of the way just to get a supply deal with us, no matter what price we set."

The room fell silent for a moment before Hong Yi asked, "And how do we do that, Sect Leader?"

Chen Ren’s smirk widened. "I already have a plan for that."

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

73. Finding your dao

Luo Heng's fists crashed against the boulder.

"[Mountain Splitting Strike!]"

A surge of energy coursed through his limbs, filling him with the illusion of boundless strength. His knuckles met stone, the direct impact sent a dull vibration up his arm, and for a small second, he felt as if he could shatter mountains—but when the dust settled, only a minor dent marred the rock’s surface.

He withdrew his hand and unclenched it, feeling the warmth of the power that had just moved inside him.

He grinned at what happened. A week ago, attempting this would have left him with shattered bones. Now, as a cultivator of the Divine Coin Sect, he was more than just mortal and the strength flowing through his veins was proof of that.

He stood up on the hill that overlooked the village, and continued his training.

Below, villagers passed by on the worn dirt path, their baskets heavy with tools and seeds. He recognized many of them—people he had grown up alongside. He waved. Normally, they’d have stopped for a quick conversation, or even made a light joke in the passerby. But things had changed.

They hesitated, offered a quick bow, then hurried on.

Luo Heng sighed, lowering his hand. He was used to it now. Ever since he had stepped into the path of cultivation; and in between the little time that had passed, everything had changed.

It wasn’t the sect’s fault—mortal members were still treated kindly and they had a pretty good reputation in the village. It was the title of ‘cultivator’ that made the difference.

Sect Leader Chen had once told him that many cultivators were arrogant and unapproachable, making mortals wary of them. Luo Heng understood that. He had been a mortal for most of his life.

He just hadn’t expected to be on the receiving end of that distance. It was odd to see such a big difference in such a short time, and he found himself nodding awkwardly more than ten times a day when they bowed so deeply.

Shaking his head, he turned back to the boulder, preparing to strike again—but his gaze drifted toward the sky. The sun hung low, streaking the horizon with gold. He suddenly realised that the time to practice was over and he had to give his attention to a different type of training than just trying to smash boulders.

He exhaled through his nose, letting out the frustration. "I need to think," he murmured.

Turning away from his training, he made his way down the hills toward his farmlands.

As he arrived, his mind calmed—relief flooded. The scars of the locust infestation were healing. The earth, once barren, was tilled anew. Fresh sprouts pushed through the soil, fragile yet resilient.

Luo Heng smiled, his heart warming with emotions. The next harvest would be a good one. The village would recover.

And maybe, given time, so would he.

He moved toward the large tree overlooking his farmlands, the rough bark a familiar comfort beneath his hand as he sat down. He exhaled deeply, the scent of freshly tilled earth filling his lungs and the golden light rays from the sun warning him.

He reached into his robes and pulled out a book—"Dao: The Path of a Cultivator."

Sect Leader Chen had given it to him, saying it was an essential guide. As he turned it around and admired the ancient parchment, he realised that it hadn’t done him much good—he could barely read it.

Miss Tang Xiulan had helped him decipher the words, but even then, the book made his head hurt. The letters made his insides cry. It was the most philosophical nonsense he had ever read. At times, he even felt like it’d been better if he could just throw it away and never look at it.

Apparently, cultivators weren’t just people who absorbed energy and acted like gods. They had to choose a path—their Dao—and dedicate themselves to it. It was a complex process, but an extremely essential one.

Miss Xiulan had explained that the book mainly focused on the Martial Dao, but Sect Leader Chen had insisted there were many Daos beyond just that.

His Senior Brother Zi Wen was proof of that. He had connected with the Dao of Taming, and somehow—Luo Heng still didn’t understand how—that had made Little Yuze, his wolf, stronger.

Stronger, bigger, and with sharper teeth.

It was scary. Luo Heng frowned. That was exactly why he preferred boulders now. Boulders didn’t have fangs or claws that could accidentally tear him apart.

Chuckling to himself, he flipped open the book.

The words blurred before his eyes—still gibberish. But the illustrations caught his attention. They depicted a cultivator sitting in a meditative stance, seeking to connect with their Dao.

Luo Heng sighed. He knew he was supposed to do the same.

But despite training, despite learning techniques, despite trying to force himself to love martial arts…

He still felt no closer to Martial Dao.

Luo Heng flipped through the pages, eyes scanning the words that Miss Xiulan had patiently helped him decipher. The Martial Dao was said to be the easiest to connect with. It was the foundation of countless cultivation paths, the most direct route to strength.

And yet—he felt nothing.

According to Sect Leader Chen, there were always other paths. Maybe he was meant to be an alchemist, refining herbs into miraculous pills. Or perhaps an array master, manipulating space itself with complex formations. He could always learn and advance if they were meant to be his path. Because the books spoke of such people with reverence, describing their abilities as mysterious and unfathomable.

But Luo Heng had never so much as held a cauldron. And even if the idea of learning alchemy intrigued him, it was curiosity, not a pull.

That was what Senior Brother Zi Wen had described—a pull, an undeniable instinct. When he had found Little Yuze, he had known, deep in his heart, that they were meant to be together. Like something in the universe had clicked into place.

Luo Heng felt none of that.

Martial arts were cool, but that was it. Alchemy sounded fun, but he had never liked fire. Maybe it was because of his Earth-aspected roots. And as for arrays… he wouldn’t even know where to start.

It left him stranded.

He sighed, staring down at the book before smacking it against his forehead.

"Am I just untalented?" he muttered.

He knew his spiritual roots were weak. That much had been clear from the beginning. But Sect Leader Chen had said that a strong Dao could overcome weak roots—if only he could find it.

Luo Heng exhaled, shaking off the creeping doubts. His gaze drifted past the book, past his hands, past his confusion—toward the farmlands below.

The soil had been freshly tilled, dark and rich, the first hints of green peeking through in delicate sprouts. The smell of earth was thick in the air, damp with the promise of growth. The more he focused, the thicker the smell felt, like heaven. He could already imagine it—in a few months, the fields would be full, bursting with life. Stalks of golden wheat swaying in the wind, their heads heavy with grain. Rows of leafy greens stretching toward the sun, their leaves glistening with morning dew.

Over by the lower fields, he pictured a rice paddy, the water shimmering under the sunlight, reflecting the sky like a giant mirror. Further ahead, rows of vegetables—lush cabbages, their leaves curled tightly, bright red chili peppers, standing tall, and bean vines creeping up wooden poles, twirling toward the heavens.

A deep warmth settled in his chest.

And then—something stirred.

It was faint at first, like a ripple in a pond. But as he let his mind wander, as he envisioned the farm flourishing, that ripple turned into a current. A strange energy seeped into him, flowing through his veins like the steady pulse of the earth beneath his feet.

Luo Heng's breath caught.

Qi.

Instinctively, his hand drifted to his chest, feeling the unfamiliar sensation pooling in his dantian. Was this it?

Was this… his Dao?

A memory surfaced—a conversation with Sect Leader Chen.

"When you find your Dao, you'll know. It won’t be forced. It won’t be something you chase. It will come to you, like a seed finally sprouting after the right season of rain."

Luo Heng’s hands clenched into fists.

He turned his gaze back to the fields—not to the past, but to the future.

He saw what could be—not just crops, not just survival, but abundance. A farm unlike any other, a place where the land flourished beyond mortal limitations. A place where he could cultivate, not through battle and bloodshed, but through nurturing life itself.

And as that thought took root, more Qi rushed into his dantian.

It wasn’t violent like a martial technique. It wasn’t blazing like the fire of an alchemist’s cauldron.

It was steady. Grounded. Deep.

Like the earth beneath him, unshakable.

***

Young Master Zhu Renjie of the Zhu Clan strode through the bustling streets of Ashen City, his smug smile on full display for everyone to see.

Today couldn’t be better.

He had finally bested his second cousin in a spar—a feat that had eluded him for far too long. Both of them were body gorging realm cultivators, but his cousin had always been stronger, taller, tougher. Yet today, Zhu Renjie had proven himself superior. He had defeated the guy so badly that it would be spoken in his clan for quite some more time.

And what better way to celebrate than to parade through the streets, soaking in the admiration of the common folk?

As he moved, the people of Ashen City recognized him. Their heads dipped in respectful bows, some murmuring greetings, others keeping their gazes lowered in deference.

This. This was why he preferred walking over taking a carriage.

There was a certain thrill in seeing mortals bow before him. A reminder that he was not just anyone, but Young Master Zhu Renjie of the main branch of the Zhu Clan. A cultivator. A man destined for greatness. A man that should be feared by the many.

And the feeling of being revered was intoxicating.

One of his lackeys, Luo Min, leaned in with an eager smile. “Young Master, are we going to the same place?”

Renjie smirked. “Of course. There’s no better place to celebrate.”

His other lackey, Wu Phan, chuckled knowingly.

And so, the three of them continued their leisurely stroll until they reached their destination—a towering, four-story establishment that gleamed even beneath the dusky sky. The Scarlet Pavilion.

It was the most renowned courtesan house in all of Ashen City. The exterior alone boasted wealth, with red lanterns hanging elegantly from carved eaves and silk drapes shielding the entrance from prying eyes.

Without hesitation, Renjie stepped inside, his lackeys close behind.
The moment he entered, the receptionist, Manager Qiu, straightened and quickly greeted him with a deep bow.

“Young Master Zhu! You honor us with your presence today. The Scarlet Pavilion has missed you.”

Renjie flicked his sleeve with arrogance. “I’ve been occupied with my cultivation. But tonight, I celebrate a victory over my second cousin. I am sure you know what to do.”

Manager Qiu’s expression lit up. “A most worthy occasion, Young Master! Allow me to summon our finest courtesans for you. Please, take a seat—we shall serve you and your esteemed friends at once.”

With that, Renjie strode toward the lavish seating area, already anticipating the indulgence that awaited him. He settled into the center seat, sprawling comfortably as his lackeys took their places on either side. The sweet smell of incense and perfume filled his nostrils, and the faint music blending with the soft laughter of courtesans in the background was just what he needed.

A moment later, servers arrived, setting down a tray of fine porcelain cups and a bottle of unfamiliar liquor.

Renjie lifted his cup, his brows furrowing as he inspected the liquid within. A white coloured drink swirled inside, reflecting the candlelight in an oddly mesmerizing way.

His smirk faded slightly. “I don’t think I’ve seen this before. It’s not what I usually get when I come here.”

Manager Qiu, who had been watching closely, immediately stepped forward. “Ah, Young Master, you have a keen eye! This is moonshine—a special drink, unique in the whole world.” He puffed out his chest, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “We’ve only managed to acquire a single bottle of it. It’s strong—perfect for cultivators. I’m sure you will love it.”

Renjie’s smirk returned. “Hmph. Let me be the judge of that.”

He swirled the moonshine in his cup, inhaling the sharp, potent scent before taking a slow sip.

The burn hit instantly, searing its way down his throat, but instead of coughing, Renjie let the warmth spread through him, his eyes widening in surprise. There was a depth to the taste, a fire that felt almost invigorating, as if it were fueling his qi instead of dulling his senses.

Meanwhile, his lackeys, Luo Min and Wu Phan, had taken cautious sips of their own—only to cough violently, their faces scrunching up as they struggled to handle the burn.

Renjie let out a low chuckle, finishing the rest of his cup in one smooth motion before slamming it down on the table. “Now this is good. Strong. Just how I like it.”

Luo Min wiped his mouth, still wheezing. “Y-Young Master, do you truly like this stuff?”

Renjie shot him a sharp look. “What would you know? This is real liquor. It can satisfy a cultivator like me.”

Then, without hesitation, he eyed their still-full cups and snatched them both up before they could protest.

“If you’re not drinking it, I will.”

And just like that, he downed both their drinks in a few gulps, the burn intensifying but only making him crave more.

Turning back to Manager Qiu, he set his cup down with a loud clunk, eyes gleaming. “Bring me more.”

The receptionist hesitated for a second, but seeing Renjie’s expression, he quickly nodded and signaled for another serving.

One after another, Renjie drained each new cup, his head growing light, a pleasant buzz settling in his mind. Yet instead of dulling his senses, the moonshine made him feel alive, his qi subtly humming in response to his good mood.

After finishing yet another glass, he leaned back and exhaled. “Good stuff.”

Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he turned to Manager Qiu, waving lazily. “Send a crate of this to my estate.”

Manager Qiu’s eyes widened. “A… a crate?”

“Yes.” Zhu Renjie leaned forward, propping his elbow on the armrest as he gazed lazily at Manager Qiu. “Make it a full crate.”

The manager, who had been about to instruct the servers, suddenly froze. A flicker of hesitation crossed his face before he forced a polite smile. “Ah… I can’t, Young Master.”

Renjie’s expression darkened instantly. “What?”

Manager Qiu’s fingers twitched, clearly regretting his words. “W-What I mean is… we don’t have a full crate.”

Renjie’s eyes narrowed. “Then bring me whatever you have.”

“That’s just it, Young Master.” Manager Qiu hesitated, then spoke quickly, trying to appease him. “We… only had one bottle. There’s no more stock.”

A beat of silence.

Then, a sharp crack echoed through the hall as Renjie slammed his hand against the table. His Qi flared just enough to make the nearby cups tremble.

“What do you mean?” he demanded, his voice sharp with irritation. “Where did you get it from?”

The manager paled but quickly shook his head. “I don’t know, Young Master! A man came here yesterday, selling moonshine. He claimed it was made for cultivators, and I thought I’d buy a bottle to see if our esteemed guests would enjoy it… But I don’t know who he is or where he came from.”

Renjie clicked his tongue, glaring. “Useless.”

Manager Qiu swallowed hard, lowering his head as Renjie shoved himself up from his seat.

“I’ll find more of this alcohol myself.” His robes flared as he turned toward the door.

Behind him, Manager Qiu called out hastily, “Young Master! What about the courtesans?”

Renjie didn’t even glance back. “I don’t care about them right now. I need more moonshine until I’m satisfied.”

His voice was filled with genuine hunger, his pulse quickening at the thought of tasting that burn again. It had been so long since he’d found a drink that could actually make his qi stir and mind dizzy–in a good way. He needed to find this.

Leaving his stunned lackeys behind, he strode swiftly into the streets, his feet automatically taking him toward the only place he thought might have it.

The Alehouse.

It wasn’t the most dignified establishment out of everything his clan owned, but if anyone in this wretched city had rare liquor, it would be there. Pushing through the heavy wooden doors, he stepped inside, his presence commanding attention. His gaze landed immediately on a man and woman behind the counter.

Without hesitation, he took a step forward, voice booming loud across the room.

“I, Zhu Renjie, Young Master of the Zhu Clan, need moonshine!”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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74. Creating demand

Shen Bao, the leader of the Black Fang Hunting Party and a peak Qi Refinement realm cultivator, scowled as he leaned forward. His nose scrunched up in frustration as he locked his eyes with the Phoenix Tear Tavern's owner, Luo Duyi. He scoffed. He was a man that was used to getting what he wanted, and the response that came from the tavern owner was something that definitely displeased him.

"What do you mean you don't have moonshine?" he demanded, his index finger nail scratching the outer surface of the table with an ‘eek’. "I was informed a man was here with a container of it just three days back. Did it already get sold out?"

Across from him, Luo Duyi kept his head lowered. He lifted his head just enough to catch the annoyed face of the cultivator.

"I'm sorry, Master Shen, but we didn’t buy it," he said carefully. He hesitated, then added, "But may I ask how you came to know of it?"

Shen Bao narrowed his eyes. "Someone delivered a bottle of it to my estate yesterday," he said, voice thick with displeasure. "My subordinates thought it was poison at first, but when one of them dared to try it, they realized it wasn’t just safe—it was damn good. They brought it to me, and I have to say, it's a fine drink. Not as refined as spirit wine, but it has a kick. A real, satisfying burn. Unlike the watered-down swill you all sell in this town."

His lips curled slightly, whether in amusement or disdain was unclear. "So tell me, why don’t you have it?"

Luo Duyi clenched his jaw, lowering his gaze. A frown etched deep into his forehead, his mind racing. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t thought much at all when he rejected the young man who had come to sell the moonshine. But now, under Shen Bao’s scrutiny, he realized his mistake.

"Some people did try to sell it to me three days ago," he admitted reluctantly. "And I won’t lie, I liked it. But we couldn’t agree on a price, so they left. That’s the reason your people saw someone with moonshine entering the tavern. There’s nothing more to it. Please, believe me."

Shen Bao studied him for a long moment, his sharp, wolf-like eyes measuring the truth in his words. Then he leaned back and let out a low grunt.

"Fine. Then tell me, where are these people? I’ll find them myself and buy the moonshine from them." His voice turned harsh, a flicker of impatience threading through it. "You need to understand, I don’t like something every day. But when I do, I make sure I get my hands on it."

Luo Duyi straightened hurriedly, nodding with forced enthusiasm. "Of course, Master Shen! The whole city knows you don't give up on things easily. There's no way I wouldn't be aware of that."

Then, a crease formed between his brows. "But... I actually don’t know where they are. They just left after saying they wouldn’t sell for the price I was offering. They didn’t give an address." He hesitated, rubbing his chin. "But if they sent you a bottle as a gift, they should still be in the city."

Shen Bao’s fingers stilled against the table. A slow grin spread across his face, though there was nothing pleasant about it.

"Then we’ll just have to find them, won’t we?"

Luo Duyi wiped his hands on his apron, forcing a smile as he gestured toward the door. “Why don’t you try some other pub, Master Shen? Maybe someone else has what you’re looking for.”

Across the table, Shen Bao’s expression didn’t change. His wrinkled hands rested on the worn wood scraping the wood until little parts were stuck in his nails. Then, he shook his head. “I already did.”

Luo Duyi stiffened. “You… already did?”

Shen Bao nodded. “Yes. The ones who came to sell you moonshine tried every pub in the city. Not a single one of you offered them a good enough price.” He leaned forward, his lips curling into a slow smile. “If I hadn’t gone around myself and heard the same story from every other tavern, I wouldn’t have believed you so easily.” The corners of his lips curled up. “I would’ve taken my time getting the truth out of you.”

A cold sweat broke across Luo Duyi’s brow. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I… I’m glad then,” he stammered, forcing out an uneasy laugh. But as the silence stretched, an idea struck him. He straightened, his expression turning earnest. “Don’t worry, Master Shen. I’ll make sure I get the moonshine in stock next time you visit.”

Shen Bao’s smirk deepened. “I hope you do,” he said, his voice smooth. “Because from what I hear, a lot of people have suddenly started looking for this alcohol.”

Luo Duyi’s brows furrowed. “Where did you hear that from?”

Shen Bao chuckled, shaking his head. “I wasn’t the only one who received it out of nowhere. A lot of places where cultivators gather—inns, gambling dens, even brothels—have mysteriously acquired bottles of moonshine. And quite a few people found a gift waiting at their doorstep.” His eyes gleamed. “You’re not an idiot, Luo Duyi. You must have some idea of what’s going on.”

A flicker of realization dawned on the tavern owner’s face. His fingers tightened around the edge of the table as he connected the pieces.

Shen Bao continued, his voice almost casual. “Soon, demand will soar as these people search for more. If any pub manages to secure a steady supply, their business will boom overnight.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Right now, the Zhu Clan controls the biggest share of the market—not just in the city, but in nearby towns and villages. But this is an opportunity.” His gaze sharpened. “A chance for another pub to close the gap.”

Luo Duyi exhaled slowly, then nodded. “I understand.” His face grew serious, determination setting into his features. He straightened his back. “Don’t worry, Master Shen. I, Luo Duyi of the Phoenix Tear Tavern, will make sure we have a batch of moonshine ready when you return.”

***

Even though Chen Ren had expected his plan to work, he had never imagined it would unfold this smoothly—or to this degree.

Not only had he managed to slip his moonshine into the hands of some of the most influential people in the city, but he had also spread it into public venues where cultivators gathered in large numbers—courtesan houses, training halls, gambling dens, and even some prominent inns. It wasn’t difficult. A few well-placed bribes ensured that the right hands carried the bottles to the right places.

From the start, he had known his alcohol would be a hit. Cultivators had stronger bodies, faster metabolisms—regular liquor barely scratched the surface of their tolerance. They needed something potent, something that could burn its way through their enhanced systems. And moonshine? It did the job better than anything else.

What he hadn’t expected, however, was just how much cultivators in this city loved their alcohol.

The reports from Zi Han and Hong Yi painted a clear picture—demand was rising faster than expected.

The first bottles had barely made their rounds, yet already, cultivators were searching for more. Their first stop? The bars and taverns scattered across the city. But none of them had any moonshine to sell.

Chen Ren smirked. He could already imagine the panic spreading among the pub owners. Right now, they had to be scrambling, kicking themselves for turning away his sellers. Some were probably already making desperate attempts to source a new supply.

The Zhu Clan, in particular, had moved fast. One of their men had come to the inn, requesting a meeting on behalf of their master. Chen Ren had ignored it.

The timing wasn’t right yet.

If he caved too early, he’d lose leverage. No—he had to let them stew a little longer, let the demand climb higher. The game was still at halftime, and he had no intention of ending it prematurely.

A knock sounded at his door.

Chen Ren leaned back, exhaling slowly before speaking. “Come in.”

The door opened, and Hong Yi stepped inside. The moment the door shut behind him, he reached up, pulling away the mask that concealed his true face. His features shifted, revealing the familiar face that immediately locked onto Chen Ren.

“I just returned from the Black Lotus Tavern and the Dragon’s Fang Bar,” Hong Yi reported. “As you suspected, the rumors are starting to spread. Even regular folks are talking about our moonshine now.”

Chen Ren's smile widened. "Is that so?"

Hong Yi nodded. "Yeah. Just like you said, rumors spread without us having to do anything. Now, even the mortals know that the city's cultivators are interested in moonshine, and they want to try it themselves. There’s always someone in the bars asking for it, and the owners are going crazy."

He paused for a moment before continuing. "Zi Han also told me that we've received a lot of invitations—from both bars and individual cultivators—ever since they found out we were staying here."

Chen Ren chuckled. "Yes, but I'm stalling for now. Fortunately, Ashen City has strict laws, so I don’t have to worry about cultivators barging in uninvited. Just their servants, and they’ve been pretty amiable after learning that I’m a qi refinement cultivator."

In Ashen City, Qi Refinement cultivators were considered heavyweights. The highest-ranking figures—the heads of stronger families and powerful hunting groups—were usually in the early stars of the foundation establishment realm, but they wouldn't show their faces out a lot, and would be busy trying to advance their cultivation for more lifespan, being old men with a time limit.

Anyone with better talent in the young generation would have left for a sect long ago. That meant that as far as the city's residents were concerned, a qi refinement cultivator like Chen Ren was someone to be treated with respect, if not outright caution.

That gave him all the time he needed to let the rumors about moonshine spread.

Another reason he had been left alone was the fact he had fed the bar owners—that he was part of a sect. Even if the city's cultivators wanted to get their hands on his product, none of them were reckless enough to offend a sect, even one they hadn’t heard of before. Not over a mere drink, at least.

"So what are we going to do next?" Hong Yi asked. "How long are we stalling for?"

Chen Ren's gaze sharpened. "Not much longer. Just one more day. After that, we’ll start hearing out the bar owners and see who’s willing to give us the best price."

Hong Yi tilted his head. "Do you want me to go with Zi Han to the bars and see how much they’re willing to pay now?"

Chen Ren shook his head. "No. We’re far beyond the point of going to them. We have a product that’s becoming a hit among the city's cultivators, and they want it. Let them come to us. Not separately, but all at the same time."

Hong Yi raised an eyebrow. "I see that you already have a plan, Sect Leader Chen?"

Chen Ren smirked. "I do. And it’s something businesses often do when they’re trying to secure a partnership."

Hong Yi’s eyes narrowed. "And what’s that?"

"It’s simple," Chen Ren said. "It’s called a tender document." He paused. "Let me explain it to you."

***

Zhu Yuan scratched the beard that had slowly grown along his jaw, his frown deepening as he leaned against his desk. He reached for the half-full mug of beer beside him and downed it in one gulp, but the bitterness only added to the headache brewing behind his eyes.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "It’s only been a year since I took over the tavern… but why am I already so close to losing it?"

Slumping back in his chair, he cursed his rotten luck. He knew that in business, there were opportunities that could make or break you—golden chances that, if seized, could secure wealth for years to come. But if ignored, someone else would take them and leave you in the dust. And recently… he had let one such opportunity slip through his fingers.

Just a few days ago, that man—Chen Ren—had come to him, offering to sell his alcohol. At the time, Zhu Yuan had turned him down. Not because the product was bad. No, far from it. He had been drinking since he was thirteen, sneaking sips from his father’s stash, and by eighteen, he was a regular at every bar in the city. He knew good alcohol when he tasted it, and that moonshine had been something else. Strong, smooth, and with a kick that would even affect a cultivator.

But still, he had refused to pay the price Chen Ren was asking. It was a product the city had never seen before, brought in by an outsider, no matter what sect he claimed to be from. Zhu Yuan had been sure that his decision was the right one—that Chen Ren would come crawling back, desperate to make a sale. Then, he could have forced him to sell for a fraction of the price.

Yet, instead of things going his way, demand for moonshine had exploded almost overnight. Now, even his uncles—the ones who usually left the bar matters to him—were asking about it.

The old men of the Zhu family held considerable power, each carrying decades of favors and influence. If they found out that he had turned down the contract for moonshine, Zhu Yuan was certain he wouldn’t just be scolded—he’d be taken down a notch, maybe even have some of his authority stripped. But that wasn’t even the worst part.

If another bar managed to secure the contract instead, then his Alehouse was doomed. That thought alone made his stomach churn, an unbearable emptiness gnawing at him no matter how much he drank or ate.

"All because of that damn man, Chen Ren," he muttered under his breath, rubbing his face in frustration.

It wasn’t even like the fame of moonshine had started out of nowhere. Zhu Yuan knew Chen Ren was behind it and was pulling strings from the background.

He and his people had believed in their product enough to push it directly into the hands of the city’s big shots. Zhu Yuan didn’t know how they had managed to do it, but somehow, they had made all the influential figures in Ashen City taste moonshine.

And once those bottles ran dry, those same big shots had started looking for more. With each inquiry, rumors spread like wildfire. Every drunkard and alcoholic in the city had heard about moonshine by now.

Yet, despite the growing demand, Chen Ren refused to meet with him. In fact, he wasn’t meeting with any of the bar owners. He was keeping them all in the dark.

Zhu Yuan could only hope that this was just a negotiation tactic and not something worse. Because the only thing he truly feared now… was Chen Ren opening his own bar.

More competition was the last thing he needed—especially when the product in question catered directly to cultivators, a market that was already rare and highly profitable.

He exhaled sharply, tapping his fingers against the wooden desk as his mind spun in circles, weighing his options.

Then, a knock on the door.

"Come in," he barked.

The door opened, and one of the receptionists entered, bowing slightly. In his hands was a parchment, the edges sealed with an unfamiliar mark.

Zhu Yuan frowned. "What now?"

The receptionist straightened, clearing his throat. "Young Master Yuan, one of Chen Ren's men, just came by. He wanted to discuss the sales of moonshine."

Zhu Yuan jumped to his feet, his chair screeching against the floor. "Is he still outside? Let me go meet him!"

The receptionist paled and shook his head hurriedly. "No, he already left… but he left this." He stepped forward, placing the parchment on the desk.

Zhu Yuan narrowed his eyes and snatched it up, tearing open the seal. His gaze ran from the top of the document to the bottom, his expression shifting from confusion to shock.

Then, he let out a harsh breath and muttered under his breath—

"What the hell is this… tender?"

***

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75. Tender

Heavenly Sleep Inn was a fairly unremarkable place. A middle-tier establishment that catered mostly to merchants and travelers, it saw a steady flow of customers—people of modest means who came and went without drawing much attention.

That was why, on this particular morning, the sight of several extravagant carriages pulling up outside sent shockwaves through the people in the inn.

The moment the first carriage door opened, a hush fell over the common room. Conversations died mid-sentence. Patrons turned to gawk. Even people outside the inn gathered around, craning their necks to get a better look.

The realization spread quickly, whispered from table to table: These were the men who controlled the city’s alcohol trade.

Half a dozen figures entered, each dressed in finely embroidered robes that bore the insignias of their respective clans and trade associations. They moved confidently, the weight of their wealth and influence pressing into the space like an invisible force.

Yet among them, only three men truly stood out.

The first was the owner of Phoenix Tear Tavern, Luo Duyi, a shrewd businessman who had once entertained a visiting noble and boasted about it for years. His sharp eyes swept over the inn with a deep-set frown.

The second was an elder from the Gujam Clan, Gujam Deshun, a man who had controlled the Silver Jug Bar for decades. He stepped inside while clenching and unclenching his fists in habit, his eyes moving across the room, searching for something unseen.

And the last was Zhu Yuan of the Alehouse, his round face lacked any sort of expression as he took his place among the others, giving nothing away.

A tense silence stretched between them as they moved toward the largest table in the inn. The servers, looking nervous, rushed to bring water, placing the glasses carefully in front of them.

Finally they sat down and Luo Duyi broke the silence. He scowled down at the glass of water before him, then scoffed.

"What kind of place has that man called us to?" he muttered, the upper lip curling in disgust. "Couldn’t he have chosen somewhere decent?"

At that, Gujam Deshun chuckled. "I’d love to see if you’ll keep that tone and attitude when Chen Ren arrives." His wrinkled fingers tapped the rim of his glass before he leaned back in his chair with a creak. "Your servants already sent him gifts yesterday, didn’t they? Hoping to buy his favor? And yet, they were turned away. You should be grateful that you’re even getting this opportunity to purchase moonshine."

Luo Duyi shot him a glare. "So, you’ve been keeping track of my servants, old man?" He asked with a smile that mocked the attempt, but his eyes remained cold. "Don’t pretend you haven’t done the same. From what I’ve heard, you outright refused to meet Daoist Chen Ren’s people when they first came to sell moonshine. And now that it's turning into the most sought-after drink in the city, here you are, scrambling to secure a deal."

Deshun’s face darkened at that, his grip on his cup tightening slightly. But before he could shoot back a retort, Zhu Yuan clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"Enough. You two should stop bickering like children. We’re in a public place." He looked around, and took note of all the eyes that were peering down on them.

Luo Duyi scoffed, crossing his arms. "This isn’t bickering. It’s called talking. Fighting is done with fists. And let’s not forget, we’re all competitors here. Do you really expect us to sit around and chat like we’re at a family dinner?"

A few of the seated businessmen nodded at that, but Zhu Yuan remained unimpressed. He merely sighed before speaking again. "It doesn’t matter how much we argue. In the end, none of us can change the outcome of who gets the exclusive contract for moonshine."

Then, his gaze swept across the gathered merchants. "I assume all of you have already decided on your tenders?"

They exchanged looks before nodding.

Duyi clicked his tongue. "I still don’t understand this whole tender process. I’ve never seen anything like it before. Why can’t he just conduct business the normal way, like any proper merchant?"

Deshun exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "People from sects have their own ways. And in a way, this is revenge. He wants to see which of us is the most desperate to get his product after we rejected him." A wry smile appeared on his lips. "A bitter but clever move. Since we’re not allowed to change our offers once the tenders are submitted, he’s making sure we reveal exactly how much we’re willing to pay—without him having to negotiate at all."

Duyi parted his lips to retort, but before he could say anything, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the inn. Instantly, the room fell into silence as all heads turned toward the staircase.

Chen Ren walked down the steps calmly. His robes crisp and his face held a neutral expression. Behind him, two of his subordinates that they remembered as Zi Han and Anji followed closely. The tension in the air thickened as the merchants instinctively straightened their postures.

As he reached the table, the gathered businessmen stood in unison and gave him a slight bow—a gesture of respect, both for his status as a cultivator and as the man they were here to negotiate with.

Chen Ren nodded at them. "Please, sit down. I apologize for the delay, but let’s begin this meeting."

He took his seat at the head of the table, his sharp gaze sweeping over the group. For a few seconds, he simply observed them, letting the silence linger just long enough to remind them who held the power in this negotiation. Then, with a small, almost polite smile, he spoke.

"I see that all of you have decided to come here today with your tenders. First of all, I appreciate your interest in our moonshine. But before we begin, let me make one thing clear—there will be no second chances. Whatever offer you’ve prepared will be final. There will be no renegotiations."

A ripple of tension ran through the merchants, but they nodded in agreement. A few of them even voiced their assurance.

"We are here with our best offer.

Even Duyi, who had been the most vocal earlier, now seemed to have adjusted his attitude. With a more respectful tone, he said, "My Phoenix Tear Tavern will secure this contract."

One by one, the merchants reached into their robes, retrieving their tenders—rolled-up parchments sealed with wax, each holding their final bid.

Chen Ren accepted them, stacking them neatly in front of him. He let his fingers brush over the topmost scroll before meeting their eyes once more

"Now, shall we see who will have the privilege of selling moonshine in this city?"

He then started opening them, one after the other.

***

Chen Ren looked down at the neatly stacked parchments in front of him, fingers brushing lightly over the wax seals. He had anticipated that the bar owners would realize they were in direct competition and would submit strong offers. And he had to admit—he wasn’t disappointed.

Each proposal was significantly better than the initial ones he had received. The desperation to secure the moonshine contract was evident in the generous terms they had put forward. Now, all that was left was to choose one.

Rather than overcomplicating things by immediately looking for the best deal, Chen Ren started from the bottom, gauging which offers were the weakest. His expression remained neutral as he unrolled each parchment, scanning the contents before setting aside the ones that failed to meet his expectations.

With each rejected tender, he silently passed the parchment to Anji and Zi Wen, who stood beside him.

He had to admit—choosing a winner wasn’t easy. The bars had gone all out, offering him terms that were almost ridiculously favorable. He guessed they now viewed moonshine as their golden ticket to expanding their reach into the cultivator market—a customer base that was notoriously difficult to cater to. And because of that, they were offering terms they probably hadn’t given to anyone before.

Part of it was obviously fueled by their competition with each other. No one wanted to lose. But at the end of the day, this was an exclusive contract. Only one of them would be walking away with the rights to sell moonshine.

After shifting through the parchments for a while, weighing the pros and cons, Chen Ren finally came to a conclusion. And he had to say—it wasn’t a surprising one. If anything, he had fully expected this outcome.

Lifting his gaze from the documents, he looked at the gathered businessmen.

"Honorable gentlemen, thank you for your patience as I reviewed your offers." He placed the parchment that he had in his hands on the table. "I found them all to be quite generous, and I appreciate the effort each of you put into your proposals."

The men at the table tensed ever so slightly.

They had maintained an air of composure throughout the meeting, but in truth, they all understood what was at stake. Whoever lost this contract wasn’t just losing out on one product—they were losing an entire market share. Their competitors would gain the upper hand, while they would be left scrambling to catch up.

Ignoring their expressions, Chen Ren continued.

"So, after careful consideration, I have decided that the establishment that will receive the exclusive contract for moonshine is…" He paused for just a fraction of a second. "The Zhu Clan's Alehouse."

The atmosphere immediately turned dire. Zhu Yuan's eyes gleamed as he tapped the table, his jubilant smile widening. The murmurs of surprise spread like wildfire among the gathered crowd, while Luo Duyi’s face paled, his throat constricting as he hastily swallowed a large gulp of water, mistaking it for alcohol in his panic.

"I offered 50 silver wen per container," Duyi sputtered, his voice shaky. "How did I not win? You’ve made a deal with the Zhu Clan already and called us here to humiliate us!"

Chen Ren’s eyes remained unbothered. His expression didn’t shift as he met the man’s gaze. “I have no such intention. I chose the Zhu Alehouse because they gave the best offer.”

Deshun, seated quietly at the back, let out a low sigh and leaned forward. “Can we know what the Zhu Clan offered?”

Chen Ren turned his gaze to Zhu Yuan, who smiled proudly, thoroughly enjoying the attention. He leaned back in his chair with exaggerated ease, before answering in a voice that boomed with authority. “I just gave an offer that can’t be surpassed. Forty silver wen per container.”

Luo Duyi’s jaw dropped, but before he could protest, Zhu Yuan wasn’t done. He raised a hand, signaling for silence, and continued, “And 25 percent profit on every sale of moonshine.”

Gasps rippled through the inn, the man on the table turning to each other, eyes wide in disbelief. Even Gujam, who had clearly seen many deals in his time, couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. "With such rates," he started, his voice tinged with incredulity, "how are you even going to make a profit?"

Zhu Yuan waved his hand dismissively, his grin unwavering. “You don’t need to worry about that, old man. Now that my bar has the contract, I’ll handle the rest.” He leaned back in his chair, eyes locking with Chen Ren’s. “I hope we’ll be good business partners, Daoist Chen.”

Chen Ren offered a polite nod, his fingers brushing together in the subtle gesture of respect. “Certainly, Young Master Zhu Yuan.”

The tension in the room seemed to diffuse as the deal was sealed, the murmurs turning into whispers. But Chen Ren didn't care about any of it. The important part was that he had finally secured a deal for the moonshine.

***

Once the final decision was made, confirming that the Zhu Clan had secured the exclusive contract for moonshine, the atmosphere in the inn shifted dramatically. The men, who had been seated at the table moments ago, quickly gathered their things, eager to leave. They barely cast a glance toward Zhu Yuan or Chen Ren. He could sense the mix of frustration and resignation when they left. It was clear they were desperate to be anywhere else.

Still, to Chen Ren’s surprise, none of them overtly showed their displeasure. They bid Zhu Yuan and him farewell with polite smiles, maintaining an outward calm. Luo Duyi, on the other hand, had trouble hiding his discontent, his mood souring as he muttered under his breath.

But Chen Ren couldn’t help but respect the restraint shown by the other bar owners. It spoke volumes about their professionalism. He appreciated their ability to control their emotions and avoid making enemies. In this world, knowing how to handle business and keep one's pride in check was just as important as any deal. After all, the exclusive contract wasn’t permanent—it only lasted for two years. If a better deal came his way in the future, Chen Ren wouldn’t hesitate to consider it.

Once the last of them had left, Zhu Yuan looked at Chen Ren with a grin. "I’m glad this is all settled," he said, his voice cheerful. "I’d like to have you as a guest at our estate while you’re in the city."

Chen Ren didn’t hesitate before accepting. He had no intention of staying in the inn any longer—its comfort was lacking, and he knew it would be more beneficial to stay in the Zhu Clan's estate, especially considering it would give him a good chance to bolster better relationship between his sect and the Zhu clan.

“I’d be happy to,” he replied, with a smile that was just as measured as ever.

Without wasting time, they began to shift everything and moved to the Zhu Clan estate where they decided to store every bit of moonshine they had brought in the carriage.

As the Zhu Clan workers began moving the moonshine into the warehouse—Zi Han, Hong Yi, and Anji made sure nothing was broken in the process—Zhu Yuan led Chen Ren to a tour of the estate. The grandness of the place made it clear that he was in a clan that has a history of hundreds of years. Just the architecture looked regal yet sturdy.

As they walked, Zhu Yuan turned to Chen Ren with a more serious expression. “I know we didn’t start off on the best footing,” he said, “but I’m genuinely excited to have good business with the Divine Coin Sect. We’ll make this work.”

Chen Ren nodded. “What happened in the past isn’t important. As long as we’re good business partners and make profits, I believe we’ll both be happy.” He glanced at Zhu Yuan, his eyes steady. "That’s the nature of this business."

Zhu Yuan’s grin widened at the words, a flicker of understanding passing between them. “Exactly,” he agreed, pausing before adding, “With the way moonshine’s been gaining fame, I’m confident the business will be booming. Honestly, I was almost scared I wasn’t going to get my hands on it.”

Chen Ren smiled. “I can understand. I myself didn't expect such interest in my product,” he said before adding. “Though, I expected you to get the deal.”

At Chen Ren’s words, Zhu Yuan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You expected me to get it?” he asked.

Chen Ren nodded. “Yes. Out of all the bar owners, you needed it the most.” He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in before continuing. “First of all, you’re really young, Young Master Zhu Yuan. From what I’ve gathered, you’ve only recently taken over the alcohol business from your father. It’s obvious you want to prove yourself to him. If you had let the moonshine slip through your fingers, and some other tavern made a success of it, your position within the clan might’ve been in jeopardy.”

Zhu Yuan’s expression shifted as he intently listened to Chen Ren’s analysis. His posture straightened slightly and he flinched, as if he recognized the truth in what Chen Ren was saying. That was enough for Chen Ren to know he had hit the mark.

“Moreover,” Chen Ren added, raising his third finger, “the Zhu Clan has been trying to forge more connections with sects, sending their young members there to explore the wider world and become better cultivators. A brand of alcohol catering primarily to cultivators could help with that. Even if higher realm cultivators might not be interested, it could open doors with the lower realm cultivators in the sects. A connection with even an outer disciple in the sect can be vital after all.”

When he had arrived in the city first, Chen Ren had searched for every bit of information he could find from various sources— other merchants in the inn, servants of the large clans and even by giving away a bit of moonshine to some establishments and then he had pieced it all together. It was almost unbelievable how much could be learned from just keeping an ear open.

“The larger the clan,” Chen Ren continued, “the more likely they are to leak information. There are always weak points.”

Zhu Yuan didn’t respond immediately, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded, his lips curling into a small smile. “I see you’ve done your research,” he said, acknowledging Chen Ren’s information. But he didn’t confirm or deny any of the points raised.

Before Chen Ren could say anything further, his gaze shifted to the side. Something caught his eye—a faint glow of heat rising from a forge. His attention snapped to it, his focus sharpening as he saw a man standing in the center, hammering a piece of armor. The heat from the forge was intense, and the air shimmered around it, but what truly caught Chen Ren’s attention wasn’t the fire or the steel.

It was the subtle pulse of qi that flowed from the man’s hammer with each strike, rippling through the air like a hidden current. Chen Ren’s eyes widened.

The man’s movements were smooth, his control over the hammer and the forge seemingly infused with internal energy. Every strike sent a faint but distinct wave of qi into the metal. This wasn’t just someone with an impressive skill for forging, or someone who’s trying their best to be skilled in their craft.

That man was a cultivator.

***

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Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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76. Dao of Forge

A wave of heat passed through Chen Ren as he walked towards the forge. Sparks erupted with each strike of the hammer, fire burst into existence before dying just as quickly.

Regardless, Chen Ren walked closer.

The man at the forge didn’t look up from the armor he was working on, utterly absorbed in his craft. But this close, it was unmistakable—he was a cultivator. He could feel the flow of qi radiating from the latter, his realm and star matching Chen Ren’s own.

Yet something was off. The man was attempting to infuse his qi into the metal, but it wasn’t working. Every pulse of energy bounced off the armor, dissipating into the air rather than sinking into the material. Was the metal simply unfit to conduct qi, or was it a flaw in the craftsman’s technique? Chen Ren didn’t know, but the process intrigued him, his eyes following every movement of the hammer with rapt attention.

A heavy pat on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts.

“You got any weapons you need fixed?” Zhu Yuan grinned at him. “This guy’s no good in a fight, but he does well enough with scraps of metal.”

The man at the forge remained focused, hammering away as if he hadn’t heard a word. Zhu Yuan’s grin turned into a scowl.

“Hey, Feiyu, can’t you see I’m here with an esteemed guest?” His voice took on a sharp edge. “Why aren’t you bowing yet?”

At that, the forger’s hammer froze mid-swing. Slowly, he lifted his head, eyes widening as he registered their presence. Now that he was facing him, Chen Ren got a proper look at the man.

Feiyu was in his mid-twenties, a few years older than Chen Ren, with a face roughened by hard work and exposure to heat. His skin was tanned, his arms corded with lean muscle from years of swinging a hammer. Sweat dripped down his forehead, matting his short, unkempt black hair, and his brows were furrowed, not in anger but in intense focus that had yet to fade completely. His eyes, a deep brown, held the sharpness of someone used to measuring things with precision.

Chen Ren could say that his robes were once a deep blue. But now, it was all stained with soot, patched in a few places where stray sparks had burned through. The forge behind him was a sprawling workspace, an open-air structure that let out waves of heat with every billow of the flames.

Iron tools lined the walls, some simple, some not-so simple, their purposes unknown to the untrained eye. A massive anvil stood at the center, its surface dented and scarred from countless strikes. Buckets of water sat nearby, the surface of one still rippling from the latest piece of metal being tempered. The pounding of steel against steel had momentarily stopped, replaced by the crackling of the flames and the faint hissing of cooling metal.

Chen Ren’s gaze flickered back to Feiyu’s qi, faint traces still lingering in the air around the unfinished armor. A craftsman with some cultivation, but not much talent. Someone who struggled to walk the path of a cultivator, yet still held on.

Though Chen Ren knew that calculating a person’s spirit roots based solely on how fast they reached a certain realm wasn’t entirely accurate, it gave him a rough estimate. But in this case, he could be far off. He had no idea about Feiyu’s dao, and from the way Zhu Yuan spoke about him, it was safe to assume that the blacksmith didn’t follow a martial dao. It would explain why he was in the qi refinement realm even with not being in martial arts.

Feiyu’s lips pressed together before he finally gave a stiff nod, his voice slightly hoarse from disuse. “My apologies, young master.”

Then, he bowed deeply, his posture rigid and submissive. His eyes glued to the floor.

“I’m really sorry, Young Master Yuan,” he said once again, his voice thick with apprehension. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

Zhu Yuan glared at him, arms crossed and stepped towards him.

“Didn’t realize?” he sneered. “It seems like your senses have gotten worse. For a slave, you sure aren’t attentive enough.”

Feiyu stiffened, bowing lower. “I—”

“Just apologizing won’t correct your disrespect,” Zhu cut him off. “You’re going to be sleeping with the horses tonight. Maybe getting kicked in your sleep will teach you better manners.”

Feiyu paled, his back breaking out in a cold sweat.

“Please, no, Young Master Yuan,” he pleaded. “Last time, one of the horses nearly crushed my hand in my sleep. There’s no space there—”

“That’s not my problem.” Zhu Yuan waved him off, uninterested.

Chen Ren exhaled through his nose, seeing the interaction, questions bubbling in his mind. A punishment like that wasn’t just cruel, it was completely unproductive. The man clearly had talent and was a cultivator and letting him sleep with the horses was clear disrespect. Though, Zhu Yuan didn't seem to feel that.

In the back of his mind, Chen Ren somehow felt obliged to help the man. No one deserved a punishment just for not noticing a person due to being focused on work.

“Wait, Young Master Yuan,” Chen Ren interjected. “How about instead of sleeping with the horses, you assign him to repair my carriage and a few weapons I have? That should take him a few hours, and I believe it’ll be a good enough lesson. After all, forcing him to sleep in the stables won’t do anything productive.”

Zhu blinked at him, frowning as he mulled it over. Chen Ren saw how Feiyu raised his eyes to meet him, but soon he looked back at the ground in respect.

After a long pause, he finally shrugged. “Fine.” Then he turned to Feiyu. “You heard him. Serve Daoist Chen well. If I hear any complaints, I’ll throw you into a spar with my older cousins.”

Feiyu hurriedly nodded, bowing once more. “I will make sure you have no complaints, Daoist Chen.”

Satisfied, Zhu Yuan gestured for Chen Ren to move, leading him away from the forge. As they walked, Chen Ren found his gaze drifting back, his mind lingering on the whole interaction.

Something about it felt strange.

It wasn’t Zhu Yuan’s attitude—he had expected that from a young master of a powerful clan. No, it was something else. Something about the way Feiyu reacted.

After all, Zhu Yuan was a young master. Most of them had no idea how to talk to others, being too arrogant and haughty. Chen Ren didn’t like it, but he wasn’t going to say anything in the man’s own home, especially when they were about to become business partners.

Still, his thoughts kept circling back to the blacksmith.

By the qi the man gave off, he was a cultivator—and not a weak one. On the other hand, Zhu Yuan was a mortal. Even if he had the backing of the Zhu Clan and was part of the family, he doubted he could talk like that to a cultivator serving his family. Normally, these were rogue cultivators who formed contracts with clans, trading their strength for resources, protection, and a place to cultivate. They were expected to be subservient, but there was still a limit. No cultivator would tolerate open disrespect, not unless they had no choice.

But Zhu had spoken to him like the man was a mortal, even calling him a slave.

Unable to hold back his curiosity, he finally asked, “Young Master Yuan, that man
we spoke to… who is he?”

“Oh, him?” Zhu snorted. “He’s just a slave.”

Chen Ren frowned. “A slave? But he’s a cultivator. And slavery was abolished in the empire.”

He knew it was common knowledge that slavery had been outlawed.

For a long time, about a hundred years ago, it had been legal. Most clan servants were once slaves, bound not just by circumstance but by powerful contracts and techniques that etched slave marks onto their souls. Even cultivators weren’t exempt from this, forced into servitude through binding techniques that left them with no choice but to obey.

But the current emperor, after his own experiences with palace slaves, had declared it inhumane and abolished it completely.

So what Zhu Yuan was admitting to was a grave crime—especially when the man in question was a cultivator.

Zhu caught the look on his face and waved a hand dismissively. “You misunderstood, Daoist Chen. The man isn’t an ordinary slave.”

Chen Ren’s brows furrowed. “Then what is he?”

“He comes from a caste of slaves.” Zhu Yuan smirked, as if the explanation was obvious. “His father was a slave, and before him, his grandfather was a slave. Even if our glorious Emperor Xian abolished slavery, there were still… special circumstances.”

Chen Ren’s expression didn’t change, but inside, his thoughts raced.

Zhu continued, clearly unbothered by the lack of his enthusiasm to agree. “There are those who were pushed into slavery due to their crimes. That man’s grandfather was one of them. He killed a member of our Zhu Clan, and in exchange, the court sentenced his bloodline to 250 years of servitude.”

Chen Ren exhaled slowly. So that’s how they justify it.

Even if slavery had been abolished, loopholes still existed.

As Chen Ren heard that, understanding dawned on him. His gaze flickered to Zhu Yuan, sharp and assessing.

“So, the man is a slave because of his ancestors?”

Zhu nodded without hesitation. “Yes. He still has ninety years left in his servitude. But fate has finally smiled on him.” He chuckled. “Since he turned out to be a cultivator, he’ll actually live long enough to see the end of his sentence. Most of his ancestors weren’t so lucky.”

Chen Ren hummed, neither agreeing or disagreeing.

Zhu then paused, lowering his voice as if sharing a great secret. “Let me tell you, it wasn’t easy creating a slave mark for him, especially since they’re forbidden now.” He smirked, puffing up with self-importance. “But my uncle, he—”

Chen Ren barely heard the rest.

His mind was already elsewhere, turning over what he had just learned. His thoughts lingered on the blacksmith—the cultivator treated as a slave, bound by the sins of his ancestors. Even if the empire had outlawed slavery, the powerful still found ways to keep people in chains.

His focus was so distant that he didn’t even notice when Zhu finished his story, laughing to himself as he pushed Chen Ren into his guest quarters.

The door shut behind him with a dull thud, leaving the room silent.

And in that silence, only one question remained in his mind—Was that man the one he was looking for his future plans?

***

It took an hour for his three subordinates to return after unloading all the alcohol in the warehouse. Surprisingly, Yalan was with them too.

Before anyone could settle, Chen Ren cut straight to the point. He told them about Feiyu—about the man’s cultivation, the slave mark, and the way he was treated. He left nothing out. He explained how good blacksmiths were already rare, but a blacksmith who was also a cultivator? He might never get such an opportunity again. And how he wanted to get the man in the sect to work on some projects.

Both Anji and Zi Han didn't seem to mind the extra stay, but Hong Yi wanted to get back to the sect as soon as possible. Apparently, the man wasn't happy, being away from working on his puppets for so long. Even when they talked about Feiyu, he seemed much more interested in carving away on wood.

Chen Ren didn't mind it and assured him that it won't take more than a few days.

And so, the decision was made. They would remain for a few more days. Once that was done, he started considering how they were going to even poach Feiyu from the Zhu clan.

Judging by what he had witnessed, the man’s treatment under Zhu Yuan had been anything but good. That alone suggested he would be eager to leave. However, there was always the possibility that the other clan members treated him better. Still, Chen Ren doubted it. Large clans rarely treated their servants with respect, let alone slaves bound by an unbreakable mark.

That mark was a major obstacle itself. Chen Ren had no way of breaking it himself. The only one who could even try was Yalan, but when he asked her, she shook her head, claiming that even if she could, it would probably cripple or kill the man outright. Chen Ren didn't want to take such a risk no matter what.

That left only one option—getting the Zhu clan to break the mark themselves.

And he had no idea how to make that happen.

Though before that, he knew the first thing he had to do was to make friends with Feiyu. He had to find out if the man was even capable of helping him out in making the weapon. If he wasn’t, then Chen Ren could forget the idea of risking a good relationship with one of the biggest clans in Ashen City.

So, he took advantage of the punishment that Zhu Yuan had given him. At night, he went to talk to Feiyu.

Chen Ren crouched beside the carriage, inspecting the damage from their long journey. The hinges on the door were loose, the wheel alignment was slightly off, and there were cracks in the axle that needed reinforcing. Nothing catastrophic, but enough to warrant repairs. And as luck would have it, the punishment meant the blacksmith cultivator was the one fixing it.

As Feiyu worked beside him, his calloused hands moved, tightening bolts, adjusting wooden joints, and hammering weakened spots back into place. Chen Ren watched closely, taking note of the ease with which the man handled metal and wood alike.

“I believe this is a dumb thing you’re trying to do.”

Yalan’s voice echoed in his mind. She sat nearby, making herself comfortable and looking around the night sky.

Chen Ren didn’t even blink. “It’s not. I’m just trying to get capable people into my sect.”

“Let me rephrase it,” she said dryly. “You’re attempting the impossible. Even if the slave is a cultivator and wants to leave, you have no way to make it happen. Are you planning to ask the Zhu clan to hand him over? Even if you’re business partners, why would they give up a cultivator who’s completely bound to them? One who literally cannot betray them?”

Chen Ren exhaled sharply through his nose. She was right, of course. The logic was solid. But logic and opportunity rarely aligned. He had been given a chance, and if he didn’t at least try, he would regret it.

“I know the complications,” he admitted. “But no blacksmith I’ve met so far could even come close to understanding my diagrams on the way here. If this man can, then he’d be the biggest asset to the sect.”

Yalan gave him a long, searching look before shaking her head. “If he can. Right now, you don’t even know if he’s capable.”

“You’re right.” Chen Ren rubbed his hands together, and let the debris fall to the ground. “Let’s find out.”

He looked at the blacksmith, who was bent over a few inches away, hammering a metal pin into place.

“We didn’t get a proper introduction before,” Chen Ren said, keeping his tone light.

Feiyu paused, his grip tightening around the hammer before he turned his face toward Chen Ren. His dark eyes narrowed and looked at Chen Ren from head to toe.

Chen Ren didn’t falter. “My name is Chen Ren. I’m from the Divine Coin Sect, currently in business with the Zhu Clan.”

The man held his gaze for a moment before turning back to the carriage, adjusting a loose bolt. “I’m Feiyu. Though I’m sure you know that already, Daoist Chen.” His voice was even, but there was a trace of bitterness beneath it. “I’m a slave.”

“And a cultivator.”

Feiyu scoffed, shaking his head. “Barely. Just because I have spirit roots and know a few martial techniques doesn’t make me a cultivator. I feel like an imposter.”

Chen Ren crossed his arms. “If you don’t want to be called a cultivator, then what else would you rather be called?”

The man didn’t hesitate. “A blacksmith. I come from a long line of them. It’s in my blood. I like creating things—fixing things, like your carriage here.”

Chen Ren nodded, watching the way the man spoke with conviction. He hesitated for a brief moment before taking the next step.

“Are you interested in weapons?” He asked.

“Obviously,” Feiyu said. “Weapons are the things that I deal with the most in the clan. I like working on them the most, seeing my weapons in action.”

Chen Ren nodded before asking the question he had been waiting to ask. “So, are you interested in developing a new kind of weapon?”

Feiyu’s hands stilled. Slowly, he turned around and pursed his lips. “What do you mean? I didn’t get it.”

Chen Ren pulled out a parchment from his robes and handed it over. “This is an ancient artifact our sect has information on. Can you understand it?”

Feiyu took the parchment, his thick fingers brushing over the surface as he unfolded it. The moment his eyes landed on the diagrams, his expression shifted. His pupils widened, his breath hitched just slightly—subtle signs, but enough for Chen Ren to notice. He wasn’t just looking at it. He was processing it.

Seconds stretched into silence as Feiyu’s gaze flickered over the details, his lips parting slightly in contemplation. Then, slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet Chen Ren’s.

There was something different in his gaze now. “What are these called, Daoist Chen?”

Chen Ren allowed himself a small smile. “Guns.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

77. How to free a slave

When Chen Ren first decided to bring mortals into his sect, it wasn’t just to have them handle merchant activities while the cultivators acted as the sect’s muscle. No, he had bigger plans for them—plans that involved making them stronger.

The problem had been, how?

In a world where even a one-star body forging realm cultivator could slaughter a dozen mortals without breaking a sweat, how was he supposed to bridge that gap?

Worse still, most mortals would rather bow or flee the moment they saw a cultivator, not stand and fight. That fear had been ingrained in them for generations, passed down like an unshakable curse.

So, how was he supposed to make them strong enough to at least stand against a cultivator?

The solution was simple—give them a weapon that could kill one. The idea first struck him when he read a story in Qing He’s shop. It was about a mortal boy who found an artifact with a spirit stone embedded in it. Using that artifact, he killed a cultivator who had slaughtered his family over a petty grudge.

Obviously, that was just a fairy tale. Even if it had been real, the cultivator in question must have been pathetically weak.

But the story had done its job—it had planted a seed.

While Chen Ren couldn’t forge artifacts for every mortal in his sect, he could create something else.

A gun workshop.

Arm every single one of the mortals.

That was one of the main reasons he had sought a sect location far from Cloud Mist City, somewhere secluded. If he had started building guns in the city and word had leaked out, some powerful clan would have taken an interest. Or worse, an accident could have exposed his plans before he was ready.

No, he had to be patient. Careful.

Though, the hardest part of making a gun still remained—finding a blacksmith capable of crafting one.

Chen Ren watched the man in front of him, eyes scanning the parchment with an almost feverish intensity. His fingers traced the diagrams, his brows furrowing and then relaxing as he absorbed every detail.

This was the moment. Was this man truly skilled enough?

Finally, Feiyu spoke. “I think this is… very, very interesting.” His eyes sparkled when he looked up from the parchment. He tapped a finger on one of the diagrams. “I’ve never seen a design like this before. If this really works—if it can launch this metal casing at such speed—it would be a lethal artifact capable of killing even cu—”

He stopped mid-sentence. His face shifted, his eyes now wary as he looked up at Chen Ren with newfound scrutiny. A long pause stretched between them before the man spoke again.

Chen Ren didn’t say anything, he didn’t rush the man to spit out his words, or even show any sort of emotion at his sudden outburst. He simply stood, waiting for Feiyu to grasp the weight of the diagrams.

“Can I ask you some questions, Daoist Chen? I’m very curious about this.”

Chen Ren nodded, retrieving the parchment from his hands. “Go ahead.”

Feiyu wasted no time. “To push out this metal thing that you seem to have called a ‘bullet,’ it would require some kind of explosive force inside the weapon’s body. Is it some sort of alchemical compound?”

Chen Ren shook his head. “No, it’s something different—gunpowder, or black powder. It’s not exactly an alchemical creation, but a chemical mixture. We don’t have it yet, and our sect is missing some parts of the formula, but I know the basics.”

The man nodded, his fingers drumming against his thigh as he processed the information. “I see… Then, how do you prevent the weapon from exploding? I didn’t see any rune inscriptions on this design to reinforce the structure.”

Chen Ren smiled faintly. “That’s because the original design doesn’t use runes.”

Feiyu’s frown deepened. “Then how does it not blow up in the user’s hands?”

“Simple. The design allows some of the explosion to escape, preventing it from building up too much pressure. If we completely sealed it, the weapon would be too dangerous to handle.”

“Uhnn… That means every step of crafting and handling it would need to be precise. One mistake, and the weapon could kill its own user.”

Chen Ren nodded. “That’s true. But then again… isn’t it the same with a sword?”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Heh. I suppose it is.”

“A sword’s sharp edge can cut its wielder too,” Chen Ren said, mirroring Feiyu’s smile. “But in the case of a gun? It’ll just blow you to bits.” He chuckled before adding, “But don’t worry. Once I get my hands on the weapon, whoever we give it to will have to go through extensive training before they’re allowed to use it.”

Feiyu nodded in agreement. “That would be the right way.” He hesitated for a moment before asking, “Though… am I right in assuming even a mortal could use this?”

Chen Ren didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the man, weighing his trustworthiness. If Feiyu babbled to the Zhu Clan, they might get unnecessarily interested. But then again, as a slave, it was unlikely anyone would take his words seriously. And even if they did, Chen Ren could always deny everything.

After a moment, he nodded.

“Yes. Mortals can use it.”

Feiyu’s eyes widened. “I see…” His fingers twitched as he processed the revelation. “Then… if this could be mass-produced and there were enough of them, like common weapons… it might change everything.”

Chen Ren exhaled sharply. “That’s true. But I have no intention of letting it fall into other people’s hands. This is one of my sect’s most precious artifacts.”

“Then… Why did you show it to me?”

“There are a few reasons.”

Feiyu raised an eyebrow, urging Chen Ren to continue.

“First of all, I don’t think you can do much with what you’ve seen. Sure, maybe you could forge a metal case that resembles a gun. But you don’t have the powder to make it work. And you already understand how dangerous it is. If you try to build it without the right knowledge, there’s a good chance you’d get yourself killed.”

Feiyu slowly nodded, his fingers gripping his own arms as he listened.

Chen Ren continued, “Secondly, I showed it to you because… I want your help in making it.”

The man’s head snapped up. His eyes searched Chen Ren’s face, as if trying to determine if he had misheard. “Me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with disbelief.

He met Feiyu’s gaze and nodded. “Yes. You look like a capable blacksmith—and a cultivator too. I’m pretty sure working on this will help your Dao.”

“You know my Dao?” His eyes widened at that. Chen Ren even noticed the subtle twitch in his lips.

Chen Ren smirked. “It wasn’t hard to guess. I’ve heard you’re not good at fighting, and you don’t like to sit and cultivate either. You’re always in the forge, hammering away. And yet, despite that, you’ve reached the qi refinement realm.”

“That’s true. I’m not good at fighting no matter how hard I tried when I was small. I follow the Dao of the Forge. Every time I create a new piece of equipment—something better than anything I’ve made before, or something truly unique—I gain insights. But… it’s not easy to improve while stuck here.”

Chen Ren crossed his arms. “Then you’d be interested in guns?”

The man’s eyes gleamed with intrigue before it dimmed wholly. He shook his head. “I am. But I can’t help you, Daoist Chen.”

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow. “Because you’re a slave.”

Feiyu smiled, but it was a bitter one. “Yes. I’m a slave. Even if I wanted to help, I can’t. Not for the next ninety years.” He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “If you’re still looking for a blacksmith after ninety years, you can always look me up. I’ll help you.”

With that, he turned back to the cart he’d been working on, his hands moving as if the conversation had never happened.

Chen Ren remained standing there for a while, watching Feiyu work. The man hadn’t even hesitated when he said he was a slave. There was no bitterness in his voice, just a quiet acceptance of his fate, as if it had long since settled into his bones.

Yet, despite that, his eyes had gleamed with interest when they talked about the gun. That spark, however fleeting, was enough for Chen Ren to know that Feiyu wasn’t completely resigned. He still had ambition—buried, restrained, but there.

Chen Ren let out a slow breath. The man had grasped the design far better than any other blacksmith he’d spoken to. More than that—he was interested. But his slave status… That was a problem. A big one.

Chen Ren let out a slow breath. If he could free him, he wouldn’t just be getting someone to forge him a gun. He’d be gaining a blacksmith who specialized in the Dao of the Forge—someone whose entire cultivation path revolved around creating superior weapons.

But how was he going to do it?

The more he thought about it, the more he realized—this might be the most complicated problem he had faced so far.

***

The next three days went by in quiet observation.

Chen Ren kept his distance at first, watching how Feiyu interacted with others. Just as he had expected, most of the Zhu Clan members weren’t kind to him. While they didn’t outright beat him, they treated him like a tool—an object to be used when needed and discarded when not. They ordered him around with the same casual disregard one might show to a servant, rarely acknowledging his skill beyond what was necessary to get their work done.

The man spent most of his time doing odd jobs—repairing carts, reinforcing weapons, fixing farming tools—whatever the Zhu Clan needed. Only in the free time he managed to scrape together did he return to the forge, hammering away at whatever project he had been working on.

That was when Chen Ren approached him.

Fortunately, Feiyu wasn’t cold toward him. He would engage in conversation on a large number of topics, from metallurgy to cultivation techniques, from the best way to temper steel to the flaws of certain battle formations. He was knowledgeable, well-spoken, and most importantly—he was rational.

The more they talked, the more certain Chen Ren became that he wanted this man in his sect.

He was skilled, disciplined, and ambitious in his own way. While he didn’t openly declare his desires, Chen Ren could see it in the way he worked—how he strived to improve his craft, how his eyes sharpened when discussing designs, how his hands moved with certainty even when experimenting with something new.

But once again, he confirmed that his ambition was chained. And the man knew it.

More than once, he told Chen Ren outright—there was no way to break a slave pact before the required servitude time ended.

Chen Ren had initially dismissed that. There had to be a way.

But as the days passed, doubt crept in.

It wasn’t as if he wasn’t trying. He had spent the last few days wracking his brain, trying to think of a loophole, a weakness in the system, something—anything—that would let him break the pact. But every possibility he came up with led to a dead end.

And worst of all, Feiyu wasn’t even hoping for it.

He had accepted his fate.

Chen Ren clenched his jaw. He refused to do the same.

He had spent the past few days maneuvering through the Zhu Clan, engaging in casual yet much-needed conversations. Zhu Yuan had been a frequent target, as well as any other influential figures he happened to cross paths with. Each time, he had subtly broached the topic of acquiring the blacksmith. Each time, he had been met with rejection.

It wasn’t hard to see why. A cultivator bound by servitude was a rare commodity, and the Zhu Clan had no intention of letting Feiyu go without bleeding him dry first. They didn’t understand his dao—probably didn’t even realize he had one. If Feiyu had kept it hidden, it was with good reason. The Zhu Clan thrived on the martial dao, fists and blades carving their path forward. To them, forging was merely a means to an end.

Yalan had warned him more than once. You’re wasting your time. It’s a lost cause.

But Chen Ren couldn’t bring himself to agree. Something in his gut told him otherwise. He didn’t need brute force or wealth to get what he wanted—just an opening, a single crack in the foundation that he could slip through.

And on the fourth day, that crack finally appeared.

The sun hung low in the sky. Chen Ren sat cross-legged on the wooden perch near the forge, eyes half-lidded as he slowly guided the immense surge of qi within him, absorbing what he could from his deal with the Zhu Clan. The quiet hum of the forge filled the air, steady and unbroken—until it wasn’t.

Footsteps sounded out. His eyes flicked open.

A group approached the forge. A young man led them, his confident stride and the smug tilt of his chin making it clear that he was here to enjoy himself. He was Zhu Renjie, someone Chen Ren had a conversation with two days back while trying to get to know more people in the clan. Beside him, a handful of lackeys followed, grinning like they were in on a private joke.

But it was the girl among them who caught Chen Ren’s attention.

She walked stiffly, her gaze darting away from the forge as though she was dragged here. Unlike the others, she carried no amusement in her eyes. Her robes, fine with artistic embroidery, marked her as a Zhu—one of Renjie’s cousins, most likely. But, he knew one thing—she didn’t belong with them, not entirely.

Her expression was tight, her shoulders stiff. She wasn’t eager like the lackeys, nor was she indifferent like Renjie. Instead, she looked… reluctant. Uncomfortable. Her gaze flitted around, never settling too long on anything, and though she walked with them, there was a hesitation in her steps, as if she would rather be anywhere else.

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed slightly. Interesting.

The group came to a stop before the forge, and Feiyu, who had been hammering away at a piece of metal, slowed his strikes before setting the hammer down. He turned toward them, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Zhu Renjie smirked. “Still toiling away, I see.”

Feiyu straightened. His hands tightened at his sides before he quickly stepped forward, bowing low.

“Young Master Renjie.” He shifted, lowering his head toward the girl beside him. “Young Miss Lingyan, this slave greets you.”

The young woman hesitated before inclining her head in return, her sleeves shifting as she folded her hands together. Her gaze flickered downward, barely meeting Feiyu before shifting away.

A hand clamped down on Feiyu’s shoulder, casual in appearance but pressing with weight. “Feiyu,” Renjie said. “It’s been far too long. I figured you’d be holed up in this forge, hammering away all day. Thought I’d come check on you.”

Feiyu’s jaw tightened. The fingers on his shoulder curled slightly, a not-so-subtle squeeze.

He lowered his head again. “Young Master, I am but a servant. It is my duty to work.”

“Nonsense.” Renjie’s laugh was light, airy—almost friendly, if not for the sharp glint in his eyes. “You’re a cultivator, aren’t you? A man like you should be exchanging pointers, testing your strength. It wouldn’t do for your skills to dull, would it?”

The forge crackled behind them, filling the brief silence.

Feiyu’s shoulders stiffened. Chen Ren, watching from his perch, saw the faintest shift in his stance—the smallest pullback, the subtle hesitation of a man who wanted to refuse but couldn’t.

Feiyu bowed again, deeper this time. “It would be an honor.”

A smirk played on Renjie’s lips as he stepped back, his lackeys chuckling behind him.

Chen Ren exhaled slowly, his fingers tracing the grain of the wooden beam beside him. This wasn’t going to be a simple spar. Everyone knew the outcome of it and were awaiting it.

Except, perhaps, the girl.

Her hands clenched at her sides, knuckles pressing against the fabric of her sleeves. Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to speak, but the words never came.

Renjie, oblivious or uncaring, turned on his heel. “Let’s go.”

Feiyu followed, his footsteps steady but heavy.

Chen Ren watched them go, his mind already turning.

The two cultivators moved to the open ground, stepping into their respective positions, the space between them thick with anticipation. The lackeys whispered among themselves, their grins widening and laughter crackling amidst the blood that was about to spill.

Chen Ren let his gaze flicker past them, something catching his attention—a small detail others had missed.

The girl’s hands were cupped together, fingers tightening against the folds of her sleeve. Her eyes, hesitant and fleeting, darted toward Feiyu, lingering for a heartbeat before shifting away.

Feiyu did the same.

His bow was precise, his stance composed, but his eyes—just for an instant—betrayed something else. They found the girl, searching, before quickly lowering again.

Chen Ren’s fingers tapped lightly against the wooden railing.

“You see it too, don’t you?”

Yalan’s voice came through his mind. She scoffed, getting comfortable near him.

He didn’t flinch at her sudden presence—he was used to it by now—but he exhaled through his nose, eyes still fixed on the two below.

“They know each other,” she continued. “And not just in passing.”

He nodded slightly, his mind already turning over the implications. I haven’t done proper research on Feiyu after all. There was more to him than just being a slave blacksmith. More that Chen Ren hadn’t considered.

“Will their connection help you?”

Chen Ren’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Maybe. If things go right, I might have finally found a way to get our hands on him.”

And as those words left his mouth, the spar began.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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78. Brewing a plan

As soon as Renjie lunged forward, Chen Ren knew the outcome was already decided. It wasn’t because Renjie was a higher-realm cultivator—far from it. From what Chen Ren had gathered, Renjie was at most in the ninth star body forging realm, a level Feiyu should have been able to contend with, even surpass easily, despite his lack of formal martial training.

But when Renjie’s fist shot forward, Feiyu didn’t move.

The punch slammed into his chest with a dull thud, forcing him back a step. His stance wobbled, but he caught himself before falling. Chen Ren narrowed his eyes. He could understand taking a single hit to gauge an opponent—but this wasn’t that.

Renjie smirked and didn’t let up. He twisted, sending a sharp kick toward Feiyu’s ribs. This time, Feiyu reacted. His arm snapped up, blocking the strike just before impact. A faint ripple of qi pulsed over his forearm, reinforcing his body, but the force still made him grimace.

Chen Ren observed silently. Renjie wasn’t terrible, but he wasn’t particularly skilled either. His attacks were riddled with openings, his footwork sloppy. Even an amateur could exploit them. Yet Feiyu never struck back. He absorbed each blow, muscles tensing, face tight with restrained pain, his arms trembling from the repeated impact.

The lackeys watching snickered. One of them clapped.

"Young master, just knock him down already!"

Renjie scoffed, eyes gleaming with arrogance. "You really are a coward. No guts to do anything but block?" He took a step back, planting his feet. "Fine, try blocking this."

“[Iron Bull Punch]!” He roared the technique’s name and charged.

Chen Ren watched carefully. The attack wasn’t particularly fast. There was a clear opening, an obvious moment to sidestep or counter—but Feiyu did neither. He simply raised his arms in a cross-guard.

The moment the punch landed, a shockwave rippled through the air. Feiyu’s feet lifted off the ground as he was sent flying, crashing hard onto the dirt floor with a sickening thud. Dust billowed around him.

The lackeys burst into laughter.

Chen Ren leaned forward slightly, eyes sharpening.

Why? Why wasn’t he fighting back?

Feiyu pushed against the ground, trying to rise, but before he could even lift his chest, Renjie was on him.

With a swift movement, the young master pinned him down, knees digging into his ribs, pressing him into the dirt.

The lackeys howled with laughter.

"Don’t let him crawl away, Young Master!"

"Teach the dog a proper lesson!"

Chen Ren barely spared them a glance. His focus remained on her, Lingyan.

The girl stood frozen at the edge of the circle, fists clenched at her sides. Her lips parted as if to protest, but no words came. She wanted to step in—he could see it in the way her weight shifted forward, in the way her fingers twitched—but she forced herself still.

Chen Ren turned his gaze back to the fight—if it could still be called that.

Dust clung to both men’s robes, streaking their sleeves, darkening the once-pristine fabric. But that was where the similarities ended. Renjie’s face was untouched, still twisted in a cruel grin, while Feiyu’s skin bore the evidence of his silence—bruises blooming across his cheeks, his jaw, his neck. Blood on his lips, and his eyes—they were bloodshot.

Chen Ren exhaled sharply and rose to his feet. "Young Master Renjie, I think that’s enough."

The strikes halted. Renjie’s fist froze mid-air before he lowered it, turning toward Chen Ren with a raised brow.

Recognition flickered in his eyes the next second. "Daoist Chen. I didn’t know you were watching."

Chen Ren met his gaze evenly. "I was here from the start," he said. His voice was even, calm, though his fingers twitched at his sides. "It was a good spar. But he lost. Let him go."

For a moment, Renjie said nothing. Then he smirked.

"Of course," he said smoothly. He stood and dusted off his robes before looking down at Feiyu, still sprawled on the ground.

Just when Chen Ren thought he’d let Feiyu go, the man spat—just shy of Feiyu’s face. The arrogant asshole knew no bounds.

"It was a good session, Feiyu," Renjie drawled and then chuckled. "I hope you learned something. Do better next time."

Laughter erupted around them once more. Chen Ren’s eyes went to the lackeys. They clearly enjoyed the bullying.

Still sprawled in the dirt, Feiyu inhaled sharply, forcing himself upright despite the pain. His voice remained steady, though his ribs trembled beneath the weight of bruises forming.

"Thank you for the pointers, Young Master." He bowed.

Renjie grinned, wiping dust from his sleeves. "Anytime you need them, I’ll be happy to oblige." He said lightly, but the mockery laced within it was unmistakable.

He turned back toward his lackeys, who snickered, whispering amongst themselves about the so-called spar. As he passed the young miss Lingyan, he leaned in, murmuring something just for her ears.

She didn’t respond at first. Then, slowly, she smiled—wry and forced. Her hand came towards her opposite elbow, rubbing slow circles. Her entire form screamed that she was uncomfortable, but it looked as if she had no other choice.

Chen Ren watched as they walked off, their laughter fading into the evening air. Only then did he step forward.

Feiyu groaned, trying to push himself up from the ground, his arms trembling under the effort. Chen Ren extended a hand.

"Let me help you up."

A pause—then rough, calloused fingers gripped his own. Chen Ren pulled him to his feet, steadying him when he staggered.

"That was a tough one to watch," he said, glancing at the bruises forming along the man’s jaw. "Why didn’t you fight back? You were holding yourself back."

Feiyu exhaled through his nose, wincing as he rolled his shoulder. "If I so much as scratch him, I’ll have worse problems than a beating. I might get in trouble just for calling him that, but that bastard knows it well. That’s why he does this—every time he loses a fight to one of his cousins, he comes to me."

Chen Ren nodded, the picture becoming clearer. "Have you ever hit back?"

A bitter chuckle. "Once."

Feiyu’s fingers curled into fists at his sides.

"They made me sleep on the cold floor in winter—no blankets, no warmth. I was barely a cultivator then, and I shivered all night. The next morning, I took lashes for harming a family member." His voice was quiet now, but the weight of it hung heavy between them. "I don’t want to talk about it, Daoist Chen."

Chen Ren studied him for a long moment before nodding. "I get it." Then, with a lighter tone, he added, "For now, let’s get you patched up. I might have some herbs that’ll help."

Feiyu snorted but didn’t refuse. Chen Ren took that as a yes.

***

After the spar, Feiyu was in no shape to work. His bruises ran deep, and though his cultivation would speed up recovery, Chen Ren guessed it would take him at least two days before he could properly return to his forge.

And two days was more than enough time for someone to visit him.

Just as Chen Ren had expected, on the first night after the fight, the young miss Lingyan slipped through the quiet halls, moving towards Feiyu’s quarters.

From the shadows, Yalan tracked her movements, her presence silent and unseen. Lingyan entered the cabin with ease, and from her hidden vantage point, and Yalan listened to every word spoken between them.

And Chen Ren had to say, it was everything he had expected.

First, she apologized—earnestly—for her cousin’s actions, her voice carrying a rare gentleness. Then, she presented a small pouch, filled with concoctions meant to speed up his healing. Feiyu simply smiled, his eyes soft through the entire exchange.

At first glance, it was obvious what kind of relationship they had. Unlike the rest of her family, she spoke his name with ease—without hesitation, without contempt. And throughout their conversation, they held hands.

For the young miss of an affluent clan, this was as clear of a sign as any.

Still, even with this new insight, Chen Ren didn’t act immediately. He waited. Planned. This wasn’t a matter to rush—one wrong move could turn everything into an unsalvageable mess. And he couldn’t afford it—especially because he needed Feiyu in his sect.

Even with the knowledge of their relationship, there wasn't much he could do without Feiyu accidentally losing his head. Doing things himself without involvement was also out of question. Even if Feiyu didn't agree to join his sect, he wasn't a person who would throw a man towards his death.

A scandal with Lingyan was something that would have his head fall in an instant. Not only because she belonged to Zhu Clan, but because she was the current patriarch's youngest daughter and someone with around seventy nine spirit roots, making the clan put a lot of hope on her. This was common information he had found after searching about her.

In a way, Feiyu was playing with fire by having a relationship with the clan's princess and as he had talked to Yalan and others on what they could do here, he felt like other than trying to poach the man in his sect, he was also saving him.

After all, it was clear that the relationship was going to come out one day and when it happened, Feiyu would be buried with his ancestors.

So, before that could happen, Chen Ren played his hand.

Once he had a solid approach in mind, on the evening of the second day of Feiyu’s recovery, he finally stepped into his quarters—intent on having a conversation.

When Feiyu saw him, the man shifted, trying to sit up despite his injuries.

"No need for that," Chen Ren said, raising a hand. "Just lay down. How are you feeling now?"

Feiyu grunted. "Better. I’ll be back at my forge by the evening."

Chen Ren chuckled. "You really love that forge, don’t you?"

A sheepish grin spread across Feiyu’s face. "It’s all I have," he admitted. "Technically, it belongs to the Zhu family, but I’ve worked there since my father taught me how to hammer metal. It’s like my home—the only place I feel safe."

Chen Ren nodded. He could understand that sentiment. He had felt the same about the room he lived in at the Tang Clan and had been pretty upset about leaving it. Then, after a brief pause, he asked, "Do you ever think about having a forge of your own? One that belongs wholly to you?"

Feiyu blinked at him. Chen Ren knew what exactly went through his mind. And then he sighed. "Of course. Once my slavery period is over, I plan to save whatever money I can and start a forge in a small village. Spend the rest of my years there in peace."

His voice was calm like a river but Chen Ren could hear the quiet yearning beneath it.

"I probably won’t ever reach the foundation establishment realm," Feiyu continued. "So I’ll have maybe forty, fifty years left after my servitude ends. That should be enough."

Hearing that, Chen Ren nodded before his eyes darkened slightly. The conversation he was going to have played through his mind and for a second, he wondered how Feiyu was going to take it, before he decided to lock away his worries.

"I don’t think you’ll ever have that forge," he said in a hushed tone.

Feiyu frowned. Confusion flickered in his bruised eyes. "Why?"

Chen Ren clutched his hands in front of him and looked directly into his eyes. "Do you really think the Zhu clan will just let you go?" He asked not just as a question, but also a statement.

Silence filled the room as Feiyu hesitated to answer. Making use of it, he continued.

"You’re a cultivator. A good blacksmith. And, more than that, you can’t disobey them." Chen Ren’s voice was steady, but his words were hefty. "You have too much value. You’re useful. Do you think they’ll just let you walk away when the time comes?"

Feiyu’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

"If I had to make a guess," Chen Ren continued, "near the end of your slavery period, they’ll accuse you of something—maybe theft. Something severe enough to justify extending your servitude. And once they do, that will be it."

His voice grew colder.

"You’ll never be free."

Chen Ren watched as Feiyu’s face fell, the color draining from it. Even though his body was healing, he suddenly looked sick again. The weight of realization settled on his shoulders, his mind racing through the implications of what Chen Ren had just said. The fear, the helplessness—Chen Ren could see it all, sinking into him like a stone in deep water.

But just as the man teetered on the edge of despair, Chen Ren spoke again.

"There might be a way for you to have your own forge."

Feiyu’s gaze snapped to him, hope flickering behind his exhaustion. "How?"

Chen Ren smiled slightly. "Come with me. My sect, the Divine Coin Sect, needs a capable blacksmith. I’ll build you a forge, and we can work on the guns together."

The man’s lips parted slightly in surprise.

"You follow the Dao of the Forge, don’t you?" Chen Ren continued. "I’m certain that working on such an artifact will not only strengthen your craft but also push your cultivation toward a breakthrough. And it’s not just one project. You’ll have the chance to work on different types of weapons—new ones, powerful ones."

Feiyu didn’t respond immediately, but Chen Ren saw it—the unmistakable spark in his eyes. Greed. Not for money, not for power, but for creation. For the chance to work on something that truly mattered. It was admirable.

For a moment, it looked like he might accept.

But then, just as quickly, the light dimmed, and he shook his head. "I appreciate the offer, Daoist Chen, truly. But I’m a slave. There’s no way I’d be able to leave."

Chen Ren’s smile widened slightly, having waited for the exact words. "What if there was a way to break your slave contract?"

Feiyu blinked, then scoffed lightly, as if Chen Ren had just made a joke. But when he looked at him again—really looked—he saw that the young cultivator wasn’t laughing.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "How could that possibly be done?"

Chen Ren’s gaze remained steady as he spoke.

"Anything is possible with a good plan and the conviction to see it through. But it won’t be easy. There's a risk—especially for you."

Feiyu hesitated for only a second before exhaling sharply. "If I can really get out of being a slave, I’m ready to take any risk. And like you said, there’s a good possibility I won’t ever be free if I don’t try. If there’s a way, I’ll take it."

Chen Ren's expression didn’t change as he said, "Even if it involves her?"

“Who?”

“Lingyan.”

Feiyu froze. His body tensed, and his eyes flickered with a storm of emotions—anger, shock, confusion, and something else, something deeper. His throat moved as he swallowed hard before finally asking, "You know?"

Chen Ren nodded. "I saw how she looked at you during the spar. Then, I saw her moving toward your quarters last night. I’m surprised no one else knows."

The man lowered his head, exhaling through his nose. "She’s careless. It hasn’t been found out because no one expects her to feel anything for a slave. She’s the patriarch’s daughter—no one would dare accuse her of something like that."

Chen Ren hummed in understanding. He had already guessed as much. After a moment of silence, he asked, "So, do you love her?"

There was no hesitation. "Yes. I do. But we both know it’s impossible. Sooner or later, she’s going to be betrothed to someone else. And with my status, I can never even think of something like that."

Chen Ren’s eyes sharpened. "You can if you get rid of the slave mark."

Feiyu’s head snapped up. "How?" His voice was rough, almost desperate. "You said it involves her, but if anything happens to her, I won’t be able to forgive myself."

Chen Ren’s expression softened slightly. "Nothing will happen to her. The patriarch loves her too much to punish her, no matter what." He paused for a moment before continuing, "Either way, my plan involves her. And if we succeed, not only will you be free, but you’ll actually have a chance to marry her."

Feiyu remained silent, staring at him, torn between hope and fear. Even if he had been willing to risk everything for freedom, involving the person he loved in it was different.

Chen Ren understood that.

In the end, the man took a deep breath and nodded. "I’ll hear you out."

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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79. How to manipulate a clan patriarch

The air felt heavy, pressing down on him like an invinsible force of qi suppression. The room around Chen Ren closed around him, making his lungs tighten—

Of course, it was just an illusion—no one in the room was actively using their cultivation against him. But the sheer tension hanging in the atmosphere made it feel like he was being suffocated.

The people sitting inside looked like they had just witnessed their ancestors being cleaved apart by a vengeful cultivator. Faces were taut, eyes grim, and not a single person spoke.

Beside him, Zhu Yuan—his first companion in the clan—sat in an uncharacteristically stiff posture. The fatty, who would normally be gnawing on something or drinking even in the most serious of situations, had lost all traces of his appetite. His plump fingers were curled into fists on his lap, his gaze darting uneasily around the room before landing on one man in particular.

At the very center of the gathering sat Zhu Gang, patriarch of the Zhu Clan.

The old man’s presence alone was enough to silence a room. His long, snow-white beard contrasted against the deep red of his high-collared robes, embroidered with golden flame patterns that curled like dancing fire along the sleeves. His hair, streaked with silver, was tied into a strict topknot, and though he sat motionless, his aura crackled with restrained power.

He was a peak foundation establishment realm cultivator.

He wasn’t the strongest cultivator Chen Ren had ever met, but in this room, he was an immovable mountain. The half-lidded eyes that peered out beneath thick, furrowed brows seemed to weigh every person present, stripping them down to their very bones.

Half of the tension in the room came solely from him.

The rest was from the subject at hand.

Seated around the patriarch were other elders of the Zhu Clan—old men draped in muted but luxurious robes, their faces lined with years of experience and scheming. Their presence was nothing more than a formality. Zhu Gang was the only one who mattered.

And Chen Ren?

He was the only outsider here.

The oddity in the room.

The one who could easily be kicked out if necessary.

Finally, after a long silence, Zhu Gang moved. He lifted a piece of parchment between his fingers, shaking it slightly before his tiny eyes locked onto Chen Ren.

“This letter…” He huffed. “Are you sure it’s true, Daoist Chen? My daughter could not have possibly involved herself with a… with a slave.”

He said as if he couldn’t believe it himself.

Chen Ren’s eyes flicked to the letter—the one he had handed over himself. One of the latest ones Zhu Lingyan had written for the blacksmith.

And the very thing that had dragged him into this storm.

Zhu Gang’s sharp gaze remained fixed on Chen Ren, his fingers tightening around the letter.

“Yes, it’s true, Patriarch Zhu,” Chen Ren said. “I would never do anything to tarnish the relationship between the Divine Coin Sect and the Zhu Clan.”

He gave Zhu Yuan a glance. The fatty visibly flinched but quickly nodded, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Yes, that’s true, Patriarch,” Zhu Yuan confirmed.

Chen Ren continued, keeping his expression carefully neutral. “I was simply fortunate that one of the sect disciples I brought with me happened to come across it and delivered it to me. I consulted Zhu Yuan the moment I learned of it, knowing how serious the matter could become.”

Zhu Gang exhaled sharply, as if reigning in his emotions. His qi, which had been rippling slightly in agitation, steadied. After a moment, he spoke, his voice colder but more composed.

“You did the right thing, Daoist Chen. On behalf of the Zhu Clan, I thank you.”

Chen Ren nodded. “I understand, Patriarch Zhu. I originally come from a clan as well. I know how these things work.” A beat of silence followed. Then, he carefully added, “May I ask what you intend to do with the slave?”

The moment the words left his lips, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. The patriarch’s already sharp eyes turned frigid, his aura shifting like a storm ready to break.

The pressure of his qi surged, leaking into the room in droves, heavy and suffocating. Zhu Yuan stiffened beside Chen Ren, his knuckles white as he clenched his hands under the table. The elders, too, remained silent, impassive, but none dared to intervene.

Finally, when Zhu Gang spoke, his voice sounded like steel.

“Obviously, his head will fall.”

His words carried absolute finality, no hesitation whatsoever.

“He has tried to manipulate my daughter. For that, I will ensure he suffers a fate worse than death.”

Chen Ren had expected this.

From the moment he revealed the letter, he had known that Zhu Gang would demand blood. He had thought and calculated every reaction the patriarch might have, and so far, the man had acted exactly as he predicted.

But no matter how expected, Chen Ren couldn’t allow Feiyu to die here.

He took a steady breath and spoke before anyone else could.

“But, Patriarch Zhu…” He paused deliberately, letting his words linger. “We have only found a letter from the Young Miss.”

The patriarch’s qi wavered slightly.

“Nowhere in the letter does it say that the slave coerced her in any way.” Chen Ren met the old man’s gaze evenly, as if he weren’t standing against a peak foundation establishment cultivator who could crush him with a flick of his fingers. “Wouldn’t such a punishment be unbefitting of a righteous cultivator such as yourself?”

A heavy silence gripped the room.

For the first time, something flickered in the patriarch’s eyes—whether it was irritation, consideration, or something else, Chen Ren couldn’t yet tell.

But he knew one thing.

He had his attention.

Zhu Gang’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Are you suggesting that my daughter was the one who tried to seduce a mere slave?”

Suddenly, he felt the man’s anger reeking through his voice, and immediately, murmurs spread through the room like ripples in a pond. The elders exchanged glances, some frowning, others whispering under their breath.

Beside Chen Ren, Zhu Yuan went pale, his hands trembling slightly as he wiped sweat from his forehead. But Chen Ren remained calm. He had dealt with powerful figures before—prideful, overbearing, quick to judge. This was no different.

“No, I don’t mean that, Patriarch Zhu,” he said evenly. “As I just stated, we don’t have any evidence that the slave had any involvement at all.” He met the patriarch’s glare without flinching. “And a righteous cultivator does not make hasty decisions. A wise man such as yourself would surely know that.”

The tension in the room thickened. Zhu Gang’s expression twisted into clear displeasure, but he didn’t lash out this time. He stared at Chen Ren for several long moments, as if weighing his words.

Internally, Chen Ren smiled.

His plan was working.

By presenting the evidence of an illicit affair directly to the patriarch, he had made himself important—not just some merchant, but a sect-affiliated individual bringing critical information to the clan. And he knew from his research that Zhu Gang prided himself on his upright nature, always preaching about the righteous path.

Cornering a self-proclaimed righteous man with his own beliefs was a strategy that rarely failed.

In the end, Zhu Gang let out a slow breath and gave a curt nod.

“Let’s hear both sides, then.”

With that, he gestured toward one of the elders. “Bring the slave.”

The elder rose immediately, leaving the room. A tense silence followed as they waited, the pressure lingering thick in the air.

Chen Ren simply folded his hands together, waiting patiently.

Before long, footsteps echoed outside the hall, and then—

Feiyu entered.

The blacksmith’s face was pale, his steps hesitant. The moment he stepped into the room, his eyes flickered to the gathered elders, to Zhu Gang sitting at the center, and then to Chen Ren. His expression twisted with barely restrained fear, and without a word—

He fell to his knees.

Before he could even properly bow, a surge of qi filled the room.

Chen Ren’s eyes sharpened as he watched it happen. Zhu Gang’s energy moved with frightening precision, pressing down on Feiyu like an invisible mountain. The blacksmith barely had time to react before his forehead slammed against the floor, hard enough to make a sharp cracking sound echo through the room.

He was forced into a deep kowtow, his body trembling under the sheer weight of the patriarch’s qi.

Chen Ren exhaled through his nose. He had expected something—but to see it in action was another matter entirely.

Now, the real game would begin.

“Feiyu!”

The patriarch’s voice cracked through the room like a whip. “I know your tainted bloodline has been one of criminals, but still, we gave you shelter, work, and even helped in your cultivation! And in return, you dare put your hands on my daughter?”

His qi flared once more, sending a suffocating weight pressing down on Feiyu’s trembling form.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

Feiyu’s breath came out ragged as he gulped. His face was ashen, his entire body shaking under the patriarch’s gaze.

“P-Patriarch Zhu,” his voice was barely above a whisper. “I had no hand in this. It was the Young Miss who sent me those letters, but I never reciprocated. Please… spare me.”

Silence filled the hall for a brief, suffocating moment.

Then—

“So you mean to tell me it was my daughter who sought out a mere slave like you? That she—she would lower herself to such filth?!”

Zhu Gang’s fury exploded. His chair screeched against the floor as he shot up, his qi surging violently. Without hesitation, he raised a foot to kick Feiyu straight in the chest—

But before he could, several elders moved at once, stepping forward to block his advance. Chen Ren followed suit, shifting slightly to stand in the way.

“Patriarch!” one of the elders urged, holding out a hand. “Please, calm yourself!”

It all happened too quickly. Zhu Gang’s eyes blazed with rage, but even he wasn’t so far gone as to ignore the restraining hands of his own clan members.

Feiyu remained on his knees, his head pressed against the cold stone floor, trembling so hard that it looked like he might collapse at any moment. His lips moved soundlessly, as if searching for words—but none came.

It was all too silent; the unspoken tension warming up the room alongside the patriarch’s qi that was heavy in the air.

Finally, Chen Ren exhaled softly. He had seen enough. “Patriarch Zhu, as I have said, Feiyu has not acted upon any of this. The situation can still be salvaged—without anyone dying.”

Zhu Gang slowly turned his gaze toward him. “Daoist Chen, I do not see how this matter can be resolved without this slave losing his life. And why, exactly, are you speaking in his favor?”

His voice held suspicion now, eyes narrowing at Chen Ren as if seeing him in a new light.

Chen Ren met his gaze evenly.

“I am not taking any sides. Like you and me, Feiyu is a cultivator. That does not change simply because he is a slave.” He let the words sink in before adding, “By his association with the Zhu Clan, he is counted among the righteous path cultivators as well. I merely believe that one should not be condemned without guilt.”

The room fell silent once more.

Zhu Gang’s qi still crackled faintly in the air, but something shifted in his face. The man was thinking about what Chen Ren had just said. It was good. It was an opening of sorts. Chen Ren hung onto that hope.

“Then… all of this was done by my daughter?”

Chen Ren shook his head immediately. “I don’t think the Young Miss even realizes what she’s doing.”

“What?”

“In my time here, I have learned that she is kind. She looks out for others—mortal or cultivator alike. Her heart is pure.”

Zhu Gang scoffed. “So what?”

“I have heard tales that she has gone out of her way to help servants in need, feeling bad for them. If I may speak plainly—Feiyu, the slave, is not treated well by anyone. In the few days I have been here, I have seen him shouted at, ridiculed, and even beaten under the guise of ‘sparring.’ All while the Young Miss Lingyang was in attendance.”

His gaze swept across the gathered cultivators. “I am certain there have been many such instances before my arrival.”

Another long moment of silence passed between them.

Chen Ren allowed the weight of his words to settle before delivering the final push. “Don’t you think that, seeing such treatment, the Young Miss—being as kind as she is—felt bad and tried to make amends in her own way? To compensate for the behavior of the younger generation of your family?”

The elders glanced at each other, the earlier tension in the room shifting into contemplation. A few muttered among themselves, their voices hushed yet audible.

“That… that could be true, Patriarch.” One elder hesitantly spoke.

“Young Miss Lingyang is softhearted,” another murmured. “Perhaps she saw the way Feiyu was treated and acted out of pity.”

Chen Ren watched them carefully before nodding. “Yes. Oftentimes, emotions become tangled. We mistake one feeling for another. Sympathy can be confused with affection, especially at her age.”

The murmuring grew louder. Some elders exchanged knowing looks, others sighed in realization.

Zhu Gang remained still. His jaw was clenched, his fists tightly clenched till his knuckles turned white. The fury in his eyes hadn’t vanished, but Chen Ren could say that the man was hesitant. Therefore, he waited. He looked at Feiyu, whose head still remained bowed. Good. He was playing his part well.

Meanwhile, the patriarch took time to consider his words. If Chen Ren had judged him correctly, then Zhu Gang’s love for his daughter would make him find excuses for her behavior rather than outright punish her. And if that happened, then the entire incident would be reframed as a simple misunderstanding—one where his daughter had only mistaken sympathy for affection.

That meant she would escape punishment. Fortunately.

From what Chen Ren had heard, Lingyan was a talented cultivator. Even if the Zhu Clan attempted to marry her off to save face, she had a few years to resist. Cultivation always took priority, and most cultivators delayed marriage until their progress slowed. If he could, he would have simply asked her to join his sect, taking Feiyu with her, but the relationship between his sect and Zhu Clan wasn't so great yet. And they already had connections with other sects, so that plan had died in infancy.

Zhu Gang’s nose twitched.

“Even if Lingyan is not at fault, it does not change the fact that a scandal was about to erupt. Punishment must be dealt. And what if she does not let go of her sympathy? Her infatuation? There is a bright future ahead of her, and yet she would risk destroying the reputation of our clan over a mere slave.” His eyes turned cold as he glared down at Feiyu. “This slave still needs to die.”

Feiyu shuddered. His hands formed into fists by the ground. A few elders nodded in agreement, their expressions solemn.

Just as the tension reached a peak, Chen Ren spoke again.

“I believe killing him would be detrimental in the long term, Patriarch.”

“What did you just say?”

The patriarch’s gaze snapped toward him, along with the elders’. Chen Ren remained calm. He had to. If he let himself feel at least a small ounce of fear, everyone would know.

“I do not mind Feiyu being killed here. He is a slave of the Zhu Clan. You all have the right to do with him as you wish. But consider this—will killing him truly make the Young Miss forget her infatuation?”

That made a few elders frown.

One of them finally spoke. “And why would it not?”

Chen Ren exhaled slightly, as if exasperated. “Think about it. Feiyu never leaves the clan grounds. He is a blacksmith, dedicated to his craft. As a cultivator, his body is sturdy—he won’t simply drop dead.” He swept his gaze over them before delivering the key point. “If he suddenly dies, will she not find it suspicious? I mean, Feiyu is already mistreated. If Lingyan discovers that the clan killed him, what do you think will happen?” He let the question hang in the air before answering it himself.

“Her infatuation will turn to anger. Resentment.”

He looked directly at Zhu Gang. “And that anger will not be directed at Feiyu. It will be at the clan.”

Zhu Gang propped down in his chair, and let his fingers dig into the armrest. Chen Ren could see the hesitation beginning to form in his expression.

“If she begins to resent you,” Chen Ren continued, “she will be harder to control. And if she rebels against the clan, then all of this would have been for nothing.”

Chen Ren turned back to the patriarch. “I’m sorry if I’m way over my boundaries but in my sect, I have seen many younger disciples lose their way like this. I don’t want the Young Miss to go through the same. That is why I’m telling you all this.”

Zhu Gang narrowed his eyes. “Then we won’t let anyone know of his death.”

Chen Ren shook his head. “Secrets always find their way out. She can always make a guess and confront someone. And when that happens, it’ll be difficult to maintain the lie.”

One of the elders scoffed. “Then is there any better way? Tell me if so. If not, this man is surely losing his life tonight by the patriarch’s hands.”

Chen Ren frowned, as if deep in thought. He let a few moments pass before exhaling. “I have a way.”

The room’s atmosphere shifted. Every eye turned to him, waiting.

Zhu Gang’s gaze sharpened. “What is it?”

Chen Ren glanced at Feiyu, still kneeling with his head down, before speaking. “Banish him.”

Murmurs erupted in the hall.

Chen Ren continued, ignoring all the raising voices. He couldn’t even tell if they were opposing his idea or raising concerns, but he ignored it. “If you send him away, the Young Miss will be unable to hold onto her infatuation. You can tell her that he was caught stealing and was cast out of the clan.”

An elder frowned. “Why would we sully our own reputation by saying a slave stole from us?”

Chen Ren’s lips curled into a slight smirk. “Why would it sully your reputation? He already has the blood of a criminal in him, doesn’t he? A slave with a tainted lineage—no one would doubt the story.”

The patriarch’s fingers tapped against his chair. The logic was sound.

Chen Ren pressed on. “Even if the Young Miss grieves for a while, she will eventually recover. And if you’re still worried about him ever returning, make him swear a qi oath to stay away from the clan forever.”

The room fell into silence once more.

Chen Ren took a step back. “Of course, the final decision rests with you, Patriarch. I’m just an outsider offering my opinion.”

Zhu Gang’s expression remained unreadable. His fingers stilled. Slowly, he leaned back, exhaling. “We respect your opinion, Doaist Chen. A decision will be made after careful thought.”

With that, he went silent, lost in contemplation.

Chen Ren didn’t let his expression shift, but his heartbeat quickened. Would the patriarch take his advice, or would Feiyu lose his life right here? It was a matter of word; word from the patriarch.

The uncertainty gnawed at him. He kept his breathing steady, waiting. It felt like forever. But he knew at any second, the patriarch would—

Zhu Gang finally opened his mouth.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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80. Return to Cloud Mist City

Soot fell on Chen Ren’s face. He reached up to wipe it away, pausing as he leaned against their still carriage. Above, the sky was vast and cloudless, a pale blue that felt too serene for what had just transpired.

They were finally out of the Zhu Clan’s domain.

The road ahead twisted through the mountain pass, leading away from Ashen City and toward Cloud Mist City. From there, they would make their way back to Meadow Village.

As he stood there, the carriage window creaked open. Anji’s head poked out. She paused for a moment, as if checking Chen Ren’s mood. But since he didn’t say anything right away, she opened her mouth. “It’s unfortunate what happened with Feiyu,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t wish something like that on anyone.”

Chen Ren exhaled, a wry, sad smile tugging at his lips. “He chose it for himself. He knew the consequences. There’s nothing we can do about it. I believe he had it long coming.” His voice was steady, but his fingers curled against the rough wood of the carriage. “In life, there are choices we make. Right or wrong, they’re often final.”

Anji was silent for a long moment before speaking again, her voice softer. “I understand choices. But we can still regret them, right?”

Chen Ren nodded. “Yeah. There are plenty like that.” His gaze drifted toward the distant peaks. “I have my own regrets.”

Anji tilted her head. “Like what?”

Chen Ren scratched his head, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. “For one? The tournament at Cloud Mist City. I should have been more careful. I was lucky, saved by circumstances. But if not for the golden dragon…” His fingers twitched. “I’d be dead right now.”

Suddenly, everything fell silent. The mountain wind swept past them, rustling the trees.

Anji studied him for a moment before nodding. “About that golden dragon, I had questions. Are you comfortable talking about it?”

Chen Ren opened his mouth to respond—but then, he felt it. Footsteps.

His head snapped to the side.

A figure approached from the path leading out of Ashen City.

Feiyu.

His eyes were red, as if he hadn’t slept, but his face was resolute. A worn pack was slung over his shoulders, the fabric stretched thin and patched in places. He moved with the stiff, uncertain gait of someone stepping into a world that had never before been his to walk.

As he neared the carriage, his eyes found Chen Ren.

A small smile glazed across his lips. Then, without hesitation, he strode forward and bowed deeply.

“Thank you for everything.” His voice was raw, hoarse with emotion. “I never thought a day would come when I would be without a slave mark.”

He pulled back his sleeve.

The skin of his forearm was burnt, the flesh marred by angry red scars where the brand had once been. His hand shook when he showed it from his pointy finger.

Freedom had come at a price.

Chen Ren kept staring at it for a solid minute. The faint lines of the slave mark were still visible, but the symbol had been usurped—its power erased. Feiyu was a free man now.

“Fortunately, the patriarch listened to me and made the right decision,” Chen Ren said. Then, after a pause, “Did you get her letter?”

Feiyu nodded, gripping the strap of his pack tighter. “Yes, I did.” He cleared his throat. “She said she understood my decision… and that she’ll wait for me to come back for her as a strong cultivator. Her father’s already planning to get some proposals for her, but she’s going to push it off for as long as she can.”

“That’s good. If you said the oath the way I told you, you’ll be fine.”

“I did. And they didn’t seem to suspect anything.”

Chen Ren smirked slightly. “People like to think qi oaths are unbreakable, not realizing they’re just contracts with stricter rules.”

He had found that qi oaths were one of the most interesting things in this world. Since using the qi oath on Tang Yuqiu back then, Chen Ren had been curious about its mechanics. He had spent time experimenting with them, testing whether they were truly foolproof or if there were ways to manipulate their wording for loopholes.

As expected, the wording played a crucial role. Back in the city, he had tested it on Lihua by making her take a qi oath not to eat his noodles for a week. Yet because the restriction only applied to his noodles, she had no issue eating those made by Xiulan or anyone else. That small distinction proved that a carefully crafted oath could be circumvented.

He had used the same trick with Feiyu, structuring the oath so that he would stay away from the Zhu Clan’s Lingyan—but the oath would only apply while she remained part of the Zhu Clan. According to their plan, the girl would join the Divine Coin Sect in a year or two, once his relationship with the Zhu Clan improved. When that happened, she would abandon the Zhu family name, effectively nullifying the restriction.

It wasn’t an uncommon practice for sects to sever their disciples from mortal ties, and while convincing the Zhu Clan would take time, Chen Ren was confident in his ability to handle it.

Thinking of the trick, Chen Ren was glad that qi oaths weren’t taken lightly in this world. Their absolute nature made them a rare tool, used only in special circumstances. That was precisely why the art of exploiting them wasn’t widely spread. If qi oaths had been used for everyday contracts, someone in the Zhu Clan might have caught on to his loophole.

But in this case, they would never suspect that their own daughter might one day be willing to give up her family name.

And of course, all of this had been planned with her. Lingyan knew what was going to happen. Now, all he could do was trust that she would play her role right.

Brushing aside his thoughts, Chen Ren turned his attention back to Feiyu. “So, are you ready to join the sect? I have a lot of work for you, and I’m pretty sure you’re going to love it.”

Feiyu nodded, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

Chen Ren caught it immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” Feiyu shook his head before exhaling. “It’s just… you’ve done me a great favor. And before you decide whether to keep me in the sect or not, I want you to know everything about me.”

Chen Ren paused, thinking about his words for a second. “What do you want to tell me?”

Feiyu hesitated, then squared his shoulders. “About my history. Why is my bloodline that of a slave.”

Ah, that.

Chen Ren studied him, wondering if whatever Feiyu was about to reveal would truly change his decision. He already knew that Feiyu’s grandfather had been accused of murder, but what had really happened? Had he been framed? He had no idea about the specifics and even if he had tried to ask Zhu Yuan, the fatty didn't have the information for him.

Now that Feiyu was ready to reveal it, he wasn't going to say no. Getting to know his past might just give him more knowledge on how to handle him.

“Go ahead,” he said.

Feiyu glanced at the others in the carriage, hesitating for a bit, but in the end, he didn't seem to care about them as he spoke. “I’m sure you already know my grandfather was accused of murder.”

Chen Ren nodded. “I do.”

“That’s true. But it wasn’t as simple as it sounds.”

“What do you mean?” Chen Ren asked almost immediately.

A look of conflict crossed Feiyu’s face. He clenched his fists but didn’t back away from his words. “My grandfather didn’t just kill one person. He killed three members of the Zhu Clan.”

Chen Ren stiffened slightly.

“Three teenagers. Mortals.” Feiyu said further. “My grandfather used to have a shop in Ashen City. One of the bigger forges there. But those three… those three kids would use the Zhu Clan’s authority to get wares for free, insulting him as a lowly smith. For a while, my grandfather couldn’t do anything. No matter how many times he tried to directly talk to the Zhu clan patriarch, he did nothing and even the local guards weren't willing to do anything against members of a clan.”

Feiyu clenched his fists, the story coming out in pieces. “So one day, after those three took swords and bows from him to go hunt rabbits, my grandfather… he snapped. I don’t know what exactly happened that day. I’ve heard different versions of it, but the story I heard said something broke in him. He got too angry, too rageful. Maybe it was because the forge had stopped working as well, or maybe he was going through something mentally. But in the end, he killed them. Mercilessly.”

A chill ran through the air, and Chen Ren felt the weight of Feiyu’s words settle around them.

“Immediately, he was seized by guards. They put him on trial, but even then, he injured some of the guards. From that moment on, my bloodline was branded as demonic, tainted.” He paused.

Chen Ren noticed that Feiyu avoided his gaze. Probably ashamed of his grandfather's actions, but he still continued the tale.

“I still don’t know why he did it. I understand they were thieves, but they were teens. They were just drunk on the power of their clan. My grandfather never spoke about it. After that day, he never even said a word, just worked as a slave for the rest of his life. My father… he was the same. Beaten down by the sins of his father, and he passed away early because of it.”

Feiyu’s voice faltered before steadying again. “But thanks to you, I’m free. I’m no longer a slave. I can finally live the life I wish to live. But it doesn’t change the fact of what my grandfather did.”

His eyes dropped for a moment, but then he lifted them to meet Chen Ren’s. “I never knew him. But I feel like I carry the blood of a man with no self-control, a short-tempered, mortal demon. I’m not proud of his actions or to carry his blood.”

Chen Ren listened intently, his expression unreadable as Feiyu's family's history ended. And he had to say that it was something that did give him stuff to think about. If he was honest with himself, the Zhu Clan hadn’t struck him as righteous, at least not in the way they carried themselves.

There had always been something about them that seemed more driven by power and name than any true sense of justice. A part of him had suspected that Feiyu’s grandfather had been framed for the murder, that there were forces behind the scenes using the incident to their advantage. But the reality was different.

Though, in the end, Feiyu’s family had suffered not just from the crimes of their ancestor, but from a system that used them as pawns.

And yet, despite the gruesome past, it didn’t change anything in Chen Ren’s decision. Did this story make him hesitate to take Feiyu into his sect? No, not at all. If anything, it strengthened his desire. Feiyu had come to him, ready to lay bare his truth, despite the shame and the weight of it all and knowing there could be consequences to his confession. That kind of honesty was rare, and Chen Ren valued it deeply.

Judging a person based on ancestry, religion, or who they served had never sat right with him, and it never would. He wasn’t the kind to carry the sins of another. So, he reached out, patting Feiyu’s shoulder.

“I don’t think you should have gone through all those years of slavery because of your grandfather. Even your father shouldn't have. You just suffered for the crime of someone else, and I’m not going to hold that against you. You’re an honest man and a capable blacksmith. I don’t expect anything more from you.”

There was a pause, the air feeling lighter now as Feiyu’s shoulders relaxed, the tension in his posture slowly easing.

“Welcome to the sect.” Chen Ren said.

Feiyu’s eyes widened, numerous flickering in them as he took a deep breath, bowing deeply in gratitude. “Thank you, Daoist Chen.”

Chen Ren’s lips twitched, and he quickly corrected him. “Sect Leader Chen.”

Feiyu blinked, caught off guard.

“Our sect is new,” Chen Ren continued, his voice calm yet with a quiet authority that seemed to come naturally now, “and I’m its sect leader. I don’t reveal it to others, though. I just act as a representative of it. But trust me, you’ll get plenty of time to learn about Divine Coin Sect on the road.”

Feiyu processed the words, a mix of astonishment and acceptance crossing his face. After a moment of silence, he asked, “And where are we going, Sect Leader Chen?”

Chen Ren smiled faintly, his eyes turning distant for a moment. “Cloud Mist City. The place where it all started.”

***

The road to Cloud Mist City was smooth, with the group traveling comfortably and having a good time. Along the way, they were joined by other carriages headed in the same direction, their convoy expanding as they traveled.

The journey from Ashen City took two days, following the winding mountain path that led to a wider road, easier and faster to travel. And throughout the trip, Chen Ren kept himself busy, engaging in constant discussions with Feiyu about forging techniques, even throwing in a few pointers about firearms and the uses of guns.

He also spent time with Zi Han and Anji, discussing their plans for Cloud Mist City, how he would check in on his former businesses there, and what actions they’d need to take moving forward.

To his surprise, Hong Yi, who had been quietly drawing new designs for his puppets on parchment the entire journey, seemed interested in trying out the noodles Chen Ren had briefly mentioned about. He hadn’t pegged him as a foodie, but he supposed everyone had their hidden interests.

As the days passed and the distant city grew nearer, the group’s pace remained steady, and soon enough, Cloud Mist City came into view. It wasn’t as bustling as it had been during the tournament, but there were still plenty of carriages waiting to go out. Like any other cultivator, Chen Ren was given easy preference once Zi Han showed the sect crest, allowing them to pass through without much delay.

“We are almost there,” Chen Ren said.

He wasn’t eager to go into the city himself—he needed to let his disciples handle the smaller tasks, and he had a strong suspicion the city hadn’t fully recovered from the Dragonheart fever yet.

So, while the others discussed the task he had given them, Chen Ren observed the familiar streets, noticing the ebb and flow of people. He even caught sight of a few women carrying perfumes from the Heavenly Fragrances store. That was a good sign—those perfumes were still selling well, just like before.

However, as they reached Market Street, something caught his eye that made him freeze.

Just at the entrance of the street, two noodle stalls were set up, and though there were a few people loitering around them, they were unfamiliar to him. The stalls didn’t carry the sect crest, which meant they were knock-offs—copycats who’d decided to jump on the noodle craze he’d started. Chen Ren narrowed his eyes, watching them carefully, until Hong Yi, who had been quiet until now, finally broke the silence.

“Are these the noodle stalls you own?” he asked.

Chen Ren shook his head, his lips curling into a small smile. “No, they’re copycats. Probably people who saw the success and decided there was good money to be made. It’s not hard to replicate the setup—they’re simple to make.”

He paused, continuing to observe the stalls with mild amusement. “Honestly, I expected them to pop up a while ago, but it seems people didn’t want to offend a cultivator. They waited until I was out of the city. To be honest, though, I couldn’t care less.”

The copycats were just that—imitators with no creativity, trying to capitalize on something that had already gained a reputation. Chen Ren wasn’t concerned. If they wanted to make a few coins off noodles, let them. He had bigger plans than petty competition with these amateurs.

As they moved on, Chen Ren remained thoughtful, but his focus shifted as they neared the Tang Clan estate. There was still much to do, but for now, he couldn’t help but wonder just how far his little noodle venture would spread.

It had been a good starting business, and he was proud of it, but it wasn’t making as much money—or qi—as he’d hoped. Not yet, anyway. There were still bigger plans ahead, particularly for once his mortal sect members could stand on their own and help expand it. But for now, his mind had other things to focus on.

Lost in thought, he barely noticed when they crossed the street toward the Tang Clan estate. The carriage came to a stop, and he quickly exited, stepping onto the familiar grounds. The guards at the gate saw him and immediately bowed respectfully.

Without missing a beat, he asked, “Is Young Miss Tang Yuqiu home?”

They nodded, and as he made his way through the estate, his entourage followed, eyes scanning the surroundings with quiet curiosity. The courtyard was peaceful as always, but the soft shuffle of footsteps echoed as suddenly Tang Yuqiu appeared at the door. She was accompanied by her maid and another servant, clearly informed of his arrival.

As soon as she saw him, a smile tugged at her lips, but it quickly faded, replaced by a more serious expression. “Chen Ren,” she greeted, her voice carrying a hint of something urgent. “It’s good to see you again. You’ve come at the right time. We’re facing a big problem.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

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81. Expansion troubles

After Tang Yuqiu ordered her maid to get lodging for his disciples, Chen Ren moved with her through the hallway alone. He could see that her steps were hurried and she kept looking back at him to ensure that he was following her.

"What's wrong?" Chen Ren asked, but Yuqiu only shook her head.

"I'll explain once we're inside the room," she replied tensely. He nodded, silently following her.

Once they entered her room and the door closed behind them, Chen Ren took a seat across from her, his eyes scanning the room, then moved back to her. It hadn't been long since they'd parted ways, but the change in Yuqiu was palpable.

The familiar, soft elegance was still there, but the atmosphere around her had shifted. She wasn’t the same person he had left behind. The once carefree yet determined woman had clearly grown into someone who carried more responsibilities on her shoulders.

She had been running the perfume business alone, managing the details Chen Ren had left her. It was clear it had taken a toll, both physically and mentally.

Tang Yuqiu spoke first, breaking the silence that hung between them. “It seems like things are going well for you,” she said, her eyes shining. “There are quite a few new faces. Cultivators?”

Chen Ren gave a small smile. “Two among them, and more back in the sect. I got lucky with them.” He paused for a moment. “Though, there are far more mortals. I’m hoping they’re setting up the alcohol production right now.”

“Alcohol?” Yuqiu raised an eyebrow. “You got into that now?”

“Yes," he answered with a half-smile. "It’s a different type than the ones out in the market. Stronger. I sold everything I had or I would have brought some for you.”

Yuqiu waved her hand dismissively. “It’s okay. I don’t drink much, and you know my father—it's better if he doesn’t drink.”

After that, a brief silence fell over them. Chen Ren could feel that small talk was over and the topic she wanted to talk about was going to come now. He waited patiently, eyes steady on her face.

She sighed, noticing the urge in his eyes and leaned back in her seat. “Anyway, the problem I talked about… It started once I looked into your expansion plan and tried to build up this mall you mentioned.”

Chen Ren’s brow furrowed slightly as he leaned forward, sensing the concern in her voice. “I didn’t think you would find problems in Cloud Mist City,” he said, his tone betraying his confusion.

Before leaving Cloud Mist City, Chen Ren had given Yuqiu the expansion plan for Heavenly Fragrances since he knew he was going to be busy with his sect. It was to ensure his income would keep increasing while also boosting his cultivation at the same time.

Building the sect had always been a priority for Chen Ren, but this didn't mean he was going to leave his current businesses behind. So, he had given her the idea of a mall to house multiple shops in one location, although it wasn’t as grand as the ones back on Earth. They had planned to start small, with only three to four businesses in the mall, a manageable beginning before they expanded further.

“Actually, the problem didn’t come from Cloud Mist City,” Tang Yuqiu said, shaking her head slightly and bringing him back from his thoughts. “It went smoothly here. I was able to increase the floors in Heavenly Fragrances and created a structure like you told me. It’s small right now, and we aren’t renting out the space to other businesses yet. I want to see how it works before increasing its size. Thankfully, there’s enough space around it.”

She paused, gathering her thoughts. “But the problem came when I inquired about expanding to other cities, and let me tell you—it isn’t going to be easy. We’ve already received threats.”

Chen Ren’s eyes widened, his surprise visible. “What kind of threats?” He leaned forward, a the protective instinct rising within him. “I’m surprised anyone would dare give threats to the Tang Clan.”

Yuqiu looked at him as if he was not understanding the situation. “They can’t do that in Cloud Mist City, but the world is wide, and there are places even my father wasn’t able to expand into. One of those places is Jingxi, and I’ve chosen it as the main place where we could set up our next mall.”

“As you know, our products are mainly catered to women right now, and that city is perfect for it. It’s a major trade route for merchants, with a solid middle class population that can afford our products without hesitation. There are sects nearby, but nothing major enough to worry about. It seemed like the perfect place.”

Chen Ren was about to speak when she raised her hand, indicating that there was more to the story.

“But the major problem in the city isn’t the sects—it’s the clans and trade associations,” she continued. “They are powerful enough to be a real problem. And they’ve already gotten wind of our intentions. And they love to show off their power.” she rolled her eyes as she spoke. “They’re already trying to prevent us from acquiring property there. They seem to have figured out just how big our products have gotten in Cloud Mist City. I was even offered a supply contract, but the terms were so bad, I couldn’t even consider it.”

Chen Ren slowly absorbed the weight of Yuqiu’s words, and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of inevitability. He had expected something like this—established clans rarely took kindly to upstarts trying to break into their markets, and the perfume business was no exception. Anyone would act accordingly if they felt threatened, at least in this world.

He nodded, letting the silence linger for a moment as he processed the situation. His thoughts spilled to different possibilities. But none would be set in stone until he knew the exact depth of the situation. “So, are we unable to acquire property there?” he asked.

Yuqiu shook her head. “It’s not that. I did get one building, but... looking at the place, considering all the pressure, we won’t be able to set up a full perfume factory there. If we do, it would mean transporting raw materials from far away, and that’s not feasible since it's harder to find the herbs we need in the city.”

“We can manage transportation, but not for everything.” He paused for a beat, then shifted the conversation, wanting to focus on the more positive developments. “And how’s the cloth project going?”

At the mention of it, Yuqiu’s face lit up, the worry temporarily vanishing from her eyes. A soft smile tugged at her lips as she rose to her feet. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that! The designs were tucked so far back in those parchments you gave me so I missed asking you about them when you were leaving, but... how did you even come up with something like that?”

Chen Ren watched as she moved toward a nearby chest, retrieving a box. She carefully pulled out a selection of women’s dresses. She handed them over to him, and he ran his fingers over the material, the texture telling him that Yuqiu hadn’t skimped on anything to get them made.

They were… exquisite. Chen Ren ran his fingers over the smooth fabric once again, appreciating the attention to detail. Was she making these to sell, or had she created them for herself?

The dresses were undeniably beautiful, but there was something subtly different about them. Unlike the tightly fitted garments that most women wore—those that clung to the body, leaving little room for comfort—the dresses Yuqiu had created were much more fluid and free. Where most dresses focused on accentuating curves and restricting movement, these seemed to offer a new sense of freedom, as though the wearer could move without feeling constricted. The cuts were soft, flowing, designed to drape elegantly around the body rather than cling tightly.

Yuqiu had taken care to ensure the design was modest without being plain. The folds gathered at strategic points—around the waist, over the hips—creating a sense of structure, but also allowing for comfort. The way the dresses were designed to hang just off the shoulders or around the neck made them feel more… comfortable. And the pattern of the dress? He picked a dress from the pile and looked over it, seeing the bold lines and flower designs that accentuated the beige colour.

Chen Ren could imagine how dresses like these would complement a woman's body, not by drawing attention to a single feature but by making the whole form appear graceful and dignified. He could already picture a woman walking in one of these dresses, every movement highlighting the elegant folds of the fabric, making her feel as though she were wearing something truly unique, something that made a statement without saying a word.

He turned to her with a small smile, gently placing the dress back on the table and answering her earlier question. “I asked Xiulan and the others for input, and then I realized how restrictive and unthinking most women’s clothing is. I wanted to create something comfortable, something that would be both practical and fashionable.” He tilted his head slightly, eyeing her. “Did you like it?”

Tang Yuqiu’s smile broadened. “I love them. I wore one of these to a gathering two weeks ago, and I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. I think they’ll be a huge hit. They might even be the next big thing.”

Chen Ren felt a spark of hope ignite within him. Let’s hope so, he thought.

He had created the designs thinking about how clothing has evolved over time, blending chinese fashion sense with modern-day designs, hoping to craft something that would appeal to the masses. He had spent time during the tournament, waiting for his turn in the fighting arena, brainstorming the designs. He’d never expected that something born from idle thoughts would end up becoming a potential game-changer. And he realized these designs would complement the perfume line perfectly.

Unlike perfume, which required a complex network of raw materials and precise measurements, clothing could be mass-produced by simply gathering women who were looking for work and teaching them how to weave. It was a simpler process once they got the supply for the material. Chen Ren thought about how easy it was to set up a small-scale factory for the clothes, and a small, almost absurd idea crossed his mind.

Should I start building a sewing machine? Because after all, this world didn’t have any automation. Which meant that everything was crafted.

The thought lingered for a moment, but before he could dive deeper into it, Yuqiu’s voice brought him back to the present. "I’ve been working on getting a group of weavers together to start building more of these dresses," she said. "We should have a good amount ready soon."

Chen Ren nodded, his mind already thinking ahead. "That’s good. I might be able to get one more product for the mall opening in Jingxi. but I’m still trying to come up with it." He paused, rubbing his chin. "How long do you think it will take?"

Yuqiu smiled, a hint of satisfaction in her eyes. "We’re still constructing in Jingxi, so it’ll be about a month. But you can check out the progress at the Heavenly Fragrances shop right now. It’s coming together well."

Chen Ren’s eyes brightened at that. "I’ll take a look," he said, his mind already working on the possibilities. Then, as if something else had occurred to her, Yuqiu hesitated for a moment before asking, "How many days will you be in the city?"

"Two days," he answered. "I mostly came to see your progress and the accounts. And also to meet with Qing He. I had wanted to consult her on some things."

Yuqiu nodded. "That’s alright. I think I have the account books here. Let me bring them to you. But I have to say... our sales have been really good. I think you’re going to like what you see."

Chen Ren smiled, feeling a surge of relief. "I’m looking forward to it."

***

As Yuqiu had said, the money coming in from the perfumes and even the food stalls had increased significantly. For the perfumes, Yuqiu had been handling everything with her usual efficiency, and it was clear that her efforts had paid off. More and more women were returning to purchase more of the fragrances once their previous bottles ran out, a trend that only seemed to grow with time. But it wasn’t just about the steady sales; Yuqiu had also started researching ways to expand their perfume line, working tirelessly to develop new scents and recruit more people to help with production. Chen Ren couldn’t have asked for a better outcome. Everything seemed to be progressing faster than he had even hoped.

He’d felt the surge of qi entering him over the last month, and he couldn’t help but think it was no coincidence. The success of the perfume line, combined with his growing cultivation, made him certain that the next time he broke through, he might just cross a few stars in his advancement.

As for the noodle stall, well, it had grown into something even more profitable. They had expanded the offerings to include crispy chips alongside the noodles, and even with some copycats emerging, their stall remained just as popular, generating steady profits. Unfortunately, summer had come to an end, which meant that sales of the ice cream had dropped off more than he would’ve liked. But Chen Ren wasn’t worried. He already had plans for the next summer, and he was confident that he could turn things around when the season came back.

After checking the accounts and taking a tour of his businesses, Chen Ren decided it was time to leave Yuqiu to handle the rest of her work. He made his way to the tea shop to meet Qing He—the old woman who had become, in many ways, his second master after Yalan.

He brought Feiyu along, knowing that the conversation would be important for him, and the two of them entered the tea house. The scent of tea leaves filled his nostrils and there, seated where she usually was Qing He, sipping tea. Her face was neutral, as she slowly placed the cup in front of her.

As soon as Chen Ren entered the tea house, Qing He's eyes snapped up, locking onto him with an intensity that almost felt like a physical force. But there was no warm welcome in her gaze. Instead, a scowl quickly replaced the usual calmness that Chen Ren had grown used to.

"I was thinking the wind is a bit different now," she said, her voice edged with sarcasm. "But I can see that you’re back in the city after a failed attempt at starting the sect."

Chen Ren walked towards her without responding immediately and pulled a stool out, sitting down casually. "Failed?" he echoed with a raised eyebrow. "I already have some new disciples, and things are going better than expected."

He gestured toward Feiyu, who stood by his side, ready to back him up. Qing He’s gaze shifted to the young man standing there. She gave him a quick once-over, her sharp eyes evaluating him in a way that seemed to peel away layers, and then she spoke. "You look like a good cultivator. Not that talented, but not bad. Why are you following this fool?" Her words were blunt, and she didn’t even attempt to mask the judgment.

Feiyu didn’t hesitate. Standing tall, he looked directly at Qing He. "I will follow Sect Leader Chen all my life," he said with sincerity. "He has given me a new lease leash on life, and there’s nothing that would change my decision."

Qing He raised an eyebrow at the conviction in Feiyu’s voice, her scowl fading into a hint of surprise. Her gaze flicked back to Chen Ren, who had a faint, amused smile on his face.

"You’ve learned some manipulation techniques, kid," she remarked dryly.

Chen Ren chuckled, the sound light but with an edge of confidence. "Why don’t you believe he’s being genuine?" he asked, leaning back slightly. "I have a lot that could help him out."

Qing He’s lips twisted into a brief, almost imperceptible smirk, but it was gone just as quickly. "I hope so," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Or I would feel bad seeing that man get the wrong end of the stick. So why are you here, really?" she asked, clearly knowing Chen Ren’s ways by now, then seemed to hesitate and stand up from her seat. "Actually, I was hoping you would stop by. I have something to show you that might help you out," she added.

Chen Ren’s interest was piqued. "What is it?" he asked, already trying to read the situation.

Qing He glanced at the few customers still present in the tea house, then back at him with a hint of mischief in her eyes. "You’re lucky. It’s not the peak hour," she said. "Walk with me."

She stood and motioned for him and Feiyu to follow her. Chen Ren exchanged a quick glance with Feiyu before they both rose and trailed after her, heading towards the staircase.They walked up the stairs in silence. Chen Ren couldn’t help but wonder what kind of revelation she was about to reveal, but he knew better than to press her for answers too soon.

When they reached the room that Chen Ren had often frequented, the space that had once been filled with books and scrolls, he noticed something strange. The floor, usually organized, was now scattered with books. Some were open, others simply discarded, but in the center of the chaos, there was one book that immediately caught his attention.

It had a cover that depicted the Four Heavenly Beasts, with a golden dragon at its center. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. He had never seen this particular book before, and something about it made his heart skip a beat.

Qing He, noticing his reaction, gave him a small smile. "After you left," she began, "I decided I needed to do some reading of my own. I wanted to find out more about that dragon inside of you." She bent down, her eyes now focused on the book. "What I found... I don’t know if you’re going to like it or not."

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

82. Devourers

Chen Ren knew that he was somehow tied up in a conspiracy far above his pay grade. It wasn’t something he liked to dwell on—knowing he was missing crucial pieces of the puzzle only frustrated him—but the truth had been clear for a long time. A dragon lived in his star space.

No one in history had ever carried a dragon in their star space and lived a simple merchant’s life. That just wasn’t how the world worked.

Despite that knowledge, he had stubbornly clung to his chosen path. He built his businesses, trained when he could, and tried to carve out a future where, if trouble ever came knocking, he’d be strong enough to handle it. But now, he thought grimly, it seems like the time has come to stop pretending.

The book lay spawled on the floor in front of him, standing out among the others Qing He had gathered. Just looking at it sent a shiver of unease down his spine. The cover was unlike anything he had ever seen—old, yet pristine, as if untouched by time. The dark leather was embossed with different designs, and at the center, surrounded by the four sacred beasts—the white tiger, the black turtle, the crimson phoenix, and, of course, in the middle was the golden dragon coiled in a spiral, its head raised as if it were staring straight into his soul. It reminded him of the actual dragon he’d seen in his star space.

His fingers hovered over the cover before he slowly picked it up. It was heavier than expected, the kind of weight that made him feel like he was holding more than just a book.

Taking a steadying breath, he opened it.

His eyes scanned the first few lines, expecting something that would shake his world. Instead, his brows furrowed in confusion. He blinked, rereading the words, but he knew he couldn’t.

"I can’t read this," he said finally, glancing at Qing He.

She scoffed. "Obviously, you can’t."

Before he could react, she plucked the book from his hands, flipping through the pages with a sharp snap of her fingers. "If it were that easy to decipher, I wouldn’t have been able to get my hands on it in the first place. Do you know how many dusty old coots in my sect would sell their souls to study this?" She tapped a page. "The only reason they let me keep it is because no one understands Ancient Immortal script, the language it’s written in. Even I could only make sense of parts of it, and that was after hours of painstakingly translating every single word."

Chen Ren mulled over Qing He’s word, his mind catching on one detail in particular—her sect. She had never once let anything slip about her background before. Not even a hint. Yet now, she had practically confirmed it. She did belong to a sect.

But which one?

That, he would have to find out in time.

For now, he kept his attention on the book still in her grasp. His eyes shifted to the cover again before he asked, “Ancient Immortal script? What’s that?”

Qing He’s gaze lingered on him for a second before she spoke. “It’s ancient like its name. We call it the Language of the Old. From the Era of the Ancients. Even among top cultivators, it’s not something widely known—unless they’re deeply invested in history.”

She flipped through the pages idly, then added, “I found this book in an old tomb, buried near the lair of a Tier 5 beast.”

Chen Ren arched a brow. “And you can read it?”

Qing He smirked. “Parts of it.”

Then, as if realizing how much she’d revealed, she snapped, “Do you even want to know what’s inside the book or not?”

Chen Ren met her gaze steadily. “Yeah. I do.”

She studied him for a moment before nodding. “Alright.”

Flipping back to the first page, she ran a finger over the faded ink. “This book is an account from the Era of the Ancients, a time when the world was ruled by four primary sects. There were no empires, no kingdoms—just those four, each one tied to one of the Heavenly Beasts.”

She began listing them out.

“The Sect of the Crimson Phoenix—the heart of alchemists and blacksmiths. They harnessed the flames of the beast they worshipped, refining artifacts and pills unlike anything seen in our time.

“The Sect of the White Tiger—a brotherhood of warriors. Martial cultivators of the highest order, acting as the protectors of the world.

“The Sect of the Black Tortoise—masters of restoration and healing, wielding techniques that could mend not only the body, but the very land itself.”

Then she paused.

Chen Ren caught the hesitation immediately. “What about the golden dragon?”

Qing He exhaled, glancing back down at the book. “That… is harder to say.”

She tapped a passage thoughtfully. “The book describes it as the sect that ruled over all the others. It didn’t just govern—it oversaw prosperity itself.”

At that, Chen Ren tilted his head. Prosperity?

Was that a metaphor, or something else entirely?

Did it mean the Golden Dragon Sect was simply a prosperous governing body for the other three sects? Or was there a deeper meaning behind it?

A thought crossed his mind, and he asked, “Is there any mention of it being focused on wealth? Money?”

Qing He immediately shook her head. “No. The character for prosperity in Ancient Immortal script is entirely different from the one used for wealth or trade. There’s no connection.”

She sighed, flipping a page. “Let me continue.”

Both Chen Ren and Feiyu, who had been quietly listening this whole time, nodded.

“The four sects were rivals, yet they functioned within the same system, supporting one another,” Qing He explained. “It was an era of opportunity and peace. Back then, spirit manifestations were as common as rice. Nearly every cultivator had one, and the Heavenly Beasts themselves frequently revealed their presence in the world.”

Chen Ren’s brows furrowed. Spirit manifestations as common as rice?

Qing He continued, “And from the way this book describes it, the average cultivator back then was much stronger than the ones today. But in the end, all of it… changed.”

Chen Ren caught onto the shift in her tone. His mind immediately jumped to something Yalan had once mentioned—a calamity that changed everything.

His throat felt dry as he asked, “Changed? Did something happen that ended the Era of the Ancients?”

Qing He’s eyes flickered to something Chen Ren couldn’t point exactly. “The book doesn’t go into details, but something forced the sects to come together. Every cultivator in the world was called upon to deal with it.”

She took a breath, her fingers tightening around the book’s cover. “And with that… a war erupted.”

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed.

“It says that during this war, tens of thousands died every single day. And it lasted for months.”

For months? Tens of thousands dead every day? That sentence alone brought a grave silence that stretched between them.

Then, Feiyu, who had remained quiet until now, spoke up. “What were they fighting against?”

Qing He let out a slow exhale. “The book calls them Devourers.”

Chen Ren felt an uneasy chill crawl up his spine at the name. “Devourers?”

Qing He nodded. “There’s no information on where they came from or what exactly happened. Not even a description of what they looked like.” She hesitated, then added, “For all we know… they could have been giant bugs.”

Chen Ren shuddered.

Giant humanoid bugs… that could stand against every cultivator in the world?

No amount of coin would help him with that.

Seeing the look on his face, Qing He chuckled. “Relax. I wasn’t being serious. Like I said, we don’t know what they looked like.” She tapped a finger against the book. “All we know is that they destroyed everything.”

Chen Ren’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Everything?”

“The war left no clear victors.” Qing He’s expression darkened. “There’s no mention of who won or how it ended. Just that civilization collapsed, and the Heavenly Beasts disappeared—leaving their sects buried in the ground.”

She sighed. “I’d assume the Devourers were either defeated or driven away, or we wouldn’t be ignorant of them today. But even though humanity survived, the structure of the world was completely crushed.”

Chen Ren’s mind raced.The Era of the Ancients—gone. Their sects, once the ruling force of the world—buried. The Heavenly Beasts—vanished. All of it felt more like a story than what had actually happened, but a part of him knew it was true. Maybe there were parts the book was missing, but it helped give him a general sense of what had transpired.

Qing He turned another page. “The book briefly details the rise of a few small civilizations after the war… but none of them lasted. Most cultivators had died. Without them, society crumbled.” She frowned. “There’s no mention of the Kalian Empire, which I’m guessing came much later. In fact, this book might have been written during that transitional period.” She tapped the page agains. “But one thing it does say is that the Heavenly Beasts were so injured, they had to hide—to heal themselves in case another threat ever came to the world.”

At that, Qing He finally stopped speaking, letting the weight of the words settle between them.

Chen Ren exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening slightly.

A lost civilization wasn’t surprising. Even on Earth, there had been ancient societies that disappeared—the Aztecs, the Indus Valley civilization. History was filled with collapse and rebirth.

But an entire world built around worshiping the Heavenly Beasts?

That was different.

His mind spun as he pieced things together. If Qing He’s information was correct, the Heavenly Beasts had been damaged in the war, needing thousands of years to recover.

But the dragon he met…

It didn’t look injured in any way.

So… had it already recovered?

And if so—what was its purpose now?

Had it chosen him to rebuild the civilization that had once been lost? Or was it something else entirely?

As Chen Ren pieced everything together, an extremely terrifying possibility formed in his mind. His heart thumped harder as he glanced at Qing He.

“Do you think… the golden dragon is back because it believes the devourers will return soon?”

Qing He’s fingers stilled against the ancient pages.

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Her face seemed more serious under the lanterns that casted heavy shadows, but he could see it—the same thought had already crossed her mind.

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “It could be. But it could also be that it’s just… healed.”

Chen Ren scoffed. “I doubt it.” His arms crossed, brows furrowed. “That goes against cultivation logic.”

Qing He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know your ‘logic.’ All we have are possibilities right now.”

That was true.

He exhaled sharply, nodding. He understood her point, but the frown on his face remained.

Learning about an ancient civilization connected to the Heavenly Beasts and their destruction gave him context—but in the end, it wasn’t something he could act on.

Not yet.

Not until he spoke to the dragon again.

But that was another problem. He hadn’t seen it since that encounter in the tournament. He could only hope it would appear again—perhaps once he broke through further in qi refinement and became stronger.

His fingers tapped against the table, mind whirling, but eventually, he turned his gaze back to Qing He and inclined his head.

“…Thank you,” he said. “For finding more information about the golden dragon for me.”

Qing He waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine.”

He smirked slightly, then leaned back against the wall. “That said, I think the best thing I can do is just—get stronger. Prepare for what’s coming.”

At that, Qing He nodded. “That’s a good way to go.”

Chen Ren’s lips curled into a small grin. “Glad we agree. Speaking of that… I wanted to ask for your help with a weapon.”

Qing He blinked. “A weapon?”

Chen Ren nodded. He glanced toward Feiyu, who silently pulled out a tightly rolled parchment and placed it before Qing He.

She picked it up, unrolling it carefully.

She went through everything in a single swoop of her glance—detailed schematics, exact measurements, notes written in a mixture of his own script and symbols meant for easier understanding.

For the next five minutes, Qing He said nothing.

She simply studied it.

Her eyes flickered over every detail, scanning the blueprint with intense focus.

And for the first time, Chen Ren saw it—

A spark of genuine surprise on her face.

Finally, she placed the parchment down and met his gaze.

“I’ve never seen a weapon like this.” Her fingers tapped lightly against the paper. “Making the body might be simple enough… but I’m guessing what you really need my help with is this—” She pointed at the description of a powder. “The explosive compound that gives it the strength to fire off this shell called a bullet.”

Chen Ren grinned. “You’re smart.” His hand came up, rubbing his temple with a sigh. "The problem is," he admitted, "I know the components of the gun and exactly how to make it. But the powder... that's where things get tricky." His brow furrowed. "I barely remember the formula. I need someone experienced in alchemy—like you—to create a replacement."

Qing He tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Alchemists aren’t usually known for making explosive pills. Their focus is more on enhancing the body, healing, or refining qi."

"Yeah, I figured that much after going through the books you gave me." He exhaled, drumming his fingers on the table. "But I was hoping there was an exception to that rule. Is there no alchemist you know who could help us?"

As he hoped, Qing He’s eyes suddenly lit up, a ghost of a smile played on her lips.

“Well," she said, "I can think of one alchemist who was very interested in making explosions out of pills."

Chen Ren straightened. "Who?"

Instead of answering immediately, Qing He stood and walked over to a shelf, rummaging through a small pile of old, leather-bound books. She pulled one free, dusting it off before setting it on the table in front of him.

"This one."

Chen Ren glanced down at the cover.

An Idiot Cultivator’s Guide to Blowing Himself Up – Volume 1 by Yandi.

A long pause ensued between them. Chen Ren blinked, unable to hide his surprise, shock and confusion at the title of the book.

"...What?"

Qing He smirked. “You should read it first.”

Chen Ren gingerly picked up the book, turning it over in his hands. "Who wrote this? And why does the title sound so—" He struggled for the right word. "—unhinged?"

Qing He crossed her arms. "A short-lived cultivator who only reached the peak of qi refinement realm before dying while testing what he called the All-Consuming Explosion Pill." She shook her head. "Ironically, it consumed him."

Chen Ren let out a low whistle. "I guess he knew what he was getting into."

"He lived around two hundred years ago," Qing He continued. "Got kicked out of his sect for blowing up too many buildings while experimenting with explosions. But he became famous for his series on explosive pills, which are now considered treasures."

Chen Ren exhaled through his nose, a dry smirk curling on his lips. "Yeah, I can definitely imagine some lunatic cultivator with an anarchist streak running around, throwing bombs like a madman. That’s... honestly terrifying."

Qing He nodded in agreement.

He flipped through a few pages of the book, scanning the chaotic notes and diagrams. "How many of these books did he write?"

Qing He shrugged. "I don’t know. The first volume has a few copies floating around, but the second and third are much harder to find. There are rumors of a fourth, but nothing confirmed. I only managed to get my hands on the first volume thanks to some contacts I have."

"Figures," Chen Ren muttered. "Explosive pills aren't exactly standard market fare."

"Right," Qing He agreed. "But this guy was known for using pills exclusively for battle and destruction. If we’re looking for a substitute for your black powder, I’m pretty sure his work will help us."

Chen Ren grinned. "That would be great. We can go over his work, and I’ll try to piece together what I remember about different types of guns and gunpowder."

For the first time since the discussion started, Feiyu, who had been completely silent, suddenly spoke up.

"...There’s more than one type?"

Both Qing He and Chen Ren turned to look at him.

Chen Ren smirked. "Oh, Feiyu, you have no idea. You can make a lot of different types," he said, glancing at him. "Simpler guns, deadlier ones like rifles, and even long-range weapons like snipers."

Feiyu nodded in curiosity before a frown covered his face. Chen Ren couldn’t tell if the man was happy that there were so many other types or was unhappy that it could only get complicated from here. But it didn’t matter.

"Then if you do start this, I’m guessing it’s going to be a long project." Qing He asked, bringing him back into the conversation.

Chen Ren nodded without hesitation. "Yeah. I plan to arm everyone in my sect with these things. Even mortals can use them."

"That’s a dangerous undertaking." She crossed her arms. "If these weapons are really strong, then even the guardian sects might take interest. And trust me—the current order of the empire might collapse if mortals get that kind of power."

Chen Ren’s gaze was steady. "I do understand that," he admitted. "And I don’t plan to sell them." He exhaled. "But right now, with so even with a few cultivators, my sect is grossly weak. I need to do something about it. If sects come for it, then I’ll deal with that when it happens." His fingers clenched into a fist. "If we actually pull this off and get more mortals into the sect, I’m pretty sure we’d be strong enough to not get crushed—even by a guardian sect."

Qing He shook her head. Chen Ren caught the smile that played in her face. "You and your ambitions." She sighed. "Just make sure you don’t slip up. You’d fall headfirst if you do."

Chen Ren smirked. "I’ll try not to." His gaze softened slightly as he looked at her. "So... are you willing to help me with it?"

Qing He didn’t answer immediately. She drummed her fingers on her robs, staring at the book in thought. "...That would mean leaving my shop here." Her lips quirked into a half-smile. "I think I said the same thing last time when you asked me to come to that little village where your sect is. The answer is the same."

Chen Ren shrugged. "It’s temporary this time. Once we figure out the gunpowder, I don’t think you’ll be needed much after that." He leaned forward. "Besides, I have something I can trade you for your help."

Qing He narrowed her eyes. "Oh? And what would that be?"

"How would you like recipes for different types of tea?"

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

83. Progression finally

It took a while, but Qing He was finally on board with moving to the sect temporarily to work on the gunpowder and assist with the casing of the gun itself. By the end of their discussion, she had even provided ideas for the weapon’s construction, suggesting the use of runes to reinforce the structure and improve durability.

Chen Ren hadn't given much thought to that aspect—his knowledge of runes was basic, limited to the ones he used for talismans—but Qing He’s insights were detailed enough that even Feiyu found himself agreeing. By the time their conversation ended, he got the distinct impression that she wasn't just coming along because he asked her to; she was genuinely interested in the project itself.

With that settled, they didn’t linger in Cloud Mist City for much longer. He made his rounds, visiting the noodle stall, making rounds of Heavenly Fragrances, and checking in on the staff. He went over the accounts and spoke with Yuqiu about their next steps, making sure that they had a plan in place for expansion. While he wouldn’t be around personally, he reassured her that he’d assist with any problems that arose. And that was all she needed.

Once that was done, he set out for the village with the rest of his party behind him.

Fortunately, the roads weren’t in bad shape, and they made good time on the journey; with occasional conversations and resting. Before long, they were met with the sight of the village.

They soon made their way toward the sect’s buildings.

Even in the short time he had been away, he could tell a lot had changed. He could tell. Construction was still ongoing, but there was a clear sense of order now.

The scattered chaos of early development had dissipated, giving way to something more structured—organized. And as they got closer, Chen Ren noticed a few mortal sect members lingering outside. It wasn’t long before one of them moved inside, likely to call Tang Xiulan as they stepped out of the carriage.

Soon, she walked outside with Zi Wen behind her, but Chen Ren's eyes didn't move to them. They locked onto the massive wolf, who was towering over both of them and momentarily, he was stunned.

Of course, Little Yuze had been large before he had left, but now the beast looked nothing short of a behemoth. He had grown a foot or two, his fur darker, darker than the obsidian than was before and more imposing, and as he opened his mouth, Chen Ren caught sight of far more pointed teeth than he recalled.

“Good to see you both again.” He looked back at Zi Wen and Xiulan but his eyes went back to the wolf for a while, assessing the changes closely, before turning his head back to Zi Wen. "It seems like you were successful."

Zi Wen nodded with a proud smile. "Yes. I hadn't expected it, but once I found that link to my new path that I was searching for, things happened quickly. Even Little Yuze changed once I formed a strong connection with him. I don't know why."

Chen Ren hummed thoughtfully and tilted his head towards the wolf. "Yalan told me that Beastmasters naturally accelerate the development of their beasts once they form a link. So it's probably that, but I'd love to experiment more to see what else has changed. Though..." He glanced back toward the carriage. "I think we should wait until Yalan wakes up from her nap before bothering her."

Zi Wen chuckled. "That’s fair.” He scratched the back of his neck and spoke again. “But Sect Leader Chen, it wasn’t just me who connected to the Dao while you were gone."

Chen Ren couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows. "Then... Luo Feng?"

Xiulan, who had been quiet so far, nodded. "He's not here because he's tending to his fields. Apparently, he connected to the Dao of Farming and has been there since then, only coming back for food."

Chen Ren was genuinely surprised. He had always thought Zi Wen’s path would be of a Beastmaster , so that wasn’t shocking. But Luo Feng? The man had been so eager about martial techniques before. That he had suddenly connected with a Dao so seemingly mundane was unexpected—but also a pleasant surprise.

He crossed his arms, thinking. He had heard bits and pieces from Yalan about the Dao of Farming. Despite its name, it was one of the strongest Daos. Not only wouldwill Luo Feng have a deeper connection with the earth and his crops, but he'dhe’ll also be able to bypass the lack of qi in the surroundings to grow spirit plants by infusing them with his own qi. He knew that eventually, his farm would become like a domain, where he would be the master of everything that grows and comes there.

And as Chen Ren continued to think over it for a moment, realization struck. If Luo Feng’s connection to the Dao of Farming developed further, he might be able to help solve the sect’s resource issues. That alone was a huge relief.

“That’s good news,” he finally said. “I didn’t expect to come back to such progress.”

Xiulan gave a genuine smile. Her eyes lingered on his for a moment and looked behind. “Seems like you’ve made decent progress yourself, Sect Leader Chen.”

Chen Ren nodded, following her glancetrance toat the two men who awkwardly stood with their hands clutched to the front. Qing He stood behind them, just looking over his sect buildings with an appraising eye. “Hong Yi is going to be in the sect now. Try to make sure he doesn’t venture out too much. His sect has been dealt with, but you never know who might still be looking for him.” He shifted his gaze to the other figure. “As for this guy, he’s Feiyu, a blacksmith cultivator I found while negotiating the alcohol contract.” He finally looked at the last person. A smile breaking into his own face. “I brought Qing He back with me so she and Feiyu could work on a project for me, but we’ll talk about that later.”

Zi Wen let out a low chuckle. “Seems like there’s still a lot of work to do.”

“Certainly,” Chen Ren agreed. “First of all, we need to get the alcohol production going. Are the mortals making good progress?”

Xiulan nodded. “Yeah, a few of them are doing better than I expected. Even the ones who are just average are making slow progress. It's not fast, but at least they are moving.”

“Good. Pick out some of the bright ones to head the alcohol production. We’ve managed to strike a solid deal with the Zhu Clan, but I want to set up at least two breweries. We’ll also be making contact in the west and south to see if any clans there are interested in buying moonshine. The Zhu Clan has good reach, but it doesn’t cover the whole empire.”

He paused, then added, “I also need to check out Luo Feng and see his Dao for myself. But before that, I’ll be heading to my room for the day.”

“Oh? Already? Is there anything I could help—”

“No, nothing like that,” Chen Ren exhaled, feeling the faintly glowing strands of qi swirling within him. “I made a lot of progress during the journey, but most of it was in my business. Even in Cloud Mist City, things are going well. And now… I keep feeling these small strands of qi circling in my core. I think it’s finally time to see how much I’ve grown. And for that, I need some quiet space.”

Xiulan immediately understood and gave a brief nod.

But as he said it, he couldn’t help but wonder—was he about to leap through a few stars? The qi refinement realm usually took far longer to progress through than the body forging realm, but his businesses had been steadily minting him good money, and his qi had been accumulating. If he was right, this could be his biggest gain yet.

Without wasting another moment, Chen Ren made his way to his room and immediately plunged into his star space.

***

Feeling the air in his star space was always a one-of-a-kind phenomenon. Even though he knew it wasn’t truly the case, Chen Ren always felt the most secure there. The qi filled the space around him, steadying his breath, making him feel weightless yet grounded at the same time.

As he floated within his star space, his gaze instinctively searched for the being that had eluded him for so long. But as always, no matter where he looked, there were no signs of it. Not even a trance of its magnetic eyes.

With a sigh, he shifted his focus to the sky above.

The stars twinkled, filling the sky. Slowly, as usual, their light dimmed—yet this time, something was different. Instead of leaving behind just two stars, a third one remained, a bit farther away from the first two but present. It shimmered with the same energy as the others, and he could already sense the qi contained within it.

He exhaled, steadying himself before beginning the process of absorption. He started with the noodle shop. Compared to the others, it didn’t hold much qi, but he noticed something else—it had grown. Not in terms of qi, but in size. The star itself was slightly larger now. He guessed it was because of the recent additions to the business—the chips and ice cream. Even the qi surrounding it felt more potent.

Slowly, he started absorbing the energy, letting it flow into him. He wondered how the star would look once he fully expanded the stall business. The thought made his lips curl slightly, but he refocused on the task. He continued his absorption.

By the time he was done, he felt like he had eaten a hearty breakfast—satisfied, but still capable of taking in more. Without hesitation, he turned his gaze to the second star, the one representing his perfume business.

Unlike the noodle stall, the perfume business hadn't grown much in size, but its steady success meant it was still wrapped in a significant amount of qi. He felt it in his core. Targeting middle-class women with affordable perfumes had proven to be a solid strategy, and as Chen Ren absorbed the energy, he could tell that this star would expand soon enough. When it did, the amount of qi he was receiving now would be only a fraction of what he'd gain in the future.

He sighed in contentment as he felt filled once again.

With both of his primary stars drained of qi, he turned his gaze toward the third one. A frown appeared on his forehead as he stared at it for a while without doing a thing. He wanted—no, needed to take it all in.

This star was different—it almost bubbled with energy, pulsing as if barely containing the qi within. The alcohol business had brought in a large sum already, and with the profit-sharing model in place, he would continue receiving a steady flow of income every month. That meant this star would only grow brighter and more potent in the coming months.

Chen Ren stared at it, his mind drifting back to everything it had taken to get here. He had been constantly downplayed by the big players, forced to fight tooth and nail to carve out his own space. The only way he had succeeded was by creating demand—by making people want his product so badly that they couldn’t ignore him. Contrary to what it had looked like from the outside, it hadn't been easy.

The fact that Ashen City was filled with alcoholics had played a huge role in his success, but even that advantage hadn’t been enough on its own. Getting his product into the right hands had taken a serious amount set of effort, and even after that, trying to get Feiyu in his sect had nearly ruined his partnership with the Zhu Clan. It could’ve been worse—he could’ve ruined everything he tried to build in a heat of a second. But fortunately, he didn’t.

And all of it had been a lesson.

In business, there were always dangerous waters to tread. One misstep could cost everything, and balance was key—knowing when to push forward, when to step back, and most importantly, when not to step on a business partner’s toes.

Because businesses were fickle, partners even more so, and keeping everything in balance was a lesson worth its weight in gold. The alcohol deal had drilled that into him. As he reflected on it, the star above him twinkled, and suddenly, a surge of qi rushed toward him.

Unlike the first two stars, this one felt overwhelming—dense and heavy, pressing down on him like an invisible weight. He hadn't expected such a massive influx of qi, and as it flooded his dantian, his body screamed in protest.

Every muscle felt like it was being stretched and torn apart, but he gritted his teeth and bore through it. This was his moment—if he gave in now, he'd regret it forever.

He mentally screamed in agony, but didn’t let out a single whimper that tried to break past his lips. He knew he was strong enough to endure the change that was about to happen. He had to be.

The qi raged within him, swirling through his meridians, breaking past bottlenecks he hadn’t even realized existed. His entire being felt like it was being reforged, the pressure almost unbearable. But then, finally, the qi began to settle. It permeated every inch of his body, strengthening him in ways he couldn't yet fully grasp. And then—

Something shifted.

A powerful sensation flooded his muscles, the unmistakable feeling of multiple breakthroughs hitting him all at once. And in that instant, his star space began to crumble.

But just before everything collapsed, he saw it.

Golden eyes.

A massive dragon loomed above him, its gaze piercing straight through his soul. It had always eluded him before, appearing only in glimpses or sensations—but this time, he saw it clearly. He tried to speak, to call out, but before he could, the vision shattered—

And he was back in his room.

Chen Ren gasped for breath, his body drenched in sweat. He hadn’t realised when he had moved, but he was on his knees, his hands on the ground. His heart pounded against his ribs as he struggled to steady himself.

Unlike his previous breakthroughs, there were no visible changes to his body—no sudden transformations—because the qi refinement realm was all about internal strengthening, purifying his qi and preparing his foundation.

Curious, he raised his hand and summoned a strand of qi. It crackled to life in his palm, far denser and stronger than before.

Before he could fully process the change, a voice cut through the silence.

“It seems like you made a bit of a gain.”

Chen Ren snapped his head toward the window.

Yalan stood there, watching him with an amused look. The cat’s timing was always immaculate—or was it that she was always watching over him? He didn’t care at the moment, instead, he wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Fourth star," he muttered to himself rather than Yalan. "Made quite a big leap." He could still feel his heart throb in his ears at what had happened.

Yalan, oblivious to his inner thoughts change, purred, a sign of approval. "Good. So, what about the dragon?" she asked, her tone shifting to something a little more curious.

He looked at her, his expression turning serious for a moment. "Still hiding. But it’ll come out soon, I think."

"Hmm. Hopefully," Yalan said while licking her feet in a very cat-like manner. "Anyway, things are going well. What’s next for you?"

Chen Ren’s gaze shifted, his mind already buzzing with tasks.

"There's a lot to get done. Setting up the brewery is the first priority—gotta make sure the base ingredients are flowing properly. Then, I’ll check on Luo Feng and Zi Wen, test their powers, see where they’re at. After that, I’ll give Hong Yi something to work on, keep him occupied. Finally..." His eyes sparkled with anticipation. "I’ll start making guns. It’s time to see how they’ll work out in this world."

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

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84. Demonstration

Chen Ren looked over at the farm that scattered across him.

When he had gotten rid of the locust problem, the village farms had been in a miserable state—worn-out soil, trampled crops, and a thick air of defeat clinging to the land like a curse. He had assumed it would take seasons before anything would grow again. Yet now, as he gazed at the fields stretching beneath him, he could feel a difference in his bones; the current of the air changed.

The land no longer looked exhausted. The soil appeared richer, darker, as if it had drunk its fill of nourishment. Fresh sprouts pushed up through the earth, small yet resilient. Winter crops, the ones Luo Feng had planted weeks ago, had already begun to bud.

As he observed the quiet miracle of nature, Luo Feng stepped beside him. His eyes were bright, and a grin broke into his face. "Soon, they’ll grow big," he said with confidence. He exhaled, his breath visible in the crisp morning air. "I can already feel it. After that, I'll plant wheat, sorghum, and flax. And there—" He gestured to the left. "That’s where I’ll start your spirit herb growth plan, Sect Leader Chen."

Chen Ren turned to him and nodded. "And what of the spirit rice?"

Luo Feng’s smile broadened. "Already planning a paddy for it," he said. "But that’ll have to wait until I reach the qi refinement realm. Right now, I can feel qi flowing into me as my connection with the land strengthens. But according to Master Yalan, I won’t be able to truly infuse my qi into the soil until I step into that realm."

Chen Ren nodded again, taking in Luo Feng’s words.

It had been two weeks since his return to the sect. In that time, he had kept a close eye on Luo Feng, recognizing the potential hidden beneath the young farmer’s dedication. There was something different about him now—an awareness, a growing strength that came not just from effort, but from understanding.

And in cultivation, understanding was everything.

Chen Ren had introduced Luo Feng to Yalan, revealing her presence to him for the first time. She had once given a lecture on the Dao of Farming, and what she revealed that day had opened Chen Ren’s eyes—Luo Feng might just be the greatest hidden treasure of his sect.

According to Yalan, cultivators who walked the Dao of Farming had a rare and invaluable ability: they could infuse their land with qi, slowly transforming ordinary soil into a place rich with spiritual energy, much like the ancestral grounds of great sects. Moreover, they could enhance the growth of crops, making them far superior in both quality and potency.

That single revelation had changed everything for Chen Ren.

First, his sect had not been established on a natural qi vein—it was merely a patch of land with decent terrain, chosen more for its location than its spiritual properties. But with Luo Feng’s talent, they could slowly create an artificial qi-rich environment.

Second, and perhaps just as crucial, Luo Feng would be able to cultivate a generous supply of spiritual ingredients. That meant alchemical materials for Chen Ren’s pill-making, but also rare herbs and grains that could enhance the food he sold. If everything went well, his stalls and in the future, restaurants wouldn’t just serve good food—it would serve food infused with true spiritual energy, capable of strengthening even mortal bodies.

Of course, all of this would take time.

The process was similar to photosynthesis—spiritual plants absorbed ambient qi, but some special varieties also released more qi than they consumed. Yalan had explained that by carefully cultivating such plants, Luo Feng could gradually shift the land into a place that nurtured qi instead of merely depleting it. It would be at least a year or two before they saw any real results, but even that timeframe was enough to make Chen Ren excited.

Still, there were problems.

He turned toward Luo Feng with a slight frown. "Sorry," he said, exhaling. "Getting the earth aspected cultivation manual for you is taking longer than I expected. Without it, you can't progress in your realms."

Luo Feng shook his head, the corner of his lips lifting in an easygoing smile. "It’s fine, Sect Leader. I’m already learning plenty just by working with the land. But once I get it… I’ll make sure this place becomes something even the guardian sects will envy. Right now, I'm just happy being able to farm like this."

Chen Ren chuckled, but deep down, he knew Luo Feng wasn’t just talking big. Given enough time, this man might just make that dream a reality coupled with everything he himself had been doing for the sect.

He rubbed his chin. "I understand, but the sooner you get the manual, the faster you'll be able to grow. Right now, we don’t even have an earth aspected technique for you. And while finding a spiritual farming technique might be difficult, at the very least, I want to get you some earth-aspected martial techniques. It's always good to know a few."

He had already spoken to Qing He about it, but even she didn’t have much for Luo Feng. There were books on earth-aspected cultivators, detailing their abilities and theories, but no actual cultivation manuals. And that was the real problem—technique manuals weren’t things that could simply be found in bookstores. They were treasures hoarded by clans and sects, rarely making their way to the open market.

It was a frustrating situation, despite Luo Feng’s reassurances.

Chen Ren had a few ideas on how to get his hands on one, but it would take a significant amount of money—possibly draining most of the low-grade spirit stones he had.

As he thought over his options, he suddenly felt movement to his left. His senses sharpened, instincts kicking in—only to relax a moment later when he recognized the massive figure approaching.

A large wolf padded toward them, its fur dark as the evening shadows, and its teal eyes locked ahead. On its back, sprawled in a completely unbothered manner, was Zi Wen. Rather than sitting properly, the man had made himself comfortable, stretching his large limbs out lazily across Little Yuze’s body as though he had just woken from a nap.

As the wolf came to a stop, Zi Wen cracked one eye open and glanced at Chen Ren before smoothly rolling off. He landed lightly on his feet and gave a small bow in greeting.

Chen Ren nodded at it. "Were you in the forest all day again?"

Zi Wen grinned, brushing dirt off his sleeves. "Of course. And just now, I reached the third star of the body forging realm."

Chen Ren raised a brow. "Oh?"

Zi Wen stretched, rolling his shoulders. "Training with Little Yuze these past few weeks made me realize I was walking the wrong path all along. If I hadn’t corrected my methods, I’d have been stuck at the first star for who knows how long."

Like Luo Feng, Zi Wen had changed a lot. And it wasn’t just his cultivation—his entire… mood had shifted. He remembered how the man had been when they first met. Hollow-eyed, drowning in self-doubt and looking like he had given up on the world—but now, he looked far more energetic.

He stood straighter, his eyes had regained their sharpness, and for the first time since joining the sect, he had even spoken about regaining his ambition.

Watching him, Chen Ren couldn’t help but reflect on how important it was to have a path in life. When someone found a road they could walk—one where their efforts bore fruit—life seemed just a little bit better. A little bit brighter.

He nodded at Zi Wen and turned his gaze to the wolf standing beside him. "Little Yuze looks even bigger now."

The massive beast who seemed to be growing every week, now sat with his tongue lolling out, looking more like an oversized dog than a scary spirit beast.

Zi Wen chuckled. "He has, a bit. With my connection, I believe he’s going to keep growing with me. Right now, he’s at Tier 1, but in the future, I’m pretty sure he’ll be able to reach the higher tiers once I do."

Chen Ren nodded in approval. "And how’s the task I gave you going?"

At that, Zi Wen straightened slightly and sighed. "Harder than I expected." He tugged the ends of his hair in the back. "Like you told me, I’m trying to form bonds with more beasts, but it’s been tough. Little Yuze might’ve been special… or maybe it was just easier because he was a pup.

"I tried bonding with a nest of uyah hawks and even found a ione ironhide boar, but no luck. The boar got aggressive, so I had to put it down—but at least Little Yuze had a good meal."

"And Whiskey?"

Zi Wen let out a short laugh. "Oh, he acts friendly enough, but he’s got no interest in forming a bond with me."

Chen Ren shrugged. "Well, Yalan did say lunaris are solitary creatures. Maybe that’s why." Then, shaking his head, he added, "That little beast is more interested in alcohol than anything else anyway."

Zi Wen huffed. "You’re not wrong. I swear, the only time he looks truly happy is when he gets his paws on a jar of moonshine. I'll still try. Defending the sect with tamed beasts is an interesting idea, and I'd love to help out."

“That’d be great." Then, narrowing his eyes slightly, he asked, "You came here just to report your gains?"

Zi Wen suddenly froze, his expression shifting. "No… I had more to talk about. I almost forgot." He sucked in a breath before hurriedly continuing, "Feiyu’s looking for you. Apparently, Elder Qing He and he managed to make a breakthrough with that artifact you called a ‘gun.’ They were trying to find you to give you a demonstration."

Chen Ren’s face changed completely. "You should have told me that first!"

Without waiting for another word, he surged lightning through his legs, and in the next instant, he was gone. The ground beneath him crackled as he blurred past the farmlands, buildings, and villagers, moving at record speed toward the heart of the village.

His destination: the third building he had claimed—one that he had converted into a forge and alchemical workshop.

As soon as he stepped inside, a pungent, acrid scent hit him, a mix of burnt metal, sulfur, and something distinctly chemical. He barely noticed it as he strode deeper inside, reaching the hallway that had essentially become a makeshift testing room.

Qing He and Feiyu were both there, deep in discussion, their voices animated. The room, however, was an absolute mess. Failed prototypes of guns and bullet casings were scattered everywhere, some neatly stacked, others tossed aside haphazardly. On the far side of the room, protective containers housed failed samples of the gunpowder—or rather, "explosive powder," as Qing He was now calling it.

Thanks to all the experimentation, there had been more than a dozen explosions in just the past week. Thankfully, they had been testing things out in the open, behind the building—otherwise, the entire workshop might have gone up in flames by now.

Chen Ren took in the chaotic scene, his pulse quickening in anticipation. "Alright," he said, stepping forward. "Show me what you've got."

As he strode toward them, both Qing He and Feiyu turned to look at him. Qing He was the first to speak, clicking her tongue. "You're late, kid. My old bones don’t like waiting."

Chen Ren scoffed. "I came as soon as I was informed. And you’re not an old lady—you can run faster than me."

Qing He snorted but said nothing, only crossing her arms as Feiyu shifted the gun in his hands. Chen Ren's eyes twinkled as he caught sight of it, curiosity overtaking him.

"I heard you wanted to give me a demonstration," he said.

Feiyu nodded. "I’ve been making good progress, and I believe this gun will work well now."

As he spoke, he handed the rifle over. Chen Ren took it, feeling the weight—heavier than expected, long and bulky, but close to what he’d imagined.

It looked like an early rifled musket: long barrel, wooden stock, and reinforced frame. The rifling inside was clear—Feiyu had pulled it off. What stood out most were the runes. Qing He had carved them into the barrel and lock, boosting durability, keeping it clean, and steadying the aim.

The bullets on the table had their own carvings—some meant to pierce, some to explode. Chen Ren felt a chill. Firearms alone were deadly. But with magic? They were something else.

After thoroughly inspecting, he turned back to Feiyu and Qing He. "You sure this won’t blow up in my hand like last time?"

Feiyu, looking slightly offended, straightened. "No. We’ve made sure the inscriptions will protect the one firing the bullet."

Qing He smirked. "We’ll know for sure when we take it outside for a demonstration. And even if it explodes, it’s not like you’d die."

"I’d still get injured."

Qing He waved a hand dismissively. "I’ll protect you. Just like last time."

Chen Ren glanced at her, remembering the last time a gun had exploded in his hands. It was four days back and his memory was vivid—the moment he pulled the trigger something had gone wrong, and the entire thing ruptured in a blast of flames and shrapnel. Qing He’s ridiculous speed, possibly a movement technique, pulled him back just in time and if not, he’d have lost more than some burnt fabric. Even the thought sent a shudder through his body.

Shaking off the thought, he exhaled and said, "Let’s go outside then. I can’t wait."

Moving carefully through the mess of blueprints, shattered metal parts, and leftover powder stains, the trio moved toward the backdoor. As they stepped out, they entered a small training area—a cleared-out space with training dummies positioned at different distances.

Chen Ren had bigger plans for this spot. Eventually, it would become a designated gun training area, but for now, it was just a place for testing prototypes and making sure nobody lost their limbs in the process.

Qing He crossed her arms, smirking. "So, what are you waiting for?"

Chen Ren stretched his neck and moved his wrists in circles. "I’m starting."

Walking forward, he stopped at a red line drawn into the dirt, marking the shooting position. He took a deep breath, gripping the rifle firmly as he raised it toward the central dummy and froze.

It wasn’t hesitation due to inexperience—he had fired firearms before, on Earth, during hunting trips and even during earlier experiments. No, this was different. This wasn’t just a normal firearm; it was something altered, enhanced and made deadlier.

Qing He had been refining the explosive powder relentlessly, pushing its limits with the knowledge he had provided her from Earth, as well as what she had gleaned from ancient alchemical texts. He had no doubt that the weapon would work. The real question was: would it work too well?

With one last deep breath, he steadied his stance, aligning his shot. He trusted Qing He. He trusted Feiyu.

Click.

The trigger squeezed.

And in an instant, the rifle roared to life. A violent explosion of force surged through his arm as the bullet tore through the air. The force almost pushed him back, but he gritted his teeth and stood firm. The bullet shot through the air like a streak of light, slicing through the wind with a sharp whistle.

Then—boom!

The impact struck dead center on the dummy, sending a deep, resounding sound through the courtyard. Dust and splinters exploded outward from the sheer force of the shot, and for a moment, it was silent.

Chen Ren tensed, waiting for something to go wrong—the bullet to shatter uselessly, the gun to explode in his grip, or even some unexpected backlash from the inscriptions. But nothing happened. No fiery explosions, no misfires. The weapon had worked.

His eyes flicked to the dummy, the bullet lodged cleanly in its center. Then, a grin split his face.

He turned to Qing He and Feiyu, excitement bubbling in his chest. "We did it." His voice came out breathless, then stronger. "The demonstration is successful!"

Feiyu let out an exhilarated laugh. "It actually worked! No misfire, no explosion—nothing! Whoa!"

Qing He smirked, crossing her arms. "Hah, of course it worked. What, you think I’d let you lose a limb over this?"

Chen Ren huffed a laugh, still staring at the gun in his hand. It worked.

85. Li Xuan's quest

The prototype gun model firing a bullet was a big win, even if it didn’t seem like much. For Chen Ren, however, it was just the start. He knew there were countless improvements to make, both in the design of the gun and the powder itself. He shot the bullets a few more times, and while the weapon didn’t explode in his hands, it did jam after a while. It seemed the residual from the explosive powder was blocking the mechanism.

After a thorough discussion with Qing He and Feiyu, they determined the issue stemmed from the powder not burning as efficiently as it should. The gun’s design needed refinement to prevent the powder from sticking and clogging the system. What followed was hours of debate and idea-sharing as they brainstormed solutions and ways to enhance the current model.

Chen Ren contributed his knowledge of modern firearms, outlining key design details, while leaving the more technical aspects to the experts. The primary goal was to make the gun lighter and prevent future jamming, but the discussion quickly expanded to other concerns. One of the most pressing issues was the smoke that billowed from the barrel every time the gun fired. Chen Ren knew that older weapons produced this issue, but modern weapons had long since transitioned to smokeless powder. He wanted that same advancement, not just for efficiency, but because the smoke would give away the shooter’s position.

Another issue was the noise. In a real fight, being able to conceal your location was crucial, and the gun’s current sound was anything but discreet.

Qing He seemed to understand, and with that understanding came the reality: more experiments. Unfortunately, An Idiot Cultivator’s Guide to Blowing Himself Up – Volume 1 had nothing to offer on creating a smokeless powder formula. It was a task that would require her own ingenuity. Even she admitted it would be a tough challenge, and Chen Ren could only hope she’d manage to make some progress.

After wrapping up his discussion with both Feiyu and Qing He on the guns, Chen Ren headed back to his bedroom to focus on a task that had occupied his thoughts for the past few weeks.

As soon as he stepped into the room, he saw Yalan already lounging on his bed. For some reason, the cat had taken a liking to that spot. Closing the door behind him, Chen Ren barely had a chance to settle in when she asked, “How did it go?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You already know I was trying out the gun?”

Yalan lazily drew biscuits in his bed. “I heard the noise. I believe a lot of mortals know you’re up to something with Qing He and Feiyu, thanks to all the explosions and noise.”

Chen Ren nodded. “Yeah, it was successful. We’re closer to a working prototype. I think once we have the basic models ready, we can start training the mortals.”

“I’m interested to know how the guns perform against beasts.”

He sat on the chair and leaned back. “We’ll test it all out soon enough.” He paused for a moment, then pulled something from his robe. "Anyways, right now, I need to see if I can decipher this." He set the medallion on the table in front of him, his gaze fixed on it.

Since receiving it back from Feng Ming, and especially after the tournament, Chen Ren had found himself increasingly drawn to the heirloom. He knew Gu Tian wanted it, and that only fueled his curiosity. He had a feeling that this medallion held secrets he was yet to uncover.

He couldn't quite pinpoint why he was so interested in the medallion, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was tied to something bigger. He had heard the spectre mention something about a "Gate of Immortals," and it was easy to say that the medallion had a connection with this place or item. But how? What was this Gate of Immortals?

He had yet to find out. If the gate was truly important, then others might be coming after him, too. That made this even more critical to understand. But when he asked Yalan about the gate, even she had no answers. Qing He hadn’t been much help either, until, by chance, she mentioned Ancient Immortal script.

The mention of the script triggered something in Chen Ren’s mind. It reminded him of the strange characters at the back of the medallion, the ones that had haunted his thoughts ever since he had gotten it back. Curious, he had asked Qing He for a book on the script, hoping to decipher the ancient words.

But despite all his efforts, he hadn’t made any real progress. The script was elusive—too intricate, too foreign.

Still, giving up wasn’t an option.

He sat in his chair, poring over the ancient texts, comparing them to the letters on the back of the medallion. Every time he would feel like he had made some progress and a letter felt similar to the one in the medallion, he would realise that it was a bit different, making him start from the beginning again.

The hours slipped by unnoticed, with only Yalan’s occasional stretch on the bed to remind him of the passage of time.

He muttered to himself, frustration creeping in, “This script has thousands of letters, and although they seem identical to the ones on the medallion, I can’t find the exact meaning.”

Yalan stretched again and yawned before replying lazily, “I did tell you that the words on the medallion could just be written in a different dialect, or someone might have intentionally altered them, creating a secret code that only those they trust can understand. Higher realm cultivators often do that.”

Chen Ren looked at Yalan. “I understand that, but if the script is really a secret code, then it might make it impossible for me to decipher what's written here. And if it’s truly the Ancient Immortal script, then this medallion could be the oldest thing in the world." He paused, looking at the medallion more closely. "I originally thought it was made of some kind of copper, but now I think I could be wrong.”

Yalan, intrigued by his words, squinted her eyes, as if zooming in to see the medallion. “Yeah, that’s true. But we won’t be able to find out what material it is, nor will we be able to experiment to see how sturdy it is.”

Chen Ren nodded. The medallion was too precious and important for him to risk breaking it just to see its durability and the material it was made from. In a way, breaking it would free him from the responsibility of owning it, but if the people after it were demonic cultivators, then it could be the key to something valuable. And there was always the chance of them trying to kill him for the medallion.

But there were also questions that arose. Why had Gu Tian come after the medallion just now? The medallion had been in the Chen Clan for generations. So why now? Maybe he was missing something, maybe there was more context that he was not seeing, and those were always a thing.

Maybe he should contact the Chen Clan and ask them about it. But again, he didn’t have any connections with them. Even in his memories, Chen Ren hadn’t been close to anyone in the clan. Especially after his parents had died.

The thought of reaching out to the Chen Clan felt like a daunting task, and Chen Ren couldn't shake the sense of unease that clung to the idea. Despite everything, he knew that getting more information about the medallion could be the key to understanding what Gu Tian—and others—were truly after. And perhaps, in the process, he would learn more about himself than he cared to.

His mind briefly wandered back to the past of Chen Ren. He had been the typical young master—a figure who had once been expected to live up to the prestige of his lineage, but who had never been treated with the reverence such a role usually commanded. It wasn’t simply because of his behavior, though he had been rebellious and distant. There were deeper issues at play within the Chen Clan, things that festered beneath the surface, things even his memories struggled to clarify.

As he closed his eyes, a wave of thoughts and half-formed memories began to flood his mind, but before he could focus on them further, a knock on the door startled him out of his reverie.

He stood and walked over to the door, opening it to reveal one of the mortal members of the sect, a young man named Huang Hai.

“Sect Leader Chen,” he greeted with a deep bow. “There’s someone from the Tang Clan here to see you. They said it’s urgent.”

The mention of the Tang Clan instantly piqued Chen Ren’s interest.

“Urgent?” Chen Ren repeated, his brow furrowing. “Let’s go,” he said.

***

Li Xuan walked down the mountain path. It was rugged. The sword strapped to his side made him remember the journey he was on. His eyes were filled with a fierce determination as he scanned the distance. So very often, he found himself looking back at the path he had already travelled. The soot that fell on his face from the distant smoke only seemed to deepen his pensive mood. Was there truly a point to this journey? Was it the right path?

For a moment, he considered the comfort of staying in the sect. He could have continued his training there, surrounded by familiar faces and challenges. But then he shook his head, dispelling the thought. Staying in the sect had grown unbearable.

After his humiliating defeat at the Cloud Mist City tournament, the relentless challenges from both outer and inner sect disciples had only escalated. Every day, he found himself sparring for hours, sometimes with multiple opponents at once. They saw him as an easy target, thinking his defeat to the rogue demonic cultivator had weakened him. But he had crushed each one of them, one by one, his frustration simmering beneath the surface as he wiped the floor with their arrogance.

But it wasn’t the constant sparring that had pushed him to this breaking point. It was his master. After the loss to the demonic cultivator, his master had been… tireless. The man’s pride had been wounded, and in an effort to punish Li Xuan for his perceived failure, he had relegated him to menial tasks. Sweeping the sect’s steps, cleaning his master’s old clothes—tasks meant for the outer sect disciples. These were things Li Xuan had never imagined he would be subjected to. The tasks had been demeaning, and as the days dragged on, they only served to humiliate him further.

The real blow had come when his master had begun giving him personal sparring lessons, not to help him grow stronger, but as a punishment. Each session felt more like an exercise in breaking his spirit than in refining his skills.

Li Xuan clenched his fists, the memory of those painful lessons searing his thoughts. In the end, he had been unable to take it any longer. He had requested this journey, the one so many cultivators embarked upon to clear their minds, learn new things, and progress in their cultivation. He had hoped that this would be the escape he needed to regain his focus and find more success in his path.

But now, as he walked alone down the mountain, the weight of the sword seemed to grow heavier with each step, and the doubts crept in. Was this really the right choice? Would he find the answers he sought out here? Or had he simply run away from the one place where he might have truly grown? But these questions will be answered soon, he knew it.

Days had bled into one another since he left the city. The hours spent in cultivation felt like a blur—wild beasts slain, rogue cultivators dispatched, yet none of them had truly tested him. Their strength paled in comparison to his, their movements too predictable, too weak.

A small, nagging thought kept tugging at him: What if he wasn’t ready? What if his past defeat still lingered in his blood, in his mind? Should he call for a spar with Chen Ren again? The idea of facing Chen Ren again, of tasting another loss, sent a cold shiver down his spine. No, he wasn’t ready. Not yet. He needed more time. More strength.

So, he walked. The winding mountain road leading up to Ashen City became his path, his sanctuary from the noise in his mind. The few carriages that passed by were nothing more than fleeting distractions. The heat from the volcanoes made the air thick, oppressive, but Li Xuan breathed it in, as if trying to fill himself with something more than doubt.

His lips moved quietly, reciting lines from [Heavenly Soaring Manual], the familiar rhythm offering some semblance of peace. His thoughts drifted to his techniques—how to refine them, how to make them flawless. Each step was a thought in motion, each breath a subtle reminder that he wasn’t where he needed to be yet, but he was getting closer. At least, he hoped so.Then, a sound—sharp, thunderous—split the air, snapping him out of his thoughts. ROOOOOOAAR!

His feet slowed, his heart pounding in his chest. The cliff ahead loomed high, jagged rocks forming a natural barrier, and from behind it came the unmistakable sounds of struggle. The clash of weapons, the roar of the beast, and human shouts blended together into a cacophony of desperation.

He moved quickly, his boots crunching over gravel and debris, sliding between boulders and weaving through the sparse trees that dotted the rocky terrain. The scent of burning herbs and sweat mixed in the air as he crouched behind a large rock to take in the scene before him.

A massive creature that looked over seven feet hovered below the cliff. He was covered in rough, scaled armor. And the texture—similar to a serpent but far thicker and more… menacing. The long tail seemed to be its weapon as it whipped through the air, knocking one of the cultivators aside, sending him to the ground with a loud force. Its mouth opened in a horrific snarl, revealing rows and rows of bloodied teeth. It hissed at the group of cultivators trapped against the cliff face.

The men were skilled, he could tell by the way they moved, using techniques that seemed honed by years of practice. But even their combined efforts weren’t enough. The beast’s movements were swift, and its attacks relentless. It wanted blood. Each strike of its claws sent shockwaves through the air, rattling the cultivators’ stances, their swords barely able to penetrate its tough scales.

From their clothes, Li Xuan could tell they were not normal cultivators. Their robes were fine, decorated with patterns that marked them as affluent individuals from prestigious clans. They should have been able to handle such a beast, yet here they were, struggling for survival. It almost made him laugh, but he refused to, understanding the sheer magnitude of the situation they were in.

These men weren’t prepared for a fight this dangerous, nor for the overwhelming power of the creature before them. The mountain path was their only escape, but climbing the cliff in their condition seemed impossible.

Li Xuan’s mind raced. The beast was clearly Tier 2, far beyond their abilities, and if they couldn’t subdue it, they’d be doomed. The thought of turning back and leaving them to their fate flickered in his mind, but something inside him stirred. He couldn’t just walk away—not when they needed help, not when there was something he could do.

It was in these moments that the true nature of a cultivator was revealed, wasn’t it? The righteous path was not just about personal growth or victory in battles—it was about using one’s power to protect others, to stand against the darkness when others couldn’t. The thought of what his master would say to him if he walked away from this only hardened his resolve.

Without a second thought, he unleashed his sword and gripped it. His breath steady, he took a step forward and jumped down, revealing himself from behind the rock. The cultivators seemed momentarily startled by his sudden appearance.

The beast’s reptilian eyes locked onto him, a low growl rumbling from deep within its chest as it shifted its stance, clearly sensing a new threat. Li Xuan stood tall, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword.

He took a deep breath, his mind clearing as he called upon his cultivation, feeling the surge of energy within him.

He was already in motion as he leapt into the air, his body a blur of motion. He charged toward it with a ferocity that shook the very ground beneath his feet. The beast’s elongated body rippled with muscles as it crouched low, preparing to strike with its sharp claws, its massive tail whipping through the air like a deadly whip.

He didn’t have time to think.

Not when its eyes locked onto his. A low growl came from its throat, echoing against the cliffside. The claws— they were much scarier to upfront; long as swords, capable of rendering through steel with a single swipe.

Without hesitation, his sword cut through the air, the blade shimmering with a surge of lightning as he moved to meet the beast’s charge. It met the beast’s stomach, a burst of electric light erupted, sending jolts of lightning coursing through its body. The beast recoiled with a shriek, its sharp claws tearing through the air in an attempt to strike Li Xuan down. He rolled on the ground, missing one of its sharp claws by an inch.

Shit!

The cultivators behind him gasped in awe, witnessing the display of power, but Li Xuan wasn’t interested in their reactions. His focus was entirely on the battle. "Stay back!" he ordered coldly. He didn’t have time to explain, and he didn’t want them interfering.

“ROOOOAAARRR!”

His escape angered it as it swiped at him with claws again, and again. Li Xuan was already in motion. He moved around its attacks, and felt the power of his recent training coursing through his veins. Now at the third star of qi refinement realm, his confidence had been sharpened with the knowledge that he was more than a match for this creature.

Yet, he tried to avoid attacks until he found a good, weak spot to retaliate.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw its tail lash out suddenly, aiming to crush him, but he was quicker. He jumped over the swinging tail, his sword flashing with lightning as he sent a rush of electricity coursing through the air, trapping the beast in place for just a moment. It let out a growl of frustration, its body twitching, momentarily stunned by the electric trap.

Seizing the opportunity, Li Xuan closed the distance in a flash, his sword slashing downward. The blade struck the beast’s underbelly with precision, cutting through its tough scales as easily as slicing through cloth. The creature’s cry of agony filled the air, but it was too late. Before it could react, Li Xuan twisted the blade, driving it deep into the beast’s vulnerable underside.

The beast convulsed once, then collapsed, its body spasming as its life force drained away.

Blood oozed out of its body as it let out one final roar that sounded like a moan of pain before its body went limp. Li Xuan stood over the fallen creature, panting lightly as he withdrew his sword from its body, the blade still crackling with residual lightning.

Finally, Li Xuan huffed loudly and looked behind.

The cultivators stood stunned, staring at him in awe. They had watched a creature they had thought unbeatable be taken down in a matter of moments. Li Xuan’s gaze swept over them.

One of the cultivators, a tall man with sharp features and a well-maintained robe, stepped forward cautiously, bowing deeply. "Honoured Cultivator, thank you for saving mine and my friends' lives," he said respectfully. "I, Zhu Renjie, am deeply grateful for your assistance and would like to know your name."

Li Xuan gave a small nod, sheathing his sword as the crackling of lightning in the air died down. “Li Xuan,” he replied simply, the name flowing easily from his lips. He then raised an eyebrow, curiosity piquing. “But tell me, how did you come across such a beast? None of you seem to be in the qi refinement realm.”

Zhu Renjie hesitated for a moment, then looked toward his companions, before turning back to Li Xuan. "We were hunting a few young backbreakers like the one you just fought near their nest," he began, his voice tinged with regret. "We didn’t realize the full-grown one was nearby, and it attacked us, chasing us all the way here. We were fortunate you came when you did. Had you not intervened, I fear we would not have made it."

Li Xuan nodded, his face impassive. "You were lucky," he said flatly. "Next time, try to think things through before challenging a nest. It might save your lives."

Zhu Renjie bowed again, looking both humbled and impressed. "We will remember that, Daoist Li Xuan," he promised. Then, as if considering something, he added, "For your help, I would be honoured to host you at my Zhu Clan in Ashen City. You can partake in a feast there and we even have a batch of moonshine from the Divine Coin Sect. Every cultivator in the city loves it. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it."

Li Xuan’s expression shifted at the mention of the Divine Coin Sect, his eyes narrowing slightly. He had heard of them before, in passing. But he wasn't able to put where he had heard it until the face of the man who had defeated the opponent he hadn't been able to pop in his head. Hasn't his master mentioned that Chen Ren had rejected the Soaring Sword Sect to create his own sect? And the name of that sect was also similar.

Slowly, the connection became clear. Without hesitation, he fixed Zhu Renjie with a sharp gaze.

“Wait,” Li Xuan said, his voice steady but with an edge of interest. "Is this moonshine from the Divine Coin Sect connected to a cultivator named Chen Ren?"

Zhu Renjie’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Yes, it is," he confirmed, his brow furrowing slightly as he processed the question. "Do you know him?"

Li Xuan’s pulse quickened at the mention of Chen Ren’s name. His gaze hardened, and he took a step closer to Zhu Renjie, his voice low but firm.

“I do," Li Xuan replied, the weight of his words settling between them. "Tell me everything you know about him."

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

PS - Will be looking into the gun advice in the last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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86. Union

Chen Ren moved through the corridors of the building with steady steps and entered the one in the middle.

Inside, a man from the Tang Clan was already waiting for him. As he stepped inside the room, the man, who’d been leisurely sipping tea, raised his head to look at him. Almost immediately, he set the cup down and bowed.

“You are Young Master Chen Ren?” he asked, his voice surprisingly stern despite him looking like a young man around his age.

He nodded. “Yes. And you are?”

The man straightened and presented a small crest bearing the insignia of the Tang Clan. “I’m Tang Boming.”

Chen Ren took the crest, examining it to make sure it wasn't fake while keeping his eye out on the man. There was something about him that stood out from the ordinary subordinates he had dealt with till now. His eyes held a certain feeling of authority.

After spending so much time in this world, Chen Ren had learned to distinguish between an ordinary person and a cultivator. Tang Boming was undoubtedly the latter. His conjecture wasn't just based on his atmosphere, but also the fact that the man had come here alone. Normally, mortals would always travel in groups along the road due to the threat of beasts.

Though he had never seen the man before, he wasn’t surprised. Tang Yuqiu has been gathering capable people over the past few months. This one must be one of them and by the way he shared her surname, he might just be a distant relative of sorts.

Chen Ren moved to the seat across from him after making sure the crest was real, settling in. “I wasn’t expecting anyone so soon.”

Tang Boming poured another cup of tea but didn’t take a sip this time. “Miss Yuqiu sent me at the first sign of trouble since things played out exactly as you predicted.”

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow. “So the carriages were attacked?”

Tang Boming handed him a parchment. “Everything you need is in there.”

Chen Ren took the paper.

Before leaving Cloud Mist City, he had spoken to Tang Yuqiu about the possible obstacles they would face in Jingxi City. Both of them had known that the local powers would not welcome them with open arms and it was for them to guess how they would attack.

According to Yuqiu, they had already attracted a considerable amount of attention. However, Jingxi City was an open market—laws prevented any direct suppression of new businesses. The city thrived on trade, even encouraging fresh merchants to set up shop. But that didn’t mean the established factions would sit idly by.

Only a handful of clans and trade associations truly controlled the city’s commerce. And when something—or someone—threatened their position, they wouldn’t hesitate to act.

He unfolded the parchment, his eyes scanning the contents. As he read, a wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips. One of the scenarios he had predicted had played out exactly as expected.

While their new building was under construction in Jingxi City, Tang Yuqiu had arranged for materials and perfume bottles to be transported from Cloud Mist City. But, as anticipated, the carriages never made it to their destination intact. Bandits had attacked the convoy, destroying everything in their path and making off with whatever remained.

The drivers had barely escaped with their lives, but the carriages were left in ruins.

Chen Ren exhaled sharply and shook his head. "They’re using really really using cliché tactics."

He looked up from the parchment, meeting Tang Boming’s gaze. "So, I’m assuming the only real loss we took was the perfume containers and the carriages?"

Tang Boming nodded. "Just as you instructed, the carriages we used were old and worn, and were only carrying water in those bottles. The bandits smashed them to pieces. Aside from that, they destroyed some fabric—cheap enough that it won’t make a dent in our budget—and took a few common herbs."

Chen Ren sighed. "We were lucky we ran this trial first to see how they’d react."

Tang Boming inclined his head. "Indeed."

"But this just confirms our concerns. The so-called 'bandits' are clearly working for one of the local clans, and they’re bound to come after us again. The real issue is, we still have a significant shipment to transport for our grand opening in a month."

Tang Boming set his cup down. "I will personally escort the carriages along with a few other body forging realm cultivators."

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes slightly, having not expected the man to reveal his identity so easily. "There's a whole group of them Tang Yuqiu hired?"

The man nodded. "Yes. We were originally a mercenary team. The young miss gave us a good offer, and we agreed to serve for the next three years. I lead them and I have some relationship with the Tang Clan, so it was an easy decision."

"A few body forging realm cultivators would certainly be helpful, but are you sure that’s enough? From what we know, they might send cultivators after us. Plenty of rogue cultivators would be happy to take the job and disappear afterward. Our real goal is protecting the materials, and that’ll be difficult since they won’t just steal them—they’ll try to destroy them."

Tang Boming frowned. "That is a concern. We could try to fortify the carriages, but I doubt that will do much against cultivators."

"It won’t," Chen Ren said simply.

Silence stretched between them as he leaned back, deep in thought. Though this was just about safely transporting materials on the surface, he knew it ran deeper than that. There were layers of complications that could spiral out of control. He needed a foolproof plan.

First, he needed to understand exactly who they were up against.

Chen Ren turned his gaze. "Let’s start with the basics. Who, exactly, are the clans and trade associations opposing us in Jingxi City? I heard a bit from Yuqiu, but do you have any more information on them?"

The latter nodded. "I do. We are trying to gather intel and we have found that rather than a collection of separate clans and associations, it’s more like a union."

Chen Ren’s brow furrowed. "A union?"

"Every major clan and trade association with influence is involved," he explained. "They compete with each other in business, but when it comes to outside threats, they work together. That’s why new businesses rarely succeed there unless they align with the right people.”

Chen Ren exhaled sharply. "And out of all of them, who are our biggest problems?"

"The Xueying Clan, the Jinshi Trade Guild, and Lotus Mist Fragrances," Tang Boming answered without hesitation. “All of them either have perfume businesses or clothing shops aimed at women. They’re definitely the most purchased in the city. At the same time, they’re the most shaken by our foray into the city. Miss Yuqiu believes that out of all of them, Xueying Clan are the most likely to send bandits since they have a mercenary business on the side. It’s easy to put two and two together; it’s not that hard for some mercenaries to act as bandits.”

Chen Ren nodded, taking in the information about their competition. Previously, he’d faced a nuisance named Bai Hu Trade Association, and then there was the bun shop owner’s petty schemes that had been nothing more than a flickering candle in the wind.

But this—this was different. Three opponents. A united front. And the merchant union lurking in the shadows, ready to tip the scales against him with a mere nod.

A slow breath escaped his lips. Difficult? Yes. Unexpected? Hardly. Any growing business was bound to stir the hornet’s nest.

Rather than diving headfirst into chaos, he broke the problem down. One step at a time.

His thoughts turned to transportation. Too many unknowns. The roads would be their battlefield—ambushes, sabotage, hidden fees, and sudden "inspections." His rivals would exploit every trick in the book. But so could he.

The corner of his lips lifted up as he looked at Boming. A plan was already forming in his mind.

“I believe,” he said, “I have a way to deal with this.”

***

A group of people sat in a wide room, the chairs arranged at equal distances, creating an atmosphere of order and restraint. Servants moved between them, their footsteps light and practiced as they poured steaming tea into fine porcelain cups. The rich scent of brewed leaves filled the air, yet most of the attendees barely acknowledged it. Their attention was drawn instead to the two figures seated at the far edge of the room—locked in yet another bickering match.

"Yexuan, you really showed your fangs this time," The woman snapped, her eyes throwing daggers at him—so sharp and intense that any outsider would have flinched. "Poaching my spirit rice supply from White Bear Sect? And now, you're even sitting there with that smug little smile on your face?"

The man across from her, Yexuan of the Jinshi Trade Association, merely sneered, his fingers drawing patterns against the lacquered armrest of his chair. "It's an open market, Wenqing. You can't do anything about it. They simply thought your offer was cheap—just like you." His smirk widened. "Would you like to file a complaint to the head? I’m sure he’d scoff just like I am now."

Wenqing, the owner of a well-known chain of high-end restaurants, let out a laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Oh no, I’m not like you, scumbag, sending lavish gifts to the head just to curry favor. Must be nice, having your hands in so many pockets. I could never!"

"Those sound like the words of someone who wishes they had the White Bear Sect’s rice supply. Wouldn’t you all agree?" Yexuan glanced around, an amused smile playing on his lips.

The tension between them crackled, their rivalry long known among the union members. While the Jinshi Trade Association boasted a vast reach across multiple industries—including the perfume business—Wenqing had built her empire on her own. Without a powerful backer, she fought tooth and nail for every resource, and she wasn’t about to let Yexuan walk over her without a fight.

The rest of the room merely sipped their tea in amusement. Their bickering was nothing new, and until the meeting officially began, there was no harm in enjoying the entertainment.

Then, the doors to the chamber swung open.

A hush fell over the room as an old man strode in, flanked by two guards. His presence commanded immediate respect, and without hesitation, everyone rose to their feet in acknowledgment of custom.

The old man gave a single nod before lowering himself into his chair at the head of the room. He spoke. "I, Xueying Shenmu of the Xueying Clan, call this meeting to order."

And just like that, all distractions were set aside.

As the last of the servants filtered out of the room, the heavy wooden door creaked shut behind them, leaving only the select few in attendance. Even the guards, who usually stood watch outside, were dismissed for this meeting. The lanterns cast shadows across the table where the heads of the various businesses in Jingxi city gathered. The old man, a sharp-eyed figure with a long, silvery-streaked beard, was the first to break the silence.

"Let's go over today's agenda. I trust everyone knows why we’re here," he said, his gaze sweeping across the room.

Wenqing snorted loudly, earning a few confused glances from her left. “Do we really need a meeting for a new clan trying to enter Jingxi city? Happens all the time, doesn’t it?” She asked, stroking her slender chin.

Yexuan, the burly merchant cut through with a scowl on his face. "This one's different," he said, his thick fingers steepling before him. "They’ve taken over half the market in Cloud Mist City, and their backing comes directly from a sect. That’s not just some merchant group we can ignore."

She, in return, scoffed, her eyes narrowing in disdain. "You're only saying that because it’s a threat to your precious perfume business," she teased.

Xueying Shenmu raised a hand to silence the fight. His gaze shifted to each person at the table before she spoke in a calm but firm voice. "I believe it's a threat to a lot of businesses.” That silenced everyone, including Wenqing. “Like Wenqing said, shops, merchant groups and clans entering our city isn't anything new. But we created the union for a reason. To maintain the balance and protect our interests. We can't afford another clan moving in.

"From what we know, the Tang Clan and the Divine Coin Sect have big plans, and their actions up to now suggest they’re not here for just a piece of the pie. They won’t be happy with the bread crumbs we feed to other merchants who came here for business. They want it all. If we don't act, they’ll turn this place upside down."

A heavy silence fell over the room as everyone considered Xueying Shenmu’s words. Most knew that the old man’s fervor had much to do with his own business interests, but no one dared to speak against him. The union had a structure, and words from the head carried weight. They had all seen what happened when someone disregarded that.

Slowly, heads began to nod in agreement. The market was delicate—too many new variables could send it spiraling out of control. They couldn't afford to let another faction in, especially one with the backing of the Tang Clan. No one spoke up to challenge the old man, but the tension in the air was rough.

The thoughtful silence was broken by the sharp voice of one of the men, a merchant who mostly dabbled in seafood. "So what are we going to do?" he asked and looked in between the head, Yuxuan and Wenqing. "Are they still trying to get into the city after their carriages were destroyed?"

Xueying Shenmu's brows furrowed. "That was a trap," he said, the words tinged with frustration. "They wanted to see how we would react."

A murmur of confusion spread through the room, and one of the younger merchants leaned forward. "How did you figure that?"

Yexuan, his arms crossed and his eyes scanning the table, grunted before speaking. "The perfumes and herbs we found—" he paused, allowing the others to catch his meaning. "They were either fake or too common. Not the kind of materials you’d expect from a clan with such high aspirations. And even the driver, when we went to investigate, he ran at the first sight of the men we hired. He didn't even try to look at the carriage or material once."

A few heads nodded in understanding. "It was all a test. A way for them to gauge what we would do, and they played right into our hands."

Wenqing let out a low chuckle, a smile tugging at her lips. "Ah, so they’re smart and paranoid. The worst kind of people to deal with.”

"It doesn’t matter. What matters is that now they know we’re aware of our little game. This just means they’re going to be more cautious. They’ll probably send a retinue of guards, maybe even cultivators. We’ll need to prepare,” Xueying Shenmu said.

Wenqing scoffed, shaking her head. "Do we really need to? Although the Tang Clan can be formidable, they won't put all their manpower into getting a foothold here and this Divine Coin Sect doesn’t seem like much to me. It’s not even a real sect, just a fledgling group with no real weight behind it. I have looked into it and it's just an Emerging Sect."

"It doesn’t matter," the head of the table cut her off. "They’ll still have cultivators at their disposal, and there are rumors—mysterious ones—about their leader. People in Cloud Mist City call him Dragonheart."

The room fell silent for a moment as everyone digested the name. One of the men scoffed, breaking the silence with a dismissive sneer. "Dragonheart? That’s a stupid title. I bet he paid to spread those rumors to make himself feel important. I know enough cultivators who do that."

"It doesn’t matter what you think of the title, Kian. What matters is that he won the Cloud Mist City tournament, and he defeated a demonic cultivator in the process. He’s dangerous. And they’re alert now, more so than before,” Shenmu said pointedly. “We can send more men to take care of their carriages, but there’s still a good chance they’ll manage to get into the city. They’re determined, and the girl from the Tang Clan is shrewd enough to have already taken care of the legalities. She’ll find a way in, regardless of what we do. We can only harm them with… tricks. Subtly. Not directly at all.”

Yexuan cleared his throat. “Uh… Well, have you prepared any?”

The old man sat up straighter, his eyes gleaming with resolve. "A few things," he said. "I called this meeting to discuss just that.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

PS - Changed the gun designs to be muskets so there can be proper progression after looking into the comments. Thank you for advice.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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87. Bandits

Yushu yawned. His long, bulky hands stretched behind his neck as he sat on top of a small hill, overlooking a road. His back was against a tree as he felt himself almost falling asleep.

When he had first become a cultivator and realized that, rather than soaring over cities and practicing techniques that could shatter entire buildings with a single strike, ‘Cultivation’ was more about sitting in a room, absorbing the world's energy while popping pills like a drug addict, he had felt utterly betrayed. All those grand expectations—reduced to hours of motionless meditation, chasing after some vague, unseen progress. And worse, while some people barely cultivated for an hour a day and still saw results, he could sit for entire nights and feel nothing.

So he fought tooth and nail for pills to speed up his growth, only to realize that even that was a struggle. Between the politics of his sect, the resource hoarding, and the endless cycle of training on lifeless dummies, he had enough. If cultivation was going to be a slow death of boredom, he would rather risk dying on his own terms.

And so, he left.

Many called him foolish, said things like, nothing good will happen. That he was walking down the wrong path. That the heavens would not look kindly upon a rogue cultivator. But in just his first year of being one, he had proven them wrong. Even as a mere first star qi refinement cultivator, he received offers from various clans, each eager to recruit him.

In the cities, women threw themselves at him, hoping to catch his eye and secure a better life. After all, even the lowest cultivator was far wealthier than ordinary mortals.

In the end, he joined the clan that had given him the best offer—the Xueying Clan of Jingxi City.

They had given him pills every week, accelerating his cultivation from first star to third star in just two years. It was something that he felt was impossible before, but it happened. It became possible. Not only that, if he desired women, they were brought to him without hesitation. The clan leader had even attempted to betroth him to one of his daughters, eager for a grandson with cultivation talent.

All in all, his life had suddenly become colorful—a complete one-eighty to the dull days of meditation and endless training dummies.

But just a week ago, that had changed.

His latest task had been simple—too simple for his liking, which was to stop a carriage from some Tang Clan trying to build a business in Jingxi City. He had done it easily. After all, it was just a carriage, not a cultivator. But apparently, it had been a trap. A false alarm that was well-played by the Tang Clan to gauge their reaction. Now, with the Xueying Clan’s true intentions exposed, the Tang Clan was sending another batch of goods into the city, or at least that was what he was let on.

This time, Clan Head Xueying Shenmu had warned him that cultivators might be among the escorts and that he might actually have to fight.

And if he was honest?

He didn’t mind.

He was confident in his skills. Unless the Tang Clan had somehow scraped together a peak qi refinement cultivator or, worse, a foundation establishment expert, he had nothing to worry about. And honestly, someone that strong wouldn’t waste their time on merchant escort duty.

But the problem wasn’t the fight.

It was the waiting.

He had been sitting on this hill for seven hours now. The sun had set, the road remained empty, and the only thing accompanying him was the occasional night breeze.

He almost felt like he was back in his sect, doing nothing but sitting around. And that pricked his scalp, not in a good way. He folded his arms in front of his chest, and let his eyes partially close in boredom.

This is just… Boring. I might as well–

"Daoist Yushu, I see a carriage coming!"

The sound of wooden wheels rolling forward reached his ears. Right, he scoffed without even bothering to open his eyes. "Not every carriage belongs to the Tang Clan. We need to be sure before acting."

"But, Daoist Yushu—the carriage is tinted red, and it has the Tang Clan’s crest on it."

Yushu’s eyes snapped open.

This time, he took a proper look.

A large carriage strolled through the road. The wooden frame was reinforced with dark iron. And the front held a driver’s seat where there was a lone man, controlling the veins. Behind that, a middle compartment was made, probably for the guards or anyone travelling with them. And at the very back, an extra portion extended outward, possibly for storage.

It was just like the last one.

Yushu turned his gaze to the group behind him—five mortal men and three body forging realm cultivators standing at attention.

He smirked.

"Get ready."

Their spines straightened instantly.

"Our goal is simple," he continued. "Kill any ordinary people, capture anyone important, and confiscate or destroy whatever they’re carrying."

A wave of grim nods passed through the group. “You, aim properly!”

Yushu motioned to one of the mortals, a bowman, who stepped forward and drew his weapon.

The mortal narrowed his eyes, taking the aim. Yushu saw how he didn’t even breathe for a second. They all waited for the perfect moment, locking their gazes on the rolling carriage—then, with a twang, the arrow was in motion, slicing through the air, finding its mark right at the carriage wheel dead center.

A splintering crack rang out. The wheel snapped, sending the entire carriage lurching to the side. The force of the impact made it tilt uncontrollably, the wooden frame groaning as it tumbled forward and slammed into a tree with a heavy crash.

“Arrrrh!” The driver’s high-pitched voice pierced through the air as he flung from his seat, his body hitting the ground hard. He let out a grunt, and another.

Yushu grinned. "Great shot, mortal." He was on his feet the next second, drawing his weapon.

"Now—let’s go!"

He heard his men acknowledge with battle cries, and together, they rushed down the hill.

One by one, they moved towards the wrecked carriage. The road was mostly deserted at this hour—fortunate for them, as there would be no interruptions.

“There,” Yushu signalled his men. They veered off to deal with the driver who was groaning on the ground while clutching his sides. Yushu strode toward the carriage doors, fully expecting resistance from whoever was inside.

He grasped the handle and yanked the door open.

“Hello there,” Yushu said playfully, but his eyebrows shot upwards.

Empty.

Is it the wrong carriage?

But just as doubt began creeping into his mind, his eyes moved to the Tang Clan crest carved into the wooden door.

No. This was definitely the one.

Something was off.

Something was definitely off, he sensed it in his bones.

He turned towards the rear compartment, where he knew that goods were typically stored.

Taking a steadying breath, he reached for the doors.

His fingers curled around the handle.

Click.

The latch lifted, and as the doors swung open, his eyes widened.

There were no crates of herbs. No bottles of perfume.

There were only people inside.

Or at least—at first glance, they seemed like people.

In the dim gloom of the compartment, their figures were shrouded in darkness, but before Yushu could make sense of the situation, the one in the middle suddenly flashed him a grin—

—And lightning crackled to life in his fist.

Shit—!

Instinct kicked in, and Yushu leaped backward.

But he wasn’t fast enough.

The lightning strike arced through the air, slamming into his leg before he could fully escape.

Pain exploded through his limb as a sharp zap surged through his body, and he hit the ground with a cry.

"Daoist Yushu!" one of his men called out.

The others snapped to attention, their weapons raised, watching their leader fall.

But Yushu wasn’t someone who would go down that easily. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself up, his injured leg trembling under his weight.

"Get ready for battle! We’ve been fooled!" he bellowed.

As his words rang out, the lightning-wielding cultivator stepped out of the carriage.

The first thing Yushu noticed was his short dark hair. Then, his smug smile.

He tilted his head and sized the man up and down. He didn’t even have a big build of a body to threaten Yushu, but his lightning packed a sharp jolt. His blood boiled at the audacity of the man. “Who the f—”

His words died. And his breath hitched in his throat as he saw the other people step out of the carriage besides the cultivator.

Though, it wouldn't be right to call them people.

Rather than flesh and blood, the figures that emerged were humanoid constructs, their limbs carved from wood, their joints held together by intricate mechanisms. He had mistaken them for humans in the darkness of the carriage, but now, he could tell what they were.

Puppets.

Yushu felt a chill crawl up his spine. And judging by the energy rolling off of them, these weren’t just for show. They could fight better than any mortal he had brought.

His gaze flicked back to the lightning-wielding Cultivator.

"A Puppet Master?" Yushu muttered under his breath.

Not just that—one proficient in lightning arts that was in the qi refinement realm?

His mind raced.

The Xueying Clan Head had mentioned that the Tang Clan was working with some small-time sect. Yushu had assumed that meant a few low-level cultivators in the body forging realm.

But this?

A lightning user and combat-ready puppets were way beyond his pay grade. And he knew he couldn't just retreat.

Grinding his teeth, he charged forward, calling upon his qi as his fists became encased in solid stone, a martial technique he had painstakingly practiced known as [Earthshroud Gauntlet.]

The lightning-wielding cultivator met him head-on.

A crackling fist, wreathed in arcs of electricity, slammed against his own.

For a split second, Yushu felt a tremor run through his stone armor—then a sharp fracture spread across its surface.

Damn it!

The force behind the lightning cultivator’s blows was no joke.

Still, he refused to back down. Circulating his qi, he stepped forward and launched into another attack—

[Stone Avalanche Strike!]

His fist came down like a hammer, aiming for his opponent’s ribs.

But the man moved like a phantom, electricity surging through his legs as he dodged, barely a flicker in Yushu’s vision before he appeared just out of reach.

And the few times Yushu did manage to land a hit?

His opponent simply took the blow head-on, his body absorbing the impact without hesitation.

He's as strong as me—maybe stronger.

Realization hit him harder than a physical blow. The lightning user wasn’t just some useless cultivator with no battle experience. He had the technique and endurance to fight on even footing.

But I'm not done yet!

Summoning all his strength, Yushu activated his core technique—[Titan's Embrace.]

A surge of qi hardened his skin, wrapping his entire body in a dense layer of stone, turning him into a walking juggernaut.

With a roar, he lunged forward, too swift for a dodge, and as he expected, the lightning cultivator didn’t getgot any time to jump back.

Instead, his entire body shimmered, bathed in a brilliant sheen of blue light—a defensive technique Yushu had never seen before.

And when they collided, a shockwave rippled through. The ground cracked beneath them.

For a moment, the two of them stood locked in place, neither giving an inch.

Then—lightning surged from the dark haired man’s fingertips.

Before Yushu could react, a blazing fist shot forward, striking him square in the face.

Crack!

His stone armor shattered—and Yushu was sent flying.

His body crashed against the hard ground, bouncing once before skidding to a stop.

For a second, everything spun. His vision blurred, his ears rang, he couldn’t even feel his limbs. The momentary defeat dissolved.

Shaking his head, he forced himself to focus.

His gaze swept across the battlefield—

One of his fellow cultivators was already down.

The other two were locked in a desperate struggle—surrounded by four wooden puppets, their movements relentless and precise.

As for the rest of his mortal men?

They lay scattered, groaning in pain, completely overwhelmed by the puppets.

Yushu counted seven of them in total—each one radiating the strength of a body forging realm fighter.

How the hell does a small sect have this many puppets?!

The sheer quantity of them was absurd.

He had assumed that the sect backing the Tang Clan was insignificant.

Now?

It was clear that he'd made a grave mistake.

A sharp crackle made his heart lurch—

He turned just in time to see the lightning cultivator charging toward him again, eyes locked onto him like a predator moving in for the kill.

Shit! No time!

Desperately, Yushu punched the ground.

[Earthquake Fissure!]

A jagged crack split open the road, forcing the lightning cultivator to leap into the air.

But that brief moment—that single heartbeat—was all Yushu needed to push himself back to his feet.

His mind raced as he wondered what to do. Even if he somehow held his ground against this lightning bastard, how the hell was he supposed to deal with the puppets?

And more importantly—

Who the hell was controlling them?

Yushu barely had a moment to think.

A surge of lightning arced toward him, crackling like an unchained storm. Reacting on instinct, he forced qi into his skin—[Earthen Bulwark!]

Stone encased his body, forming a protective shell—But it wasn’t enough. The lightning tore through, searing his flesh beneath the cracks. His knees buckled. His muscles spasmed.

Move!

He bit down on his tongue, the sharp pain grounding him just enough to keep his stance from collapsing completely.

His opponent was already closing in.

Damn it! No choice!

Yushu poured qi into the ring on his finger.

A silver spear materialized in his grasp, shocking the lightning cultivator whose eyes widened in shock.

Too fucking late.

Yushu thrust forward.

The tip of the spear pierced through his opponent’s arm, slipping past the thin sheen of his defensive technique.

The lightning Cultivator gritted his teeth and staggered back.

But within moments, the starlight barrier flickered back to life, repairing itself.

Tch. Not enough.

Yushu refused to give him time to recover.

He lunged forward, spear cutting through the air in rapid succession, aiming to break through the defense completely.

But the lightning cultivator was too fast.

With lightning coiling around his legs, he blurred out of reach again and again.

Yushu growled in frustration.

He had heard of lightning cultivators being nimble, but this was ridiculous.

“Enough with the tricks. It’s time to end this.”

The words sent a chill down Yushu’s spine.

For the first time, the lightning cultivator stopped moving. Looking at Yushu as if—as if he was just a dead man standing. His stance held firm. Yushu didn’t hesitate. He drove his spear straight toward his chest.

It landed.

For a fraction of a second, Yushu thought he had won.

Then he saw it—

The defensive energy converging.

It wrapped around his spear, locking it in place.

His eyes widened.

Shit.

“NO!”

He tried to pull back, but it was already too late.

Lightning surged from his opponent’s body, a storm condensed into a single devastating blast. Electricity ripped through him, burning, tearing, forcing his body into violent spasms. Yushu tried to form a final rock armor—but the moment it took shape, it shattered.

His vision blurred. His body collapsed.

The last thing he saw—

Was the lightning cultivator’s impassive gaze and his stupid smirk. He wished he could wipe that clean off of his face. But— but, his eyelids grew heavy.

Darkness overtook him.

***

Chen Ren exhaled, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His body still thrummed with the lingering aftershocks of battle, muscles taut from the strain.

He glanced down at his side—a clean puncture wound, courtesy of the spear that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

The injury wasn't deep, and the bleeding had already stopped.

Still… he hadn’t seen that attack coming.

It was a mistake. One that had cost him blood.

His expression darkened for a brief moment, then he let out a quiet breath, dismissing the thought. His body would recover. Instead, his gaze drifted downward, settling on the unconscious figure sprawled across the ground.

The man’s breathing was ragged, his body still twitching slightly from the aftermath of lightning coursing through his meridians.

But Chen Ren’s attention wasn’t on his injuries.

It was on the ring—a simple, unadorned band of dull silver wrapped around the cultivator’s index finger.

There were no gems, no engravings, nothing that would make it stand out to the untrained eye. But Chen Ren knew better. Even without touching it, he could feel the faint pulse of qi emanating from within and the spear appearing out of nowhere already confirmed what the ring was.

A spatial artifact.

A coveted treasure.

He knelt down, slipping the ring from the man’s finger, rolling it between his own.

Up close, the material was smooth, cool against his fingertips.

There were faint etchings along the inner rim, almost invisible, but undoubtedly part of the formation that allowed it to store objects beyond normal space.

He pressed a thread of his qi into the ring, testing its reaction.

Would it recognize him? Or was it bound by the previous owner’s will?

Chen Ren furrowed his brows as his qi failed to make anything happen. The ring was apparently qi bound.

He clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing slightly. That complicated things.

Before he could think further, footsteps echoed behind him, deliberate and unhurried.

He turned his head, his guard still raised, but when the figure approached and reached up to remove his mask, a familiar face was revealed.

Hong Yi.

His silver eyes glinted with amusement as he glanced around at the unconscious bodies littering the battlefield, then let out a low chuckle.

"That was a great fight," Hong Yi said, stepping closer. "I can’t believe things went this easy."

Chen Ren smirked. "That’s because we planned for it. Expected everything."

His gaze shifted to the fallen cultivators around them.

"And we got our prize."

He lifted the ring between his fingers before gesturing at the defeated men.

Hong Yi’s eyes immediately locked onto the ring, a flicker of greed flashing through them before he let out a thoughtful hum.

"A spatial ring?"

Chen Ren nodded. "Yeah. And big enough to house a spear."

Hong Yi’s expression changed slightly at that. "A ring that size…" he muttered, rubbing his chin. "It’d be worth at least a dozen spirit stones. Maybe more, depending on its size and functions. But they’re really rare." He gave Chen Ren a sidelong glance. "Are you planning to use it for yourself?"

Chen Ren twirled the ring once before sighing. "I can’t seem to open it. Looks like it’s qi-bound." His eyes flickered with consideration. "I’ll need someone like Qing He or Yalan to go over it before I can use it. But yeah, it’s a nice reward for all the trouble." He smirked, tucking the ring into his robes. "I’m sure the Xueying Clan gave it to this guy." His gaze drifted over the unconscious man before him. "Wonder how they’ll react when they realize they lost both him and the ring."

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

PS - Sorry for late post, am sick.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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88. Machine and machinations

Xueying Shenmu, clan head of the prestigious Xueying clan, swung his sword, feeling the ripple of his biceps. His muscles strained as each blow landed. A sharp crack formed against the wooden dummy in front of him.

“Argh!” He swung it again, this time aiming at the dummy’s neck. It once again caused wood to splinter. Beads of sweat ran down his face as he brought his sword back, just to hit the dummy again, and again.

His grunts filled the air, as he kept on swinging.

The movement became one of practice rather than conscious as his eyes grew distant, lost in memories.

Every strike reminded him of his childhood.

Born to a branch family of cultivators, Shenmu had once dreamed of rising above his humble beginnings, wielding a sword with enough strength to topple mountains and make the heavens tremble. His days back then had been spent just like this—relentlessly swinging his weapon, sharpening his skills, and preparing for the moment he could step onto the path of cultivation and bring glory to his family.

But fate had been cruel. Extremely cruel that he almost felt bad for himself.

When his spirit roots had finally been tested, the results were devastating. None. While his two younger brothers were found to have excellent cultivation potential and had been chosen as the future scions of their branch family, Shenmu had been left behind, crushed beneath his shattered dreams.

For years, he only tasted one thing; bitterness.

Until, one day, he didn’t.

The realisation hit him; there was more to life than just chasing unreachable heights. There were other ways to bring pride to his clan—other ways that he could stand tall. And so, he had set down his sword and chosen a different path. The path of money.

His lips twitched upward slightly as he thought about how far he’d been able to come. Through grit, ambition, and relentless effort, he had built a fortune so vast that no one dared to look down on him now. He was still mortal, but he commanded the respect of both cultivators and commoners. His family, once just a branch, had become one of the most powerful clans in Jingxi. And countless cultivators now bowed their heads to his family—because of his wealth. He hired more than half of them to work for him.

Still, even after all those years of training, he had never let go of the discipline he’d forged in his youth.

Every morning, he trained, swinging his sword as if he could carve those dummies with it.

Thwack! Another strike, and he pushed another painful memory aside.

Maybe this was his way of coping, but it’d helped him for years.

Thwack!

He pushed past another memory of his siblings this time. He raised his sword again—

Knock! Knock!

Shenmu frowned, lowering his weapon as he turned toward the door that slowly opened. Standing in the doorway was the chief steward, Dexin, an elderly man with a thin frame and a perpetually serious expression. He bowed deeply.

“Master.”

Shenmu’s frown deepened. “You know I don’t like to be disturbed during this time.”

Dexin straightened. “I wouldn’t have, Master, unless it was important. I know better.”

A moment passed before Shenmu gave a curt nod. “Very well. Speak.”

“We’ve just received word, Master. A new delivery of Heavenly Fragrance bottles and materials was made to their shop about an hour ago.”

At those words, Xueying Shenmu's eyes widened, shock flashing across his face. “What happened? We sent Yushu and the others, right?”

“We did, Master. But none of them have reported back. We’re assuming they’ve been captured by the forces of the Tang Clan and the Divine Coin Sect.”

Shenmu’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening until he heard his teeth grind. He shook his head after a few seconds of contemplation. “That can’t be. No, check once again. Yushu is a qi refinement realm cultivator. According to what we know, this so-called sect is a newly established one, no different from any other Emerging sect.”

Dexin cleared his throat. “Master, we assume that Chen Ren himself might have protected the carriage. And as far as things have been confirmed, he is in the qi refinement realm too.”

“Even then, we sent more cultivators with Yushu. There’s no way he could have done this alone. This Chen Ren must have brought in more cultivators to support his sect, or it wouldn’t have been possible.” He paused, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully, before asking, “Did they at least manage to damage some of the supplies? There were orders to harm and retreat if they weren’t confident in winning.”

Dexin shifted uncomfortably, a trace of hesitation in his voice as he responded, “No, Master… There wasn’t anything like that. All the materials were delivered safely, and the scouts specifically reported that the Heavenly Fragrance bottles were in pristine condition.”

Shenmu’s teeth clenched audibly, a flash of anger rippling through him. “How can that be?”

“Because we were tricked, Master.”

Shenmu’s head snapped up. “Tricked? How?”

“When we observed the delivery, we noticed that the supplies didn’t come from the Tang Clan’s carriage as expected. Instead, there were six carriages owned by ordinary merchants, carrying mixed supplies. We later identified them as traveling merchants whose business route runs between Cloud Mist City and Jingxi City. It seems the Tang Clan paid them to hide their supplies among their other goods.”

Shenmu’s eyes glinted with cold fury as he considered the implications. He certainly hadn't expected such a move.

“Do you want us to take action against those merchants?”

He fell silent, lowering the sword slowly as he sank into deep thought. Did he want to go against those merchants who had crossed his their clan? Did they even know what they were doing or were they simply after some easy coins? His mind spinned with different scenarios.

After a long moment, he sighed and spoke.

“No… leave them be.”

Dexin blinked in surprise but remained quiet as Shenmu continued.

“Even if we warn those merchants, the Tang Clan will just find someone else next time. And they might even employ more clever tactics to avoid detection.” His lips curled into a smile. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had outsiders bold enough to stand against us. Bold… and cunning.”

He took a slow breath. “But they’re forgetting one thing. We have roots in this city, deep roots that have grown strong over generations. They’re just a sapling. And there’s no way this ends well for them.”

“What are your orders, Master?”

“For now, do nothing. Watch them carefully, but don’t interfere. They’ll be expecting retaliation, waiting for us to make a move. Let them fall into a false sense of security.”

He rubbed his hands; one thing on his mind. “And when they finally open up, we’ll rip that sapling out of the ground.”

***

Chen Ren moved through the spacious two-storey building. Tang Yuqiu walked beside him, her eyes squinted in pride and excitement. He glanced around, taking in the place she had spent the past few months renovating. Sunlight poured in through large windows. It made the space feel warm. The ground floor had an open layout, perfect for displays, with sleek counters, shelves, and plenty of room for customers to move around. The high ceilings gave it a grand, airy feeling, and the decorative lanterns hanging from the rafters added a touch of refinement.

The first floor had smaller sections partitioned for specialty goods, areas were connected by smooth, dark wood railings and stone steps. The second floor, he assumed, would be for administration or VIP clients and they could always add more floors. It was clear Tang Yuqiu had spared no expense.

Chen Ren let out a low whistle, impressed. “You sure you didn’t just empty everything you earned through Heavenly Fragrances—and more—by buying this building?”

Tang Yuqiu turned to him with a confident smile. “I still have money left,” she said breezily, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t have put this much into it if I didn’t think I’d earn it back the moment this store opens.”

Chen Ren arched a brow. “You could’ve asked me for some help, you know.”

She shook her head, a light chuckle escaping her lips. “You were busy with your sect. I know you’ve taken in a lot of people, and feeding them every day can’t be easy.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but she wasn’t done. “Besides,” she added, “you’re already giving ideas on perfumes and clothes. It’s only natural that I handle the rest. I can’t be a bad business partner, now, can I?”

Chen Ren nodded, not arguing, but inside, he felt a quiet wave of gratitude. He’d definitely made the right call by partnering with her. Their relationship hadn’t started off smoothly, but now, he knew he could leave a lot in her capable hands and trust that she wouldn’t let him down.

More than that, she was keeping his situation in mind—managing the business without asking him for money, even though they were partners. That was as good as a business partner could get.

The only thing he could do to repay that trust was to make sure this expansion worked out. For both of them.

As they descended to the ground floor, Chen Ren’s eyes were drawn to the organized chaos of crates and supplies scattered across the room. Large wooden crates labeled with the distinctive mark of Heavenly Fragrances were stacked neatly along one wall, while rows of wrapped wooden bottles gained his attention almost immediately. The perfume bottles, with their elegant designs and delicate stoppers, seemed almost out of place amidst the rough, utilitarian packaging.

Nearby, smaller containers filled with raw materials for production were stacked in clusters. Dried herbs, powdered minerals, and oils imported from the outskirts of Cloud Mist City were neatly packed, labeled with the contents and sources. Tang Yuqiu’s thoroughness was evident in every detail. He was glad that none of it had broken.

Even if he knew his plan was most likely to work, he was still concerned and had sent Tang Boming and his men to each of the merchant carriages that had the materials to protect them. Fortunately, they had delivered the materials in good condition.

Chen Ren crossed his arms, nodding appreciatively. “When are you planning to start production?”

They had gotten enough perfumes for the grand opening, but they were setting up a factory in Jingxi as well. It made more sense for them to supply the raw materials from Cloud Mist City since they were cheap and abundant there. It would save them a fortune in transportation cost down the line if they produced everything locally.

“In a day or two.”

Chen Ren nodded. “Sounds good. What about the clothes?”

“We’ve already prepared samples. Depending on how well they sell, I’ll expand production. But it might take some time. These designs aren’t easy to make, and crafting them is labor-intensive. Even if I hire more workers, the profit margins will shrink. It’s a fine balance, you know.”

Chen Ren sighed, knowing she was right. In this world, sewing and cloth-making were entirely handcrafted processes, demanding years of practice to master. Unlike the convenience of machines he remembered from his previous life, here it was an intricate art form. Each stitch, each pattern was a testament to the skill of the artisan. Even cultivators often took it up as a discipline, producing enchanted robes and garments as a specialty.

But waiting wasn’t something he was fond of. He had a strong feeling these clothes would be a hit, and the more stock they had, the better. The thought of missing out on potential sales because of slow production didn’t sit well with him.

Fortunately, he’d already devised a way to speed things along. A small, satisfied smile played on his lips as he thought about it. It was time for him to step up as a business partner—Tang Yuqiu had already more than proven her worth, and now it was his turn to do the same.

“Actually, I do have a way to speed things along,” he said casually.

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Oh? You’ve got another method to make clothes? Like the perfume idea?”

“Something like that. It’s very simple. You just have to rely on a machine to reduce the manual work. With that, we’ll increase production by a lot.”

Tang Yuqiu blinked at him, and then her eyebrows squinted “A machine? What kind of machine?”

Instead of answering right away, he reached into his storage pouch and pulled out a rolled-up parchment. He unfurled it on a nearby crate, revealing a detailed, hand-drawn diagram. It was filled with precise sketches, tiny notes, and arrows pointing to various components.

“I came up with this design once I returned to my sect after our talk,” he explained, tapping the parchment. “It won’t be the easiest thing to build since it needs some fine-tuning, but if we can pull it off, I think we’ll have a machine that could change the way clothes are made.”

She traced her finger along some of the lines, trying to make sense of it, but her expression quickly turned puzzled. “I’m not going to lie, this looks… complicated.”

“It is. This is a sewing machine.” He pointed to a part of the drawing where a small, sharp object was prominently featured. “See this here? This is the needle. It’s the core of the whole machine. As the machine works, the needle pierces the fabric automatically. And that means on its own.”

Tang Yuqiu squinted at the parchment, then glanced at him. “On its own? How?”

Chen Ren tapped another part of the diagram. “This is the hand crank. It’s a small wheel on the side that you turn by hand. That, in turn, moves the needle up and down. And here—” he pointed again, “—are the feed dogs.”

Tang Yuqiu immediately straightened up, giving him a wide-eyed, incredulous look. “Feed… dogs?” She tilted her head. “Wait, why are we talking about dogs all of a sudden? Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”

Chen Ren couldn’t hold it in a laugh. The seriousness in her eyes made him shake his head, but he could see why she would get confused by the name. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just the name of the component in the sewing machine,” he explained, pointing at the small part on the diagram. “It’s called that because it looks like a dog’s teeth.”

Tang Yuqiu tilted her head, studying the drawing again before nodding. “Okay, that makes sense… sort of. But your naming sense is still a little strange.”

Chen Ren considered telling her that he wasn’t the one who came up with the name, but he let it slide and continued his explanation instead. He walked her through the various parts of the machine, explaining how they worked together—the hand crank turning the gears, the needle moving automatically, and the feed dogs pulling the fabric forward.

At first, he’d thought of making a more modern, electronic version. But as soon as the thought came to mind, he dismissed it. The lack of electricity in the empire was a major issue, and he didn’t want to add an array to every machine, knowing it would be too much effort in the long run—costly and impractical. So, he’d settled on a gear-based design instead—something anyone could use.

Besides, it would get the workers used to the concept, and later on, he could always upgrade the design when the time wasis right.

By the time he finished explaining, Tang Yuqiu looked far less confused, though a flicker of astonishment lingered on her face. She tried to hide it, but Chen Ren could see it clear as day.

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to build it exactly like this… but if we can, it’ll be a massive innovation. Something that could change the entire clothing industry.”

“Exactly. And we’ll be at the forefront of it.”

“How do you even come up with all these things? Noodles, ice cream, chips, perfumes… and now this? Sometimes, I think you’ve stumbled upon the hidden knowledge of some ancient sage.”

Chen Ren didn’t reply right away, but internally, he thought she wasn’t entirely wrong. It wasn’t exactly a sage—more like the collective wisdom of the internet. Most of his knowledge came from browsing random topics during high school and college, a mix of curiosity and procrastination that was now paying off in ways he’d never imagined.

Not wanting to dwell on that thought, he changed the subject. “Anyway, the faster we get a prototype made, the better for us. Once we have that, we’ll need to make at least a few machines to ramp up production. The opening day of our little mall is getting close, and we want to be ready.”

Tang Yuqiu nodded. “Got it. I’ll get to it.” She rolled up the parchment carefully, cradling it like it was a treasure. “You won’t be disappointed.”

Chen Ren smiled. “I know I won’t.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

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89. Marketing is constant

Tang Yuqiu couldn’t help but marvel at the sight before her. The machine, made of copper and gears, clacked steadily as it stitched together a dress—something that would have taken weeks by hand. Two weeks, eight hours per day. Now, it felt like it would be done in just two days. And it was only two days because the woman using it was still adjusting to the new process.

It had only been two weeks since she started learning how to use the machine, and old habits didn’t change overnight. Still, Tang Yuqiu couldn’t help but envision a future where hundreds of these machines were at work, producing enough clothes to flood the market—without breaking their backs on labor costs.

Just a month ago, she would have dismissed such a scenario as impossible. Yet here she was, standing in front of a miracle brought to life by Chen Ren.

They only had three sewing machines right now, but the blacksmith she’d hired was already working on more. She remembered his face when he first looked at the blueprint—how he’d stared at it for a long moment before shaking his head and muttering that it was more complicated than some weapons he’d forged. Even with a detailed design, it had taken him a full week to craft the first one.

Though a part of her mind still wondered how Chen Ren had come up with something so advanced that it could shock a veteran blacksmith. But deep down, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. Because whatever it was, she had a feeling it would only lead to more questions—questions that might change how she saw him forever.

And right now, she wasn’t sure if she was ready for that.

Their relationship was finally reaching a place where they could trust each other, where they were starting to work together as real partners. Whatever secrets Chen Ren might be hiding… she wasn’t ready to uncover them just yet.

Her father had often told her that curiosity could lead to disastrous outcomes. He’d even recounted the tale of a werecat whose curiosity cost her life, a cautionary story that Tang Yuqiu had taken to heart. She lived by his principles. And right now, she had no desire to do anything that might upset the balance between her and Chen Ren—especially when they were on the cusp of opening their mall.

It had already been a month since he’d helped transport the materials to Jingxi. After that, he’d decided to stay, saying she might need him if the union tried anything else—and to help with setting things up. She had to admit, in the past month, he’d certainly been busy.

He’d taken charge of transporting additional materials, setting up a small factory at the back of their building to begin production, and assisting with the construction of the sewing machines. But that wasn’t all. He’d also been keeping a close watch on the city, gathering information and preparing for any retaliation from the union.

To both their surprise, though, nothing had happened. It was as if the union had decided to quietly back off. No other attempts had been made during transportation for more materials, and there hadn’t been so much as a whisper of a counterattack for the men they had captured. Unfortunately, the prisoners hadn’t yielded much useful information either.

The mortals among them had been easy to interrogate, but they were little more than grunts—completely useless. The cultivators, however, had been far harder to control. Chen Ren had been forced to use a poison that slowly ate away at their qi to keep them bound, and even then, it had taken a while to break them down.

When they finally spoke, their information was disappointingly sparse. They were nothing more than hired muscle for the Xueying Clan, with little knowledge of the clan’s inner workings. Still, they’d confirmed what Chen Ren and Yuqiu had already suspected: Xueying Shenmu, the clan leader, wouldn’t stop until he’d crushed their business completely. He had a reputation for… pitiless efficiency and the prisoners had described past instances where Shenmu had systematically wiped out rival enterprises down to their very roots.

If nothing else, it gave them a clearer picture of the enemy they were up against—and just how dangerous he really was.

The silence from the union was beginning to gnaw at Yuqiu, leaving her uneasy. Even now, as she made her way through the corridor on the second floor of their mall, she couldn’t shake the feeling. It was a continuous heaviness. They had converted this part of the building into production and living quarters for herself, Chen Ren, and their subordinates.

Making her way down the stairs, she tried to push the uneasiness aside. Tomorrow was the grand opening, and she couldn’t afford to spiral in any way. The ground floor looked spotless, exactly how she wanted. Shelves gleamed with neatly arranged perfumes, and every corner of the shop reflected the effort they had poured into it. She could only hope the launch would be as successful as it had been in Cloud Mist City.

She stood for an extra second, surveying the space.

From the right corner, she saw her maid, Ling’er approaching and turned her head towards her. The latter offered a polite bow before speaking.

“Young Miss, everything is ready. I’m sure the customers will be stunned by how beautiful the shop looks.”

Yuqiu smiled, but it seemed like Ling'er noticed the worry etched on her face and frowned slightly. “Is something troubling you, young miss? I can help—”

“It’s not anything tangible,” Yuqiu admitted, sighing softly. “Just pre-opening jitters. I’ve been through it before, but the nerves never really go away. Not when it feels like there’s an axe hanging over our heads.”

“Young Miss, we’ve done everything we could, and we’ve planned for every possibility. It will be okay.”

Yuqiu gave a small, wry smile. “You know as well as I do, Ling'er, that things never go exactly according to plan. Change is the only constant in business. Our success will depend on how well we adapt to whatever comes our way.”

Ling'er mirrored her smile. “And you will adapt, Young Miss. You always do. Besides, Young Master Chen Ren is with you. He won’t let the union cause any harm.”

“I know,” Yuqiu whispered. “I have faith in him. He’s done so much for us, and I know he’ll keep us safe. But… But you know, I can’t rely on him forever. That’s not how it works. My father is happy that I’m finally seeing the kind of success he always hoped for me, but I don’t know if I’ve truly earned it yet. Chen Ren has been responsible for so much of this. He’s here now, but he has his own path. Even if he acts like a merchant, he’s still a cultivator at heart. One day, he’ll have to move on—and I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep this going without him.”

Ling’er took a step closer. Yuqiu saw the way she clutched her hands a little tighter. “Young Miss, I have faith in you. You’ve worked hard for this, and I believe you will take Heavenly Fragrances to even greater heights.”

“Thank you, Ling'er. You’ve always been there for me.”

“It’s my duty, Miss.”

Yuqiu fell silent at that, her thoughts swirling. She knew that just talking to someone—even someone as steadfast as her maid—wouldn’t completely alleviate her fears. Those fears were hers alone to deal with. No one could shoulder that burden for her.

But even so, it helped to know that there were people who believed in her, people who had faith in her abilities. That knowledge didn’t erase the fear, but it gave her something far more valuable—courage. Courage to face whatever storm might come for Heavenly Fragrances.

Before that, however, she had to focus on the challenge directly in front of her.

The opening day.

They had worked tirelessly for weeks to get everything ready. Plans had been made, the marketing campaign had already been rolled out, and all that was left now was to see if their efforts would bear fruit.

And tomorrow, she would witness it for herself. Whether the opening would be a success or not would depend on how well they had prepared—and how well they could adapt if things went awry.

She inhaled through the nose, felt her lungs fill and straightened her shoulders. She gave a small nod to Ling'er, locking her determination in. Tomorrow would be the start of something great. It had to be.

***

Yan Ling strolled aimlessly through the lively streets of Jingxi, feeling lost in the middle of the hustle and chatter of the crowd around her. A few times, she lightly bumped into a passersby, murmuring distracted apologies without truly registering them. Her mind was elsewhere, spinning through the river of unfortunate events that had come to her life over the past few weeks. And all those thoughts pressed her chest tighter, cutting off any conscious supply of air.

Just a year ago, the Yan Clan had been one of the more prominent minor merchant clans in Jingxi. Their transportation business had been thriving, with steady contracts and loyal customers. Her father had been confident that their success would earn him a coveted seat in the union, the headmost trade body in the city.

But the heavens, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor.

A few devastating raids by well-organized bandits were all it took to cripple their reputation. Word spread fast in the merchant circles, and soon, the Yan Clan’s contracts began slipping through their fingers like sand. Fewer customers, dwindling profits—and then, bankruptcy was over them like a shadow they couldn’t escape.

In the weeks that followed, as her family scrambled to recover from the losses, her father had sat her down with a somber expression and delivered the final blow: the marriage talks they had been negotiating with two wealthy clans had completely fallen through. Those families, sensing their decline, had backed out without so much as a word of apology.

“You’ll have to find a match on your own,” he’d told her, looking wearier than she’d ever seen him.

Yan Ling had nodded at the time, putting on a brave face, but deep down, she knew the truth.

At twenty four, she was already considered too old to marry in Jingxi’s upper circles. Her younger cousins had been married off years ago, securing alliances and stable futures, while she had waited, hoping for a match that would bring her wealth and status.

And now? That dream was crumbling before her eyes.

She could already imagine the whispers—the knowing glances from other merchant daughters, the pitying smiles from her aunts. If she didn’t secure a match soon, she would end up like those bitter old matrons who spent their days gossiping and lamenting what could have been.

Her father had promised that he would support her in marrying whoever she chose, but what good was that when she didn’t have a line of suitors clamoring for her hand?

Sighing, she rubbed her temple, trying to cease the incoming headache.

That might have been true two years ago when the Yan Clan’s business was at its peak, and her name carried a weight in Jingxi’s merchant circles. Back then, she had been seen as a desirable match—a young woman from a prosperous family with a bright future ahead of her.

But now?

Now, Yan Ling was hardly thought of as someone with good prospects. A twenty four year old woman from a fallen clan, no longer the talk of advantageous marriage arrangements. Too old for the best matches, lacking in wealth, and without any clear path forward, her head felt like it might explode just from thinking about it all.

And it wasn’t as though she could just marry anyone. Even with their decline, the Yan family wouldn’t allow her to marry beneath their station. They needed someone of equal or greater status for the marriage to make sense. But where was she supposed to find such a match when most potential suitors avoided families on the verge of ruin?

Her only real chance had come two days ago, when she’d managed to secure an invitation to a banquet—a prestigious gathering where even members of the Union would be in attendance. It might be her only opportunity to make an impression, to catch the eye of a young master with enough wealth and influence to overlook her family’s current misfortune.

But even that opportunity came with problems.

Her clothes were old—two seasons out of fashion—and her jewelry was barely worth wearing. She could already imagine the disapproving glances and whispered comments from the other young women at the banquet, who would be dressed in the latest silks and draped in gold and jade.

She’d asked her father for help, hoping he might buy her at least a new dress, but he had only shaken his head and sighed. “We’re struggling to keep the business afloat. We can’t afford luxuries right now.”

And so, she had spent the past two days wandering through the city, visiting shop after shop, hoping to find something suitable within her meager budget. She’d tried negotiating for lower prices, pleading with shopkeepers she had once known, but none of it had worked. The dresses she could afford were too plain, and the ones she wanted were far beyond her reach.

In the end, she had refused to go home, feeling like it would be admitting defeat if she did.

Now, as she strolled through the streets, her mind was heaving with frustration and hopelessness, she suddenly noticed a large crowd gathered near the central square, where roads branched off toward different districts of the city.

What’s going on?" she wondered, slowing her steps as she craned her neck to get a better look.

The crowd was clustered around something, but she wasn't able to make out what it was.

Curiosity stirred within her. It wasn’t often that something would attract this much attention, especially in the central square.

Yan Ling let her feet carry her toward the crowd. Using her small, petite frame to her advantage, she slipped between the people, squeezing through narrow gaps until she found herself near the front. It wasn’t too difficult—most of the men and women were too preoccupied with whatever was happening ahead to notice her weaving through them.

When she finally reached the front, the scene before her left her momentarily confused.

A beautiful woman with striking features stood in the middle, dressed in a flowing gown of deep crimson silk embroidered with highlighting gold patterns. Her posture was graceful but commanding, and her lips were curved in a bright, confident smile.

In front of her was a long wooden table, lined with neat rows of small perfume bottles. Behind her stood several men who looked like guards—broad-shouldered, watchful eyes and swords strapped to their waists.

“I’m glad our little demonstration has caught your attention,” the woman said. “But don’t worry—I won’t take up too much of your time.”

Before she could continue, a playful voice called out from the crowd, “I was hoping to see you for a while longer!”

That earned a ripple of laughter from the onlookers, and the woman smirked, tilting her head slightly.

“Thank you, but sadly, I’m not on display today.” She gestured gracefully toward the table. “Heavenly Fragrances’ perfumes are.”

Yan Ling’s eyes shifted to the bottles on display. They were made of polished wood—not even glass, and although she couldn’t see the liquid inside, the subtle, lingering scent that was wafting through the air hinted at something high-quality. Having used so many perfumes, she knew that well.

The woman continued, her smile never wavering. “I’m sure some of you here have already heard of Heavenly Fragrances. We’re the most famous perfume brand in Cloud Mist City, with customers ranging from high-society ladies to common folk—and even cultivators. And now, we’re finally here in Jingxi, ready to let you discover what true high-quality perfume smells like, all for the price of just five to eight silver wen!”

Yan Ling’s eyes widened in shock.

Five to eight silver wen?

She stared at the bottles, half-expecting them to transform into something cheap-looking, but the smell remained as refined and pleasant as before. She never knew that perfumes were sold at such low prices, and she couldn’t help but wonder if it was some kind of scam. Most perfumes in Jingxi sold for at least several dozen silver wen, sometimes even more depending on the shop.

How could something that cheap be any good?

As the thought crossed her mind, she heard a few whispered conversations around her.

“My cousin lives in Cloud Mist City,” a young woman nearby said excitedly to her friend. “She told me the perfumes from Heavenly Fragrances are amazing—and they’re really that cheap!”

“Yes! I visited Cloud Mist during their annual tournament last year and tried some of their perfumes. They’re great. I’m so glad they’ve opened a store here!”

That made Yan Ling hesitate, her earlier suspicions faltering. Could this really be the opportunity it seemed to be?

As if sensing the crowd’s uncertainty, the woman behind the table smiled again. “If you’re curious, we’re offering free samples. You can try them right here.”

Yan Ling’s eyes widened, excitement flaring despite herself. Before she could second-guess her reaction, the words burst out of her mouth. “Can I try?”

The woman’s eyes sparkled, mirroring Yan Lin’s expression. “Of course, young miss. You’re free to.”

Yan Ling stepped forward, her heart beating faster as she approached the table. One of the men behind the woman handed her a small wooden bottle, and she poured a few drops of perfume onto Yan Ling’s palm.

As soon as she raised her hand to her nose, the scent enveloped her—a soft, luxurious blend of jasmine, sandalwood, and something light and floral she couldn’t quite place. The fragrance was subtle yet intoxicating, elegant but not overpowering.

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment as she took it in. This is… really good.

“It’s wonderful,” she murmured, opening her eyes to find the woman smiling at her.

“Thank you, young miss. If you hurry, you can be one of the first customers at our Jingxi City branch. It’s just down the street, past the central square.”

Yan Ling nodded absently, still distracted by the lingering scent on her skin. But before she could think of what to say next, the woman leaned in slightly.

“And there’s more,” she said with a wink. “If you bring two friends with you, you’ll get a thirty percent discount on your purchase. Not only that, but you’ll also have the chance to try out our newest collection of women’s clothing. There are only a limited number of dresses available right now, and you could get your hands on them before they sell out.”

Yan Ling blinked.

“Are they as affordable as the perfumes?” she asked.

The woman chuckled. “Yes, young miss. You won’t find such designs anywhere else at these prices, I can promise you that.”

Before Yan Ling could press for more details, several other people from the crowd surged forward, eager to try the perfumes for themselves. She was jostled slightly, and the woman turned her attention to the new customers, offering more samples with the same bright smile.

Left standing at the edge of the crowd, Yan Ling’s mind was spinning. Good perfume, affordable dresses, and a discount if I bring two people…

Was this the opportunity she had been waiting for? Maybe the heavens had finally thrown her a lifeline.

She debated for a moment, thinking of her options. It could be a scam—or it could be exactly what she needed to make an impression at the upcoming banquet. And what did she have to lose by at least checking it out?

Moreover, she needed that discount, and that meant she needed to bring two people with her.

Without wasting another moment, she turned on her heel and quickly made her way through the streets—not toward the shop, but toward the homes of her friends. After all, she wasn’t going to let an opportunity like this slip through her fingers.

***

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90. Paranoia

Chen Ren knew there were certain things that could draw humans like moths to a flame, and among them, crowds stood at the top of the list. In both his previous life and this one, he had learned that nothing stirred curiosity more than the sight of people gathered together, craning their necks to see what the fuss was about. It didn’t matter if someone was headed somewhere important—if they passed by a crowd, they would slow down, even stop, just to take a peek.

It was a truth that had served him well before, and today, it was paying off again. He had proven it during his very first noodle stall venture, where a few groups of customers enjoying his food had drawn more like flies to honey. This time, he was planting an entire network of groups.

Tang Yuqiu had brought plenty of people with her to help launch their business here in Jingxi, and Chen Ren wasn’t about to let those resources go to waste. He assigned them roles carefully, using the prettiest girls among them to set up enticing booths in key areas of the city, while the rest were sent to act as “curious bystanders,” gathering around the booths to create the illusion of a buzz. All it took was a few whispered words about the new shop selling perfumes and clothes, a little playful chatter about limited stock, and—most importantly—a special opening-day discount if customers brought their friends along.

The results spoke for themselves. By midday, the trickle of curious onlookers had become a flood.

Chen Ren stood at the top of the staircase inside the newly opened shop, his gaze sweeping across both the ground floor, where bottles of handmade perfumes were neatly organised and the first floor, where racks of elegant clothes were being admired and tried on by eager shoppers.

It had been slow in the morning, but by afternoon, the shop was packed. Young women, middle-aged women, and even a few curious men wandered between displays, sampling scents and running their fingers over finely tailored fabrics. Too many different conversations filled the air to decipher who’s telling what. But he noticed several delighted exclamations as some ladies found a perfume they loved or a dress that fit just right.

During those times, Chen Ren allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. If he was being honest, this was far beyond what he had expected. They had already surpassed the first-day sales back in Cloud Mist City—and they still had hours left before closing time.

As a result of all of that, he felt his qi steadily building up inside him. Constantly, surging and filling him. His eyes took it all, moving across the crowded floors, observing everything. He didn’t want to miss a single thing about the opening.

Even if things seemed to be going smoothly on the surface, he wasn’t the type to let his guard down. Now that he knew that they had powerful enemies, it was clear as day that opening day was as good a time as it gets to strike and make someone suffer; snuff it out before their mall could even spread its wings.

Even the thought sent a light shudder through him. He wanted nothing more than for the opening to go drama-free.

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt a presence.

He looked to his side, seeing Yalan approach quietly and took a seat beside him on the staircase. Her ears were swiveled toward where all the noise was coming from, and when Chen Ren looked at her, he saw how her amber eyes were scanning the crowd, just like he was. But her pupils were dilated. Whiskers pushed forward and awaited some sort of trouble. He was used to this trance now—she was on alert.

She was the only person, aside from Hong Yi, who had followed him to Jingxi. Hong Yi, however, had already returned to the sect after Chen Ren had inspected his puppets in action and assigned him the task of creating more. It was a mission Hong Yi had eagerly accepted, leaving Chen Ren with Yalan.

Chen Ren asked through their mental connection, “Did you find anything?”

Yalan’s lips barely moved as she responded telepathically. “Nothing suspicious. No cultivators, at least. It’s pretty peaceful—just mortals, as far as I can tell. Though… There were a few mortals who lingered around the booths and quietly observed before slipping away, but I couldn’t tell if they were from the Union or just random passersby.”

Chen Ren nodded slightly. “It’s fine. I fully expect the Union to be aware of how big our opening day is. We’ve made enough noise that they’d have to be blind not to notice. Besides, after their last attempt to sabotage us, we were never going to stay low-key for long.”

Yalan grunted in his mind and meowed next to him.

After a moment, Chen Ren’s gaze flicked toward her, and he asked with a hint of dry amusement, “And what about our captured princesses?”

“By now, they’re probably wishing for death—if only to escape the humiliation.” She glanced at him. “They can’t even get through their chains, and you’ve drained all their qi. It’s been… humbling for them.”

“Good.” They had captured them for a reason, and he wasn’t about to let them slip away anytime soon.

“I’ve seen a few Xueying Clan members snooping around the city, though. They’re clearly searching for them, but the [Redirection arrays] are still working, at least for now.”

Chen Ren hummed. “Let’s keep it that way. The longer we keep them off our trail, the better. But stay ready. If anyone tries to make a move, I want to know about it immediately.”

“Understood.”

Chen Ren nodded, his thoughts shifting back to the first thing he had done after arriving in Jingxi: putting Yalan to work as their scout.

The cat wasn’t the type to pour all her strength into helping him unless she thought he was on the verge of failing, but she was supportive enough to lend a hand—especially when it came to stealth. With her feline agility and nimble movements, slipping through alleyways and keeping out of sight came naturally to her. It hadn’t taken long for Yalan to track down useful leads and scope out potential dangers.

Unfortunately, their progress had been limited. They weren’t able to get into the inner areas of any Union member estates. Those places had been locked down tight. The outer areas were easy enough to check, but the inner estates? All of them were warded with arrays. And even with their skills, snooping around would set off alarms. If someone tries to force their way in, they would break, alerting whoever’s handling them. Basically, it was like walking into a wasp’s nest. That was something they couldn’t afford yet.

“So, what are you planning to do with those ‘princesses,’ anyway? They’re kind of useless right now, aren’t they?” she asked, looking towards him.

“I have plans for them. They’re still cultivators, and they’re witnesses to everything the Xueying Clan has done. The clan head won’t want people like that getting captured. In his eyes, it’d be better for them to die than to be left alive as liabilities.”

“Are your plans going to start soon, then?”

“Hopefully,” Chen Ren replied. “I just need to wait for the right timing. For now, I’m watching and waiting to see what the Union does next.”

“You’ve been waiting for a long time. They’ve gone quiet. Completely silent, actually.”

“I know. But that’s exactly why I can’t relax.”

“So, you’ve finally become paranoid, huh?”

Chen Ren glanced at her, a dry smile playing on his face. “I prefer to call it being prepared.”

“Sure, whatever you call it, you are still paranoid.”

He didn't say anything to that, knowing Yalan was right. He had become paranoid, and there was no denying it. The constant waiting, the feeling of being on edge, always expecting something to go wrong—it wasn’t a pleasant way to live.

And honestly, that was probably exactly what the Union wanted.

If this was some kind of mental tactic, it was working, at least for now. But Chen Ren was also certain that whatever they had planned, they wouldn’t wait much longer after seeing how successful the mall’s opening day had turned out. He could practically feel the tension building, like a string pulled taut, ready to snap at any moment.

“Actually,” Yalan said suddenly, “paranoia isn’t all that bad for a cultivator.”

Chen Ren glanced at her, as if asking ‘what do you mean?’.

“The longest-lived cultivators are always paranoid,” she continued, stretching lazily but keeping her sharp, catlike gaze fixed on him. “They move to get stronger, always expecting a blade to hit their neck at any time. It’s how they survive.”’

Chen Ren let out a low breath. “That sounds like a pretty hard way to live—”

Before he could finish, a loud voice cut through the hum of chatter below.

Chen Ren’s head snapped toward the sound, his body already tense as he stepped down the stairs a bit to get a better look. His eyes quickly locked onto the source of the commotion—a man dressed in extremely fine robes, standing near one of the counters on the first floor. He looked like the typical young master of some influential family, and he wasn’t alone. A small group of lackeys stood behind him, nodding and murmuring in agreement as he argued with Ling’er.

The man’s voice was loud enough to draw the attention of nearby customers, and Chen Ren felt his jaw tighten. Is this it? Is the Union finally making a move?

Without wasting a second, he moved quickly down the stairs, moving through the crowd to intercept the situation before it escalated into something bigger. As he drew closer, he caught part of the conversation.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” the young master was saying. He rolled his eyes as if she’d made the worst mistake; not knowing who he was. “Yunji Lian! I belong to the Yunji Clan. My father won’t be happy to hear that you’re treating us unfairly.”

Ling’er, to her credit, didn’t back down. She stood her ground while still maintaining a respectable trance, her hands clutched in front of her. “Young Master, we’re not being unfair,” she said evenly. “We only give the discount if you’ve brought more people with you, as per the rules.”

Lian scoffed, gesturing dramatically at the small group of followers behind him. “Don’t you see? I did bring people with me! Are you blind?”

“No, young master. I see them,” the maid replied, nodding politely. “But they need to actually buy something, too. They aren’t purchasing anything right now, and because of that, they don’t qualify for the discount. Nor do you.”

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed as he observed the exchange, his mind already racing. This disagreement wasn’t just random, it had all the signs to cause huge trouble. Though he didn’t know if the Union had a part to play in this, he wasn’t about to stand and find out. For all he knew it could be some arrogant young master looking to flex his status and buy things cheap. But no, he couldn’t let either of the reasons disrupt the opening.

The drama was attracting too many eyes, and the longer it dragged on, the harder it would be to smooth things over. He stepped forward with a polite, disarming smile.

“Hello, I’m Chen Ren, the owner here. Can I ask what’s going on?” He looked at the man’s brown eyes directly, maintaining a friendly demeanor.

Lian put his hands in the air. “Finally, someone important!” he said, puffing up his chest. “You promised a discount, but you’re not giving it! That’s cheating!” His voice rose slightly, as though daring Chen Ren to argue.

Chen Ren didn’t respond right away. Instead, he glanced at Ling’er, who gave him a small shake of her head. He suppressed a sigh. He still couldn’t tell yet if this was some minor ploy by the Union to stir up trouble or just the antics of a self-absorbed brat from a lesser clan.

Either way, he knew he had to deal with it quickly. Thankfully, by now, he’d learned a thing or two about handling this particular brand of arrogance.

Turning back to Lian, Chen Ren kept his tone light, as though he were explaining something simple to a child. “Young Master Yunji Lian, it’s not cheating. The discount applies only when the people you bring also make a purchase. It’s not enough just to bring them along—they have to actually buy something, too.”

The latter opened his mouth to retort, but Chen Ren smoothly cut him off before he could say anything.

“I get it’s just a misunderstanding,” Chen Ren said. “But I’m also pretty sure that someone as wealthy and influential as Young Master Yunji Lian can easily afford to pay for his friends, too.” He smiled slightly, letting the words sink in. “And, if I may say so, that kind of generosity would definitely earn you even more admiration from the ladies here.”

At that, the young master blinked and glanced around, finally noticing the crowd that had gathered. Several young women, dressed in fine robes, were watching the scene with barely concealed amusement. Some were whispering to each other, while others openly stared, their eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Chen Ren could practically see the shift in the young master’s demeanor as he realized just how much attention he was getting. His outburst had turned him into the center of attention—and not necessarily in a flattering way. But Chen Ren’s words had given him an easy out, a chance to turn the situation around and save face.

The young master’s face immediately flushed, realizing that, in his anger, he’d come across as stingy in front of several young women. His eyes darted around nervously, and Chen Ren noticed the moment recognition dawned—he must have spotted a few familiar faces, likely young ladies from clans as prominent as his own.

Chen Ren knew exactly how much value these young masters placed on their reputations. Just reminding the guy of how much he was losing by continuing this outburst was enough to make him straighten up. The young master shot Chen Ren a sharp glare, his face still red with embarrassment, and forced a stiff smile. His hand wiped his hair thrice in a row.

“I understand,” he said through gritted teeth. “It was a simple misunderstanding. I’ll return later with money for my men.”

Without waiting for a reply, he spun on his heel and bolted out of the store, his lackeys scrambling to follow.

Chen Ren stood there for a moment, quietly watching the young master retreating back. He half-expected the brat to cause more trouble later, but for now, at least, the situation seemed under control.

Yalan’s voice broke his focus. “I doubt he’s related to the Union,” she said with a dry chuckle. “That was just a stupid, spoiled guy. No schemes this time.”

Hearing that, Chen Ren exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “I know.”

“Do you?”

He looked back at where Yalan was and saw her giving him a pointed look.

“I know you’re paranoid. But you need to relax before you lose your mind.”

“Yes, okay. I get it.”

Even as he said it, he tried to steady his breathing. After a month of constant vigilance, waiting for the Union’s next move, it felt like something could happen at any moment. That constant tension had kept him sharp—but it was also slowly wearing him down. If he stayed on edge like this, he’d just end up deteriorating before the real fight began.

Yalan, smug as always, gave him a knowing look before flicking her tail lazily and leaping to a nearby windowsill.

Shaking his head, Chen Ren turned to Ling’er. “Take care of the mall for now. I’ll be back soon.”

She nodded without hesitation, already turning to resume her duties.

Chen Ren stepped outside, breathing in the crisp air as he strolled through the streets. With all the work that had piled up, he’d barely had time to explore the city properly. Now seemed like a good time to fix that—and maybe even do a bit of research for his next line of products. And hope that no problem would come up while he would be out Though at this point, he was welcoming anything so he could put an end to the Union altogether.

***

Anji woke abruptly to the distant sound of a rooster crowing. Her eyes snapped open, wide with alarm, as her hand instinctively reached for the blade that should’ve been at her side. But her fingers grasped at nothing, meeting only the rough fabric of her blanket.

She blinked, her heart hammering, until the cool morning breeze drifted in through the small window, brushing softly against her skin. Slowly, her pulse calmed, and her tense body began to relax as the reality of where she was set in.

This wasn’t an ambush. There was no battle. No danger lurking around the corner.

She was in her room. In a quiet, peaceful village. Safe. Meadow Village. That was where she was.

She took a deep breath and sat up, pushing back the thin blanket. As the last remnants of fear ebbed away, she glanced around the small room. It was humble, barely furnished, with a worn wooden chair in one corner and a shelf holding a few essentials. From what she’d been told, it had once been a storage room, but Tang Xiulan had given it to her, knowing that she valued her privacy.

It wasn’t much. She’d lived in larger rooms before—far larger—but it was better than sleeping on the streets, better than waking up to the cold stones of alleyways and the constant fear of being found. Here, she could breathe.

Soon, her drowsiness began to fade. She stretched, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and mentally ticked off her tasks for the day.

First, she’d help with breakfast, even if her cooking wasn’t the best. After that, there were the lessons. Since Tang Xiulan had discovered that she could read and write, she’d asked her to teach some of the illiterate mortals in their sect. Anji had agreed, not just out of obligation, but because she’d found that she enjoyed it. It was better than doing the endless, menial tasks that many others in the sect had been saddled with. Teaching gave her a purpose, even if it wasn’t exactly the life she’d imagined for herself.

She sat there for a few more moments, watching the morning light stretch across the floorboards. Then, with a soft sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up.

As she reached for her shoes, she suddenly paused, frowning. There was something she’d forgotten.

She turned back to the bed and rummaged beneath the shelf, her fingers brushing against a small, smooth object. Pulling it out, she glanced down at the cylindrical tube in her hand.

It was the latest creation that Sect Leader Chen had designed before he’d left for the city. After finalizing a few prototypes, he’d instructed Tang Xiulan to test them, and in turn, Xiulan had asked Anji to try one out.

They’d called it… a lipstick.

The tube felt rough against her skin as she examined it. It was sleek and surprisingly well made, even if made from wood. When she twisted the base, the top of the lipstick extended upward, revealing a vivid crimson stick with a faint sheen. She rubbed the tip with her finger and saw how beautifully the crimson stuck to her skin. But she knew this goes on her lips.

She tilted her head, leaning closer to the small, cracked mirror mounted on the wall. Slowly, she raised the lipstick to her lips and swiped it gently across them.

The texture was smooth and creamy, spreading easily, and as it touched her lips, she tasted a faint hint of something sweet—honey, maybe, or a subtle floral note that lingered just enough to be pleasant without overwhelming.

She pressed her lips together, savoring the strange but not unpleasant sensation. For a brief moment, her reflection caught her off guard.

The vibrant red brought out the faint rosiness in her cheeks, making her face look softer, more alive. It was a small difference, but it felt… nice. Almost as though it wasn’t just her lips that had changed—but something inside her, too.

Anji touched her lips lightly, feeling the subtle warmth the lipstick left behind, before setting the tube down carefully on the shelf. Then she straightened her back, smoothed
out her tunic, and walked to the door.

It wasn’t bad. The texture on her lips reminded Anji of the fine powder she used to pat onto them in her teenage years, trying to keep them from drying and cracking during harsh winters. But this lipstick was far more convenient—no mess, no crumbling, just a single smooth swipe that left a soft, protective layer.

As she stared at the small tube in her shelf, her thoughts drifted, inevitably landing on the man who’d thought of this.

By now, Anji wasn’t even surprised at the strange, innovative ideas that seemed to constantly spill from his mind. From the noodles that had made a good profit even in a place like Cloud Mist City to products like this, Chen Ren’s thoughts always seemed to leap ahead of what anyone else was doing.

And yet… that felt natural, didn’t it? After all, he’d been chosen by the Golden Dragon.

She had no idea what it truly meant. She hadn’t been involved in that fateful event, just nearby when the dragon appeared, and Chen Ren had escaped with his life intact due to him even against a demonic cultivator. He never spoke about it, not to her or anyone else, but she didn’t need an explanation to know that it marked him for something greater.

Maybe that was why she’d decided to stay close to him. Maybe, deep down, she hoped that by following him, by staying in his orbit, she’d grow strong enough to keep a promise she was currently too powerless to fulfill.

Or… was that just an excuse?

Anji frowned. Was that truly why she stayed? Or was it something else? A fear that she wouldn’t be able to walk her own path?

She hadn’t wanted to admit it for a long time, but the truth was there, in the back of her mind, like a ghost. She was running. Running from the road she was meant to walk. Because it felt terrifying. Because every time she thought about taking that first step, she was overwhelmed by how distant her goal seemed.

But wasn’t she alive right now to walk that path? Wasn’t that the reason she was still breathing, still moving forward despite everything? Why was she turning away from it?

The questions hit her all at once, swirling around her mind, tightening her chest until—

Knock, knock.

“Anji? Are you coming for breakfast?” Tang Xiulan’s voice rang out.

Anji blinked, her mind sluggish as it struggled to adjust from the deep, uncomfortable reflections to the mundane reality in front of her. After a pause, she cleared her throat and called back,

“Yes! Just a minute.”

She glanced back at the lipstick on the shelf. Then, she took a long, slow sigh, as if exhaling the tangle of doubts threatening to choke her.

Not now.

For now, she would lock those thoughts away. She’d shove them deep into the corners of her mind where they couldn’t reach her, where she could feel that fragile peace she’d finally found in this quiet, sleepy village.

Squaring her shoulders, Anji smoothed her tunic, reached for the door, and stepped out into the light.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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91. Counterfeits

Chen Ren hadn’t expected it, but the opening day was simply the prelude to what was about to come. Due to their initiative in marketing, discounts, and the perfumes already being pretty cheap, word of mouth had spread pretty fast. There were now twice the amount of people entering their shop that were on the opening day.

The public samples helped, but it wasn’t just that. They had recognized some young girls from non-union clans and, in a bid to make sure the product reached as many as possible, gave them free items to advertise within their circles. By the next day, the store was swarming with an even bigger crowd.

It wasn’t just the perfumes that were flying off the shelves. Even the clothes were being snapped up faster than expected. He even witnessed a few women fighting for the last piece of a certain design, and that spoke volume to him.

Yuqiu had to ramp up production, bringing in more sewing machines and doubling the workforce to meet the growing demand. It was the ideal scenario for Chen Ren, who realized he’d underestimated the middle class in the city. The people of Jingxi were far more hale than he’d initially thought. In this world, even a middle-class family, who had money to spare, often had more than two or three children. So, if one member of the family bought a perfume, it was only a matter of time before the others would follow suit, either out of curiosity or because of the absolute effectiveness of the product.

On the other hand, this shift in momentum gave him a rush of qi and an unshakable confidence. Finally, he had the public’s support, and he could feel it. It was time to take on the union. Yet, even after a week of the shop’s opening, the union didn’t seem to make a move. The Xueying Clan was still looking for their men, but at this point, even they knew they might not be able to find them.

But other than that, it was quiet. Too quiet one might say.

Maybe he had misjudged the union. Maybe instead of competing, they might want to collaborate, seeing the potential for mutual profits. That view wasn’t unreasonable, because even on Earth, such situations had always existed, and more often than not, they led to lucrative partnerships. He knew that in order to succeed long-term in Jingxi, becoming a part of the union was going to be inevitable. There was no way they could dismantle the whole thing, not when it had its tendrils so deeply embedded in the city.

In the end, all merchants simply wanted to make money. But as the days went by, his expectations proved to be wrong. On the eighth day of the mall opening, the calm was finally broken, and a problem cropped up.

He was on the ground floor, contemplating an offensive lightning technique that he had found in Chen Ren’s memories, one that he hadn’t had the time to practice yet. He knew the basics and where to begin, but he simply hadn’t had the proper time to practise and develop when the drama started.

“Hey! I need to talk to the owner!”

An angry voice came from the entrance. Three women barged in the store and the one leading them yelled, making every head on the ground floor turn towards the entrance. For how loud she was, he knew even the second floor customers might’ve heard the chaos.

Chen Ren looked up from his trance and noticed the group of people. One look at their faces told him they weren’t customers that came to hunt for good perfume or a dress.

Apart from the three women, there were two middle-aged men that entered after them, all of them were sweaty and brimming with anger. The woman’s upper lip curled into disdain as she looked around at the store before making a beeline for the counter.

Her eyes narrowed down to where Chen Ren sat, right beside the counter. By his fine tunics, they could tell his worth. But he’d been silent, studying their appearance.

“Are you the owner of this place?” she spat the last word as if it was the last thing she wanted to say.

Chen Ren straightened up. “Yes, how can I help you?”

Before he could even finish his sentence, one of the men pushed a wooden container on the counter, the soft thud of the cylindrical box hitting the surface of it.

As if their voices aren’t enough, they just have to make a show, Chen Ren thought while still maintaining a neutral expression on his face. Polite, yet unoffended.

The man’s face twisted in fury as he spat, “I need a refund. You-you better check this piece of garbage! You sold colored water in the name of perfume to my wife.”

The other man, clearly in agreement, chimed in. “Same here. You sold fake perfume to my sister... and I'm here to demand a refund. You thought you could scam me out of my hard earned money. I will complain about you to the City Lord.”

He moved forward and wiped his sweaty brows. The younger woman, who Chen Ren guessed was the sister, among the five nodded with a sniffle.

Chen Ren blinked. There was no way they could have sold colored water. The perfume bottles were checked thoroughly before being put on the shelves, no exceptions. And colored water? They never created them. The colors of the perfumes were a result of the products infused in them.

And to make things worse, there were more and more customers looking at them. He wasn’t about to give them a spectacle. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure.

“How about we deal with this upstairs in my office?” Chen Ren offered, attempting to move the confrontation out of the public eye.

“No,” the lead man snapped. “We will talk here. Do you want to just sweep this under the rug after selling us such a scammy product?”

Sweep under the rug?

From the corner of his eye he saw Yuqiu, who had been upstairs handling the production, stepping down quickly, her eyes scanning the room, studying the men and women whose eyes were on Chen Ren.

“What’s going on here?” she asked, the noise probably bringing her down.

“These men are saying we sold them colored water instead of perfume,” Chen Ren replied, taking the eyes off of the men.

Yuqiu walked closer. “Let me see.” She took the container the man had pushed over and turned it around in her hand. The label, even Chen Ren noticed, was extremely similar to their packaging. And now, she confirmed so. “This does look like the design of our container, with the brand mark of the Divine Coin Sect on it, but…” She opened the cap and inhaled. “You’re right, there’s no fragrance in it. Coloured water loses it in a couple of hours. This isn't our perfume.”

Chen Ren felt a tightening in his chest. He had no idea what was going on, but this was the type of attack he’d been waiting for. He had no doubt that the union was involved in this.

He narrowed his eyes at the lead man. “Where did you buy this?”

The man, momentarily flustered, turned to his wife who stood beside him, clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation. She was the one to answer. “From your men,” she said.

“But where exactly? Did you get it from our shop here?”

“No… we got it from one of the stalls that were advertising the perfumes. They sold it to us.”

The other two men nodded in agreement, and Chen Ren’s heart dropped as everything clicked into place. The stall was likely one of the offshoots run by the union or someone working with them. This wasn’t a misunderstanding. This was deliberate.

“Then I’m sorry, but we didn’t sell it.”

That earned multiple gasps from the women that were watching the drama. But it clearly pissed off the five people who’d walked in.

“What do you mean? We bought it from someone selling it with your shop's name on it. How is that not your responsibility? Mind you, we will not let this go until we get our refund!”

Chen Ren opened his mouth to explain, but before he could get another word out, the sounds of more commotion from outside rang through the open doorway. More angry shouts came from outside.

“Chen Ren! Come out! We demand our money back!”

“You better come out before we barge in!”

“Cheap businessmen! We won’t let you continue your business here! Come out!”

What the fuck? Chen Ren’s eyes went to the door. From the shouts, it looked like there were at least a dozen people outside.

“Hold on,” Chen Ren said quietly.

He exchanged a brief, tense look with Yuqiu, who had already gone pale. Without wasting another moment, they both moved quickly toward the door, ignoring the remaining angry customers inside for now. This was escalating way quicker than he thought.

And as they stepped outside, the sight before them made his stomach twist. It was more than just a dozen people. Probably twice, shouting his name and waving perfume bottles in the air. The chants for refunds and demands for their money back rang out, almost deafening. He couldn’t decipher and single-out any more sentences.

His presence turned the roar into an uproar.

The union had finally made its move, targeting his reputation and hitting them where it would hurt the most—public perception. His heart sank, and he felt a headache start to form at the back of his skull.

Yuqiu stood next to him, her face pale as the enormity of the situation dawned on her too.

A few of their guards moved to contain the crowd, but they were vastly outnumbered. The guards flanked Yuqiu and Chen Ren, positioning themselves in protective stances, but even Chen Ren knew it was more of a formality than a real defense.

The crowd was simply too large, and the situation was growing too volatile.

Chen Ren didn’t need protection. He stepped forward, trying to calm his mind. The union had taken its time, but now they had set in motion a scheme that would tear apart the goodwill he’d worked so hard to build. They had carefully orchestrated this—an attack on his reputation, one that was already doing its damage.

He stood firm, facing the mob of angry customers.

His fingers flexed at his sides, and he could feel his qi stir, but he knew better than to act rashly. For now, he needed to think, to strategize. He couldn't afford to make the situation worse by responding in anger. The crowd was only growing, and their demands for a refund echoed through the streets, but he knew there was more to this than just a simple misunderstanding.

In a way, this… made sense. In a psychotic, evil way. The union had used the same tactic he had used to market his products—attracting attention through crowds—but this time, it was being used against him. The union had turned his own methods back on him, but with malicious intent.

With a deep breath, he stepped forward, raising his hands in a gesture meant to command attention.

"Everyone, I’m Chen Ren," he said. "Please calm down, so I can deal with whatever problems you’re having."

The crowd stilled for a brief moment, but then a man from the mob shouted, his voice full of accusation, "You sold us fake perfumes! Give our money back!"

Chen Ren turned to face him, unwavering. "Did you buy it from me?" he asked the same question as he asked before.

The latter hesitated, glancing at the others before replying, "No… but it was from your men."

Chen Ren's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"

"It has the mark of your shop on it. You can’t fool us!"

The accusations hung in the air, the murmurs growing louder once again to a point where he couldn’t hear his own thoughts. The angry men, in the middle of the day drawing more and more attention from the passerby, felt like a cruel joke.

He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing his qi, letting the energy surge slightly through his body, infusing his voice with a subtle but commanding resonance.

"Please," he said, his voice cutting through the noise with an authority that only a cultivator could wield. "Calm down."

They all hushed, realising that he was a cultivator.

Chen Ren took the opportunity to speak again. "I know you all have been fooled, but trust me, Heavenly Fragrances had nothing to do with it. Those are not our products. Someone has made them and sold them to all of you, scamming you. Although I’m sorry for what happened, Heavenly Fragrances wasn’t involved."

There was a brief silence, the crowd still simmering with doubt. Finally, one woman stepped forward, her voice hesitant but filled with suspicion. "But they have your mark on their bottles…"

The mark of our bottles… It gave him an idea. He stood a little taller and nodded, acknowledging the concern. A sudden wave of confidence rushed over him as he knew just how to stop this chaos at once.

Yes, they had the engravings, but Heavenly Fragrances had done much more than just engraving the Divine Coin Sect mark on the front. Chen Ren wanted to create something luxurious, and with Yuqiu's help, he had done exactly that—right down to the packaging.

"Yes, but only in the outer engraving. It’s a cheap imitation, not something we’ve ever sold."

He turned to one of the guards positioned near Yuqiu, the man’s attention sharp as he stood ready. "Get me a bottle from inside," Chen Ren instructed.

The guard nodded and moved swiftly into the store. Chen Ren kept his gaze on the crowd, letting the tension linger in the air, but with a sense of control now radiating from him.

As he waited, he could already sense the growing anticipation of the crowd. Some were still whispering and throwing comments regardless of his words. But he stood ground, staring at them directly, showing them that he couldn’t be manipulated into accepting responsibility that wasn’t his to begin with.

Fortunately, the guard returned soon, a bottle in hand.

Chen Ren took it, holding it up for the crowd to see, his voice ringing clear and authoritative. "Although it has an outer carving of the sect mark, there's one on the inside too."

With a focused expression, Chen Ren used his strength to delicately peel away a thin layer of wood from the bottle, just enough to reveal the inner engraving. He held it up for everyone to see. The mark was crude—obviously hastily made—much less refined than the one on the outside, but it was there.

"See?" he said, "We haven’t just carved out the brand mark on the outside but inside too. This is how we do it. We ensure the mark is there, solid and clear."

He turned to one of the men in the crowd. "Can you give me one of your bottles?"

The man hesitated but then handed over one of the offending bottles, his grip tight with frustration. Chen Ren took it, and without hesitation, peeled it open in the same manner, spilling the coloured water on the ground and revealing the complete lack of a brand mark inside. The engraving was missing entirely.

Chen Ren held it up for all to see, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. "Like you can see," he said. "These bottles are not from us. Someone has counterfeited them and is selling them in our name. I know you all are troubled, but this isn’t our fault."

The crowd stood in stunned silence for a moment. Slowly, expressions of realization began to settle on their faces, but there was no denying the dissatisfaction still bubbling underneath.

A few murmurs rippled through the crowd before one woman stepped forward, her voice trembling with frustration.

"But we spent a good amount of money on it. I used up my savings of months to buy this."

Chen Ren’s heart clenched as the woman’s words sank in, and he could see others nodding in agreement. "I spent my entire monthly savings," another woman added, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I thought I was buying something worth it."

The anger and regret in their voices were palpable. Chen Ren felt his chest tighten. This was a blow to his reputation, one he hadn’t been prepared for. The stall where the counterfeit products had been sold—where was it now? It probably wasn’t there anymore or these people won't have come here.

But again, they’d placed trust in a brand, in something they believed in, and it had been betrayed.

He could already sense the rumblings of dissatisfaction spreading through the crowd, like a wildfire. Even if they walked away knowing that the issue wasn’t directly tied to Heavenly Fragrances, the damage had been done. The trust they might have in the brand was shaken, and worse yet, if word of this got out, the gossip and rumors could tarnish everything he had worked for.

He swallowed, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. A solution had to be found—one that would satisfy the crowd and repair the damage to his reputation. The problem was that even if he hadn’t been involved, they were still holding the bag.

He didn’t have time to waste. "I understand your frustration," he said. "I truly do. But please, listen to me. This is an issue of counterfeit goods, and we will work to ensure that whoever is behind this is held accountable." He paused, feeling the weight of their gazes. "However, I also understand the predicament you're in. You’ve spent your hard-earned money on these products, expecting quality. And I can't ignore that."

A few of the people in the crowd murmured in agreement, their eyes expectant.

Chen Ren’s gaze sharpened as a plan began to form in his mind. "Here’s what I’ll do," he said. "If you’ve bought these bottles from the stall selling them under our name, bring them to us. We will offer you a full refund or exchange it for our actual products at no extra cost. You won’t leave here empty-handed."

What he was saying… It wasn’t an immediate fix, but it was something that would help ease the tension and rebuild the trust that had been fractured. Even grow it.

"And," Chen Ren continued, feeling the pressure lift just a little, "We will personally investigate and make sure those responsible are found and held accountable. I will not let this tarnish the name of Heavenly Fragrances. You have my word. Now, I need you all to bring the bottles you’ve purchased to us, and we’ll handle this the right way."

“That’s amazing! Thank you!” A woman said, her hands in the air as she broke into a wide grin.

People mirrored her expression, and soon began to move inside. He felt a wave of relief wash over him—at least for now, the situation was under control. But the gnawing sense that this was only the beginning of a larger battle didn’t leave him.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting to Yuqiu as she walked up beside him, her expression tight with concern. “This will take away from our profits,” she said with a sigh. “A good chunk. We’re giving it away for free.”

Chen Ren’s eyes hardened as he looked out at the crowd, who were now filing in, eager to get their hands on the real product. “Reputation is far more important at this stage,” he said. “We can't afford to lose it. Not now, not when we’ve just begun to build something good.”

Yuqiu crossed her arms, her lips tight with frustration. “But more people are going to come in with the fake perfumes sooner or later. What then? Are we just going to keep handing out free products?”

Chen Ren gave a single nod. “Yes, I understand. We can’t keep giving them free perfume forever, and we won’t. But right now, we need to prove that Heavenly Fragrances stand for integrity. We can’t afford to let falsehoods spread. This will buy us some time, but we can’t let them flood the market with counterfeits.”

Yuqiu's gaze softened slightly, but she still looked troubled. “So, what’s the plan then? You’re going after the counterfeiters, right?”

It was a good question. The moment he knew this was what the union had planned all along, he knew exactly what to do.

“Yes, going after the counterfeiters, but more than that… I’m going after the union itself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was waiting for the perfume shop to stabilize before I started dismantling them,” he wiped the sweat that had formed in his own brows. “But I don’t think I can wait any longer. We can’t let them continue to undermine everything we’ve worked for. I will do the one thing that unions always have a hard time against—internal strife.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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92. Give and take

The initial crowd demanding compensation for counterfeit perfumes had been just the beginning. By mid-morning, the trickle turned into a flood. More and more furious customers kept arriving, slamming down cheap wooden bottles with deceptive labels and demanding their money back. To save face and protect their reputation, Chen Ren had no choice but to hand out replacements from their own stock. Even if they were the lowest-priced perfumes in the shop, the losses were piling up fast—and he hated losses, especially when they came from someone else’s scheme.

He clenched his jaw as yet another disgruntled buyer left the store, satisfied only after walking away with a real bottle of their perfume. “At this rate, we’ll be handing out half our inventory before the sun sets,” he muttered to himself.

This wasn’t just bad business— it was personal. Whoever had flooded the market with cheap knockoffs wasn’t just after profit; they were trying to destroy his brand. And he wasn’t going to let them get away with it.

He’d already asked Tang Boming to take his men and sweep the city; to find those counterfeiters and drag them to him. But by the time Boming’s men reached the places—the ones the scammed customers had told him they had bought the perfume from—the counterfeiters were already gone. It was as if they had vanished overnight. No trace of the cheap perfumes, no sign of their operation. Chen Ren wasn’t surprised.

The Xueying Clan had already covered their tracks.

Still, he wasn’t naïve enough to think they were done. If anything, they were probably preparing to pump out more counterfeits. This was just the opening move. Therefore he kept his men patrolling the city, scanning for any sign of new stalls or suppliers. He wasn’t going to be caught off guard again.

Meanwhile, Yuqiu wasn’t sitting idle either. She had stormed off to the local bureaucracy, determined to pressure the officials into taking action. But Chen Ren already knew how that was going to go.

The empire’s bureaucrats were slow-moving at the best of times, and when it came to protecting merchants from knockoffs? They barely lifted a finger. Patent rights didn’t even exist for most products in the empire. Copycats were everywhere—he’d seen it firsthand with his noodle stall, where imitators had popped up recently.

Sure, the officials might move against the counterfeiters eventually, since outright scams were technically illegal. But with a powerful clan like Xueying pulling the strings, the bureaucrats were more likely to just sit back and watch the chaos unfold rather than risk stepping in. Hence, he knew he had to do his own thing.

Beyond managing day-to-day operations, he’d been quietly gathering information. With Yalan’s help, he had been asking around in inns and taverns, bribing servants and workers connected to the various union clans, and piecing together a map of alliances, rivalries, and hidden dealings.

Now, he had everything he needed.

It was time to put that information to use and go against Xueying Clan.

After the day finally wound down and Heavenly Fragrances closed its doors, Chen Ren found himself seated on the second floor of the Rice Heaven Pagoda, the prestigious restaurant owned by one of the union members, Wenqing. It wasn’t his first choice of where to be after a long day of compensating angry customers, but this meeting was needed.

The second floor of the restaurant was eerily quiet, with only a handful of servants lingering in the corners, waiting silently while Chen Ren sat alone at a polished mahogany table. Getting here hasn't been difficult. As a cultivator, access to the VIP floor was practically guaranteed. Flashing his sect mark had been enough to convince the manager to take him seriously, and when Chen Ren mentioned he was from Heavenly Fragrances and hinted at a lucrative business opportunity for their boss, the man had practically bolted off to summon her without a second thought.

Now, he waited. Alone, but not idle. His fingers tapped a quiet rhythm against the table as he kept his senses sharp, stretching his awareness to feel the ebb and flow of qi in the restaurant. It was unlikely that anyone here would make a move against him, but he wasn’t the kind to sit defenseless. Not after what had happened today.

After about ten minutes, the sound of soft footsteps broke the silence. Chen Ren’s eyes lifted just as Wenqing entered the room.

She looked to be somewhere in her mid-fifties, though it was clear that old age was creeping up on her. The lines on her face were deep, and there was a faint weariness in her step that spoke of someone who had spent too long carrying heavy burdens. Still, there was a certain sharpness to her; how her black hair was dyed and combed back neatly, and how clean her attire was, and even the way she looked at him.

Wenqing was flanked by two guards, both of whom moved with the restrained power of cultivators. Chen Ren didn’t need to probe too deeply to sense their strength. Body forging realm. Solid, but nothing he couldn’t handle.

He rose to his feet as she approached, but he didn’t bow his head. Instead, he offered a small, polite nod and spoke.

“It’s nice to finally meet the owner of the Rice Heaven Pagoda. I’ve been meaning to dine at one of your restaurants.”

Wenqing’s lips curved in a faint smile as she nodded at him. “And you’re going to dine with the owner herself. Not many get the honor.”

Chen Ren didn’t respond, his eyes sweeping the room. He noted the servants standing silently along the walls, their postures rigid, their eyes carefully lowered. Then, he glanced back at Wenqing and raised an eyebrow.

“Are we going to talk with them around?” He asked, looking at the people around. “I don’t think you’d want business discussions slipping out.”

Wenqing’s smile didn’t waver. “They’ll leave after serving the food.”

“Alright,” Chen Ren inhaled and followed after her and sat. Within minutes, the servants returned, carrying trays filled with different types of dishes—a platter of glazed duck with crispy skin, bowls of fragrant rice, stir-fried greens shimmering with oil, and small plates of steamed dumplings. A separate tray held a carafe of deep red wine, which one of the servants poured into crystal glasses.

Once everything was set, the servants and even the guards left the room, closing the doors behind them.

Wenqing swirled her glass of wine, watching the crimson liquid cling to the sides, before taking a small sip. When she set the glass down, her eyes were sharp, cutting straight to the point.

“I don’t like beating around the bush,” she said. “Especially because this isn’t some courting meeting. What do you want, and what can you offer in exchange?”

Chen Ren chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. “More than what I want, I’m here to make a deal about what you want.”

Her expression hardened, lips thinned and she frowned. “Don’t play games with me. I don’t like all that. Talk about what’s pertinent to the meeting.”

He shrugged lightly, picking up his chopsticks. “It is pertinent to know what you want if we’re going to have a real discussion here.”

Wenqing’s almond shaped eyes narrowed. “And what do you think I want?”

Chen Ren didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a small bite of the glazed duck and then the rice, chewing slowly as if savoring the taste. After swallowing, he spoke casually.

“This food is good,” he said, “but I don’t sense any spiritual ingredients in it.”

Her frown deepened. “It’s high-quality rice. The ducks are cooked with precision. Everything here is high quality.”

Chen Ren shifted his attention solely to the bowl of rice, scooping up a small bite again. He chewed slowly, then nodded as if confirming something to himself. “But it’s not spiritual rice.”

He set his chopsticks down.

“You’ve been trying to break into luxury dining for a while now, haven’t you? A place that caters exclusively to cultivators. Targeting rogue cultivators who roam the region and the wealthy merchants who’d pay a fortune for even the smallest benefits from spiritual food. Your restaurants serve everyone in the city, but you want to expand, to attract the wealthiest clientele.”

Wenqing’s expression didn’t change, but Chen Ren caught the slight tension in her shoulders.

“So what?” she asked.

It was clear by her tensed shoulders that she’d put up a cold front for him. Probably because she knew exactly who he was, and didn't want to associate much with him since the head of the union she belonged to was against him. He couldn’t blame her, but her coming here was enough for him to know that there was hope.

“So,” Chen Ren said, “the Jinshi Trade Association stabbed you in the back. Even though they’re part of the same merchant union, they’ve taken the idea you’ve been working on and gone behind your back to make it happen first. They’ve secured a better deal with the White Bear Sect, offering higher prices in exchange for their supply of spirit rice. And now…” He paused for effect. “Now, you can’t find another source of it—not one that won’t bleed your coffers dry.”

Wenqing’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she said nothing.

Chen Ren continued, his tone matter-of-fact. “Spirit rice is a luxury product for a reason. It’s only grown by sects, and only in qi-dense environments. Most sects cultivate it solely for their own disciples—it strengthens their bodies, keeps them full for longer, and enhances recovery. Very few ever sell it, and even then, it’s in tiny quantities at sky-high prices.”

He leaned forward again, his voice dropping slightly. “Finding a reliable source for spirit rice? That’s nearly impossible… unless you know where to look.”

Wenqing’s hand came on top of her other hand, knotting.

“Why are you telling me all this? I get that you’ve done your research, but unless you actually have spirit rice, you’re just reminding me of the sinking hole I’m already in. And trust me,” she added dryly, “there are plenty of people happy to remind me of that every day.”

Chen Ren smiled.

Wenqing’s displeased face deepened. If there was one bitter looking woman he’d met in this life, it could be the one in front of him.

“What?” she asked.

“I do have spirit rice.”

For a moment, she froze. Her mouth opened, then closed, as though she was struggling to form a coherent response. When she finally spoke, her voice was incredulous.

“Impossible. From what I know, yoir sect is too young, too… raw… to already have access to spirit rice.”

“You’re right about my sect being young,” Chen Ren said with a casual shrug. “But that doesn’t really matter, does it? What matters is that I can get you the spirit rice.”

Wenqing fell silent, her brows furrowing as she mulled over his words. After a long pause, she finally sighed. “What’s your price?”

Chen Ren smiled inwardly. Got her.

In any business deal, if the conversation reached the question of price, it meant the deal was already halfway done. And seeing by how defeated she looked, she was more than ready to give in.

“It’ll take more than just coins.”

Her eyes flashed up and her upper lip curled. “If you’re thinking I’ll betray the union, forget it. I know they’re trying to sabotage your growing business, but going against them outright would be disastrous for me. I’m not strong enough to take them on. Find your way out if that’s what you want.”

“I appreciate your honesty,” Chen Ren said smoothly. “But you misunderstood. I’m not asking you to take on the entire union.”

“Huh? What else…”

“I want you,” he continued, “to go against the Xueying Clan, the Jinshi Trade Association, and Lotus Mist Fragrances. That’s not the same as turning the whole union against you. It’s more about weakening a few key members—and maybe getting them into a little trouble.”

She blinked, her frown deepening. “I still don’t get it. How do you expect me to do anything like that? Spirit rice is good—I want it—but these businesses are strong, deeply rooted. You can’t just take them out on a whim.”

Chen Ren took another bite of rice, chewing thoughtfully before answering.

“I have plans,” he said, setting down his chopsticks. “And we’re not going after all three at once. We’ll be focusing mainly on the Xueying Clan. Their current head, Xueying Shenmu, also happens to be the head of the entire merchant union. If we can get rid of him, the other two will lose their strongest supporter. They’ll pull back on their own.”

Wenqing studied him carefully. But Chen Ren could see the glint of interest in her eyes, the flicker of hope she was trying to suppress.

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she started eating; eating with the grace and precision of someone accustomed to maintaining appearances, even in private. Every sip of wine, every bite of food, was slow.

Chen Ren mirrored her pace, savoring his meal as though they weren’t in the middle of discussing a plan that could shake up the entire merchant union. He relished the pause. The longer the silence stretched, the better it was for him. It meant she hadn’t dismissed the idea outright. She was weighing it, calculating the risks and rewards, deciding whether siding with him and betraying the union head would be more profitable than kicking him out.

And she’ll choose the former, Chen Ren thought, his confidence unwavering. Merchants, after all, were naturally greedy. And what he was proposing wasn’t just about revenge or power—it was about profit. Serious profit. Enough to tip the scales in his favor.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Wenqing set down her wine glass and cleared her throat.

“This plan of yours,” she said slowly. “How confident are you in it? And what’s the basis for it?”

“Very confident,” he said. “And it’s very simple. The Xueying Clan is the biggest business clan in the city. They have their hands in almost every major trade and industry. It’s obvious that if anyone tries to expand or get big, it’s going to ruffle their feathers.”

Wenqing’s lips twitched, as though she were suppressing a smile.

“Union members might tolerate them because they’re too strong to fight directly,” Chen Ren continued, “but who said you have to fight alone? You band together, push them into a corner, and suddenly they’re the ones scrambling to protect their assets. Especially if we play it smart.”

Wenqing nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing in thought. Chen Ren could see the gears turning in her mind as she began to piece together the possibilities, stitching together the vague framework he’d laid out for her. He had deliberately left her with just enough information to let her imagination fill in the blanks.

He didn’t know exactly how she would execute it. Tjat wasn’t his job. But he could tell, from the glint in her eyes, that she was already considering ways to make it work.

And more importantly, she knew that he knew it too.

“Let’s discuss the spirit rice price first,” she said.

“Sure,” he said. “But keep in mind that it won’t be available for a few months. Once it is, though, I can supply you with more than just a few pounds.”

Wenqing nodded, swirling the wine in her glass thoughtfully. “Then, I’ll pay three thousand silver wen per pound.”

Chen Ren tilted his head, suppressing a smile. “That’s too low.”

“It’s not,” she countered smoothly. “Especially since I’ll be helping you out with the union.”

He smiled for real this time, thinking, Got her for real. A verbal confirmation, subtle as it was, meant she was already leaning in his favor. Now it was about hammering out the details.

“Still,” he said, “this is a long-term partnership. I don’t want to take a loss. And once the Xueying Clan is out of the way, the seat of the union head will be open. Don’t tell me you’re not eyeing it.”

Wenqing grimaced, caught off guard, before quickly masking her reaction. “Four thousand silver wen.”

“Eight thousand,” Chen Ren replied smoothly, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s ridiculous,” she snapped. “You’re pricing it like it’s spirit jade.”

They volleyed back and forth, each offering slightly better terms while trying to squeeze the best deal out of the other. The tension heated, voices rose, and more than once Wenqing glared at him like she was ready to throw her wine glass across the table.

But Chen Ren kept his cool, keeping pace with her relentless haggling until, after half an hour of heated negotiation, they finally found common ground.

“Five thousand silver wen per pound for the first year,” Chen Ren said, offering his final compromise. “After that, we can revisit the price, depending on how well the market responds.”

Wenqing drummed her fingers again, her lips pressed into a thin line. Then, after a brief pause, she leaned forward. “Make it two years at that price, and we have a deal.”

“One and a half,” Chen Ren countered.

She narrowed her eyes, considering. “And you don’t sell to anyone else in the city during that time.”

Chen Ren grinned. “Deal.”

Wenqing sighed, leaning back in her chair as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. For a moment, she looked like she grew younger.

“I never thought someone as young as you would go toe-to-toe with me in negotiations,” she admitted, taking a long sip of her wine.

Chen Ren chuckled. “I’m a cultivator. I might not be as young as I look.”

“Are you actually old, then?”

He shook his head. “No. Just reminding you.”

She gave him a sharp look, then laughed softly. “Fair enough.”

Chen Ren set his chopsticks down for the hundredth time and prepared for the real discussion.

“Either way, now that we’ve got that settled, why don’t we get to the crux of the plan? It might take a bit of time.”

Wenqing nodded. “Sure.”

And as the servants quietly cleared the table off the plates, leaving them alone once again, Chen Ren began outlining the plan that would set everything into motion.

***

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93. A meeting of merchants

Talking to Wenqing was only the first step of his plan, but once that was done, he moved to the next step; moving towards the other union members, but only going to the ones he believed were more likely to turn against the Xueying clan.

He couldn't take a massive risk and fall head first, like letting the clan know what was going to hit them in advance, and handing them the time to find ways to prepare for what was about to come. He wanted them unprepared, helpless and in a way that could hurt them.

The information and knowledge he had collected over the last month came in handy here, and he swiftly moved to convince the union members that siding with him was going to be more beneficial to them than the Xueying clan.

Partly, he was only able to do it because, rather than just being a merchant group, he was also representing a sect and could trade a lot of things that the union members might need. If not that, then he always had his modern knowledge, and he put it to good use—especially for Li Chengyuan who had a large clothing business. The man had been hesitant at first, but all it took was a demonstration of his sewing machines and an offer to provide six of them in exchange for his support. After that, Li Chengyuan had practically talked with a fat grin on his face.

In the grand scheme of things, a few sewing machines in the hands of a competitor weren’t going to shake the industry. But they would get him the backing he needed, at least for now. And that was all that mattered.

Still, getting the support of the union members alone wasn't enough. Their connections would allow him to drive the Xueying clan out of the union, and the backlash would serve as a warning to the other two dominant clans not to try anything reckless. But before that, he needed to cripple them. He needed more than just social pressure—he needed legal pressure, something that would force even the bureaucrats to take action.

And, ironically, the Xueying clan itself had handed him the perfect opportunity.

After spending the entire evening securing union support, Chen Ren shifted his focus elsewhere. In the world of money, people always chased after the gold, but there was plenty of merit in collecting coppers and silvers too. And that was exactly what he planned to do next.

He sent out invitations to about a third of the minor merchants operating in Jingxi, disguising them as an exclusive opportunity to visit his mall with their families while also hinting at a meeting that would give them a good opportunity to grow their businesses. The invitation was worded carefully—cordial enough to seem like a generous offer, yet compelling enough that they wouldn’t dare to reject it.

Just as he had expected, nearly all of them arrived the next day. Their wives lingered on the ground floor, browsing through perfumes and clothing, while Yuqiu discreetly guided the merchants to the second floor, where a large table had already been set for them with a tea to warm the tension.

Seated at the head of the table, Chen Ren took a sip of his own tea cup and raised his gaze as a plump man walked into the room. The merchants who had already claimed seats looked up at the newcomer, a few nodding in polite acknowledgment.

The man—Tai Yueshi, whom Chen Ren immediately recognized from his prior research—gave a sheepish smile as he stepped forward, giving a half bow. "Apologies. My wife and daughter wanted my opinion on a few things, so I had to stay back for a bit. Those perfumes and clothes—they’re absolutely loving them."

Then, turning toward Chen Ren, he gave a respectful bow. "Daoist Chen Ren, your sect’s products are something I can only hope to replicate."

Chen Ren smiled. "Thank you for your kind words, Tai Yueshi. I’m honored. I’ll make sure your family gets a good discount." He glanced at the already occupied seats. "Sadly, it seems all the seats are taken."

Tai Yueshi. nodded, scanning the table before shrugging. "No big deal. I can stand for a bit." With that, he moved toward a corner where a few other merchants had already taken position.

Chen Ren let a brief silence settle over the room before speaking. "I believe enough people are here for me to begin this meeting. Shall we?” His question earned him a few hums, and nods. But more than half of the gathered merchants looked skeptical, casting glances among them. Chen Ren ignored the wariness and talked with his cheerful voice.

“First of all, I’d like to thank everyone for arriving on such short notice, and I hope your families are enjoying our products."

Only a few merchants nodded at that, but he knew none of them were discontent. Maybe it was because of their family that they arrived here or perhaps it was due to the reluctance of offending a cultivator. Minor merchants rarely had the power to refuse a cultivator’s summons, after all. Though, it was likely a mix of both.

He exhaled lightly, then continued, "Now, I imagine you’re all eager to hear the real reason I invited you here—the opportunity that would let you all grow your businesses further, but before that, I want to talk about the reason a lot of your businesses aren't doing well—the ongoing sabotage of your businesses by the Xueying clan."

The air in the room shifted. He could tell how it became almost suffocating at the mixed mention of Xueying clan and sabotage. The two men who sat right in front of him stiffened, while others exchanged glances.

"I’m sure some of you are already aware," Chen Ren went on, his eyes sweeping across the table. "For example, Dong Tinguang, your merchant clan's candle business was crippled when the Xueying clan secured exclusive contracts with the beekeepers, forcing you to import beeswax from another city at ridiculous costs."

Dong Tinguang’s expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Yes, that's what happened."

"And that’s just one example." Chen Ren shifted his eyes to the one who sat next to him. "But it's not just businesses like his," he said. "There are also people like Yan Wudong of the Yan clan, whose transportation business suffered repeated attacks, causing him to lose reputation in the market."

At that, an older man seated near the middle of the table grimaced, his expression souring. Chen Ren noticed the way his hand shook when he grabbed the tea and sipped on it, clearly uncomfortable with the awful truth.

"Let me tell you now—those attacks weren’t just bad luck. They were intentional and planned. Every single one of them was orchestrated by the Xueying clan. And not just that—they even went so far as to spread rumors about your business, and about you personally, to damage your standing."

Yan Wudong’s jaw tightened, but before he could respond, Chen Ren reached into his robe and slid a stack of parchments onto the table.

"I have proof."

A tense, pregnant silence followed as Chen Ren pushed the documents forward.

"These are copies," he said. "Take one and read for yourselves."

The merchants hesitated for only a moment before standing up and reaching for the parchments. As they read, their brows furrowed. Some paled. Others clenched their fists. The room filled with the rustling of paper and the occasional sharp inhale of breath.

It was one of the merchants—a younger man near the edge of the table—who finally broke the silence. "Where did you get this information?"

Chen Ren crossed his hands in front of his chest. "While I was transporting my products from Cloud Mist City, I was attacked by men from the Xueying clan. Some of them were cultivators that I was able to capture. They gave me this information—records of all the shady dealings they’ve been involved in, specifically targeting your businesses. Wasn’t easy to get them, but I did."

His gaze flickered to Yan Wudong. "There should be a detailed account in there about how your carriages were attacked. Does it match what happened to you?"

Yan Wudong flipped a few more pages before stopping, his fingers tightening around the parchment. "Yes… that’s exactly what happened." His voice was tight with barely contained anger. "All this time, I thought it was a group of bandits. All. This. Time.”

Chen Ren nodded. "I don’t doubt that Xueying clan paid bandits to do their dirty work. But they mixed in their own men, too—and that was their mistake. And I have no doubt that this is just scratching the surface of their foul practices.

"As you all know, rising to the top of any industry is difficult. It takes time, effort, and—above all—honesty in business. There is a sanctity in the way merchants conduct themselves, a trust that allows trade to flourish." His eyes narrowed. "Xueying clan clearly does not believe in that."

It was then that Tai Yueshi, the plump merchant who had arrived late, let out a sigh.

"Even if they’re doing this," he said carefully, "they’re doing it in ways that make it difficult to pin the blame on them. If we confront them, they’ll just deny everything. Say they had no idea."

Some of the merchants glared at him. Yan Wudong and Dong Tinguang practically threw daggers with their stare. Realising what he had said, Tai Yueshi. quickly raised his hands. "I’m not defending them," he added hastily. "But let’s be honest—we’re too small to act against them. If we try, the entire union could turn against us. And that…" His face darkened. "That’s a good way to go bankrupt."

Silence stretched once more. Chen Ren had expected resistance—but he also had an answer for it.

At that, another merchant—a middle-aged man with a narrow face and sharp, large eyes—let out a weary sigh. It was Guo Qiang, someone who sold spices brought from the Yellow Stone mountains. "I’ve already tried before. When they stole a month’s worth of stock from my carriages a few months ago," he said. "It’s not like I didn’t know who was behind it. But they’re too big. The moment I pushed back, they threatened to crush me. What can we even do? The union always had each other's back and it's impossible to do anything when they are acting together."

Chen Ren interjected before anyone else could voice their agreement. "If I hadn’t already done something about the union, I wouldn’t have called you all here."

The shift in his tone silenced the room. Every pair of eyes turned toward him.

Calmly, he continued. "I will give you my word on this—the union isn’t going to unite behind the Xueying clan this time. If we act against them, they won’t be able to call on their usual support."

Yan Wudong narrowed his eyes. "How is that possible?"

Chen Ren smiled. "Because I made it possible. Until now, you all had grievances against the Xueying clan, but you were powerless to act. Why? Because in the grand scheme of things, you are like ants, and Xueying clan is the elephant. And no single ant can take down an elephant." He gave a warm smile and said, "But a swarm of ants? Working together? They can strip even an elephant down to the bones. What I’m offering is the power of collective strength. And I have the plan to make sure you all get the revenge you’ve been waiting for. Once we strike at them, their hold over the market will weaken. And when that happens? We’ll be the ones swooping in to take their market share."

Then, he leaned back slightly and spread his hands. "I won’t force anyone into this. If you don’t want to involve yourself, that’s fine. Go downstairs, take a look at the items, buy anything and leave. No hard feelings. But for those who want to be part of something greater, those who want to stop being trampled underfoot—stay."

He folded his arms again and waited; waited for someone to stand up and walk away. He saw how the men who stood exchanged glances, said so many things without actually speaking.

Just when he thought the air couldn’t get more suffocating, someone spoke.

"I’m in,” Guo Qiang spoke.

A single voice. But it was enough to break the hesitation.

Another merchant nodded. "Me too."

"Same here."

“Let’s do this.”

One after another, voices rose in agreement.

Chen Ren remained still, only allowing the smallest smile to tug at the corner of his lips. He had chosen his targets carefully, and once again, his instincts had proven correct.

With the room now fully committed, he exhaled lightly and straightened.

"Good." His eyes gleamed. "Since we’re all on the same page, let’s talk about the plan."

***

Xueying Shenmu sat in his seat in his office, his back rigid as he listened to Dexin, his steward, who stood right in front of him, giving his usual report. But today, it wasn't the usual rundown of activities. This time, the focus was entirely on Heavenly Fragrances, which had exceeded his expectations by a wide margin. The perfume business had exploded in Cloud Mist City, but he hadn't expected it to do much better here.

Dexin continued, "According to our informers, Heavenly Fragrances had to give away around two hundred and ten bottles of perfume for free due to complaints about counterfeits. They've managed to maintain their reputation, and in some ways, it’s even improved, but they are definitely taking a hit. Even with the profits they've made, this free giveaway could hurt them in the long run."

"Interesting," Shenmu murmured. "More demand, more counterfeits... It's working out just as we anticipated."

Dexin nodded. "Yes, Master. But what's more, after learning that Heavenly Fragrances has been giving away free perfumes to counteract the counterfeits, some people have started trying to make their own knockoffs, hoping to get a free bottle in return. The cycle is feeding itself."

Shenmu chuckled, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest. "I always thought we had so many leeches in our city, wanting free things, but I never thought I would appreciate them. So, when can we initiate the second phase of our plan?"

"Soon," Dexin replied without hesitation. "We're in the final stages of preparing the weak poisons that should cause harm to anyone who uses the affected perfumes. Though, we are still brainstorming ways to mix them into the Heavenly Fragrances products. But once we do, it won't take time to start the rumours and they should gain enough momentum with a few cases emerging.”

Shenmu nodded approvingly. "Good. Keep up the work, and we’ll have these people off our backs in no time." He paused, his gaze flickering toward Dexin. "Also, contact the Jinshi Trade Association and Lotus Mist Fragrances. Ask them for substantial compensation for dealing with this problem. We don't need any more distractions while we're pushing this forward."

Dexin bowed his head. "As you instruct, Master. But before I go, there’s one more thing,” he said.

"What is it?"

“A few days ago, there was a significant number of small merchants and their families visiting Heavenly Fragrances. They came with their families, so we didn’t think much of it at first. But so many of them arrived at once, and after investigating, we discovered that Chen Ren called them there, promising them discounts—likely to forge some sort of connection.”

Shenmu scoffed. "Chen Ren... I knew that boy would be trouble. Did they meet with him directly?"

"Yes," Dexin confirmed, "and some of them are already making moves to align themselves with him. They see the opportunity for profit, and he’s playing the role of a connector, giving them a sense of exclusivity."

"He’s probably just trying to make connections since he’s got none in this city, but it’s all useless. His business will be stripped from here soon enough, and there’s nothing he can do about it. What can those small-time merchants even do? Half of them already have businesses that are on the verge of collapsing."

But just as the words left his mouth, there was a sharp knock at the door. The door creaked open, and his son, Xueying Zian stepped in, his usual pale face was even paler, and his lips were parted. Sweat covered his forehead as if he’d run a marathon to get there.

Shenmu’s smile faltered, his brow furrowing. "What’s wrong, Zian?"

Zian's voice trembled as he spoke. "Father, there are a lot of city guards outside—along with the enforcers from the magistrate. They said they would speak to you once you appear, and if not, they’ll barge in."

Shenmu’s eyes widened. "Why? What is this about?"

"They… they didn’t say much, but they insisted they need your presence right now. They said it’s urgent, or else…"

Shenmu stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Lead the way," he said curtly.

As he moved swiftly toward the courtyard, Shenmu’s mind raced. What was this all about? He had always been on good terms with the magistrate. His gifts had always been well-received, and their relationship had been nothing short of cordial. To send guards and enforcers here—this was an insult, a slap in the face he couldn't overlook. He needed to get to the bottom of it.

By the time he reached the courtyard, he was met with a scene that froze him in place. The courtyard was crowded with enforcers flanked by guards. The moment they saw him, one of them stepped forward and looked into his eyes.

"Xueying Shenmu, head of the Xueying clan," the enforcer said loud enough for everyone within a mile to hear, "you are hereby taken into custody under charges of sabotaging the businesses of small merchants, orchestrating bandit attacks against transport routes, and engaging in underhanded dealings that have cost the city’s economy. You stand accused of spreading counterfeit goods, creating monopolies by coercion, and unlawfully tampering with public trade to secure your own wealth."

"If you do not cooperate," the enforcer continued, "we will be forced to take you by force. Do you surrender?"

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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94. End of the union head

There were only a few moments in Xueying Shenmu’s life when he had truly felt humiliated. There was the time he had lost to his brothers after they had begun their cultivation journeys—when he, once the most talented among them, had been left in the dust.

Then there were the bitter losses he had suffered in his early years of business, each one a wound to his pride. But none of those compared to this. Because they were lessons, and this; this was humiliation.

To be dragged from his own estate, flanked by city guards like some common criminal, while his sons, daughters, wives, and even the lowliest servants watched—it was beyond disgraceful. His skin reddened and he felt heat crawling up it at all the whispers, wide-eyed stares, the barely hidden smirks of those who had once groveled at his feet. All of it burned him from inside out.

And it wasn’t just his household. The whole city seemed to have gotten word of his arrest. People lined the streets as the carriage rolled toward the magistrate’s estate, their murmurs and speculative glances cutting deeper than any weapon in the world. They were looking as if it was a spectacle.

Shenmu clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms, shooting pain through his hand.

At least they hadn’t bound him in ropes. That was the only silver lining. But even without them, the humiliation was complete.

How did this happen? How?

His competitors had tried to report his methods before, whining to the bureaucrats like dogs yapping at his heels. But he had long since ensured that any such complaints were conveniently lost, ignored, or buried beneath a mountain of red tape.

This time, however, there had been no warning, no attempt to negotiate—just a swift and public humiliation. Someone had planned this. Someone had made sure that no bribe, no favor, no threat would be sufficient to stop it.

Whoever they were, Shenmu swore he would find them. And when he did, their heads would roll.

He could see the magistrate’s office, its large iron gates parting to admit them. As soon as the carriage stopped, the guards wasted no time. They escorted him swiftly inside, leading him not to some dim interrogation chamber where he could stall, bribe, or negotiate, but directly to the magistrate’s office itself.

That was when his worry truly set in.

The old man, the magistrate he had greased the palms of so many times, had betrayed him. There was no other explanation to this.

Shenmu entered the office, his steps heavy with the weight of his humiliation. Even his breath felt heavy.

Inside, the old magistrate, Qi Heng, was pacing back and forth, his long goatee swaying slightly. The man had always been composed, his wrinkled face unreadable, but now there was a clear sign of distress—the way his fingers twitched against his robes, the restless shifting of his feet.

As soon as Shenmu stepped in, Qi Heng snapped his gaze toward him. “Lock the door.”

Shenmu hesitated for a fraction of a second but did as instructed before striding to the chair across from the magistrate’s desk. Qi Heng motioned for him to sit.

The moment he lowered himself into the seat, the words burst out of him. “What the fuck is going on here? Is this just some way for you to squeeze more silver out of me? Or is this because I didn’t recommend your daughter to my brothers for a sect placement?” His lip curled. “You know as well as I do that her spirit roots are abysmal. Roots so weak they might as well be a curse, not a blessing. She wouldn’t make it past the first threshold.”

Before he could continue, Qi Heng reached out and gripped his wrist tight. “Enough.” His voice was sharp, his grip firmer than Shenmu expected from an old bureaucrat. “It’s not about that. You’re in trouble. A big, big problem.” He exhaled heavily and released his hold. “And I had no hand in your arrest. More importantly, I won’t be able to help you much. Not right now anyways.”

Shenmu’s confidence wavered at those words. A sliver of ice ran down his spine. The magistrate wasn’t playing games. His eyelids were half closed, his usual self-serving smirk nowhere in sight. This wasn’t a ploy. This wasn’t leverage for a better bribe. This was real.

His throat felt dry. “What do you mean? I have no idea what’s happening here.”

Qi Heng pinched the bridge of his nose before sighing. “Of course, you don’t. It’s a shitshow of the highest order.” He let the words hang for a moment before shaking his head. “Four dozen merchants—four dozen—filed formal complaints against you at the same time.”

Shenmu’s breath hitched. “What?”

Four dozen? That is a shitshow.

“Yes,” Qi Heng confirmed. “If it were just complaints, I could have buried them like always, no matter how many came. At worst, I’d have warned you. But this time, these merchants came prepared. Many of them have men with direct ties to the bureaucracy. That’s something I’ve never seen before. And with so many of them acting at once, various departments in the city requested the City Lord’s aides to investigate. Even they were caught off guard by how fast it all happened.”

Shenmu’s face lost all color.

“I wasn’t even able to stop it. Do you understand what’s happening now?”

A sickening realization settled in Shenmu’s gut. His voice came out weaker than he would have liked. “The City Lord knows everything.”

Qi Heng nodded. “Yes. If it were just merchant complaints, he might have ignored them or delayed action. But it wasn’t just that. There were written records. From your own men.” He leaned in, his gaze sharp as a dagger. “And some of them were cultivators who confessed to the crimes you made them commit.”

Shenmu’s fingers clenched against the armrests of his chair. “They… they confessed? Even cultivators?”

“Yes.” Qi Heng scoffed. “What did you do to them? Did you starve them? Feed them grass? Because for them to betray you like this—knowing they’d face punishment themselves—they must have had a damn good reason.”

At that moment, the pieces fell into place. Shenmu’s eyes widened as a name slipped from his lips, barely more than a whisper.

“Chen Ren.”

But even as he said it, he couldn’t understand how the man had pulled it off. Mortals, sure. They could be threatened, bribed, or beaten into submission. But cultivators? They weren’t so easily broken. What had that bastard done to make them turn?

Before he could process it further, Qi Heng’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“I had to act, Shenmu. If I delayed, the City Lord would have turned his suspicion toward me as well.” He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. “And I don’t think the merchants are your only problem.”

Shenmu’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

Qi Heng leaned forward, voice dropping lower. “One of the City Lord’s aides is actively working against you. He’s the one who got the city guards involved alongside my enforcers.” He watched Shenmu carefully. “Did you offend one of them?”

Shenmu frowned, thinking hard. He had his fair share of enemies, but a City Lord’s aide? He would have remembered stepping on someone that important. He shook his head.

“No, I don’t think so. Who is it?”

Qi Heng hesitated before saying the name. “Mingwei.”

The moment Shenmu heard it, a fresh wave of realization hit him, one far worse than before. His stomach twisted as a deep sense of betrayal seeped into his bones. He felt his lunch churn in his stomach.

It was him—the brother of Wenqing.

That was why the woman had been able to establish her restaurant so quickly in the city. The Xueying Clan had been in business for decades, yet she had only been here for five years and still managed to thrive. It had been because of her brother’s silent backing.

And now, she had turned against him.

No—this wasn’t her alone.

Chen Ren.

Shenmu could already see it. The bastard had somehow managed not just the merchants grouping together but also Wenqing’s betrayal.

But how?

That was the part he couldn’t wrap his head around. What kind of leverage did Chen Ren have to move so many pieces at once?

It didn’t matter.

What mattered was that if he didn’t find a way out of this mess, he was going to end up a prisoner.

His gaze hardened as he met Qi Heng’s eyes.

“Get me out of here.” His lips thinned. “I don’t care how, but I’m not going to rot in a cell over this.” He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes, his nose flaring in anger. “And don’t forget—if I go down, I won’t be the only one.”

Qi Heng squinted his eyes at him, his frown deepening. “Stop threatening the only person who can help you right now,” he said flatly. “Your emotions are clouding your reason.”

Shenmu clenched his fists but didn’t back down. “I can apologize all you want once I’m free of this mess. Do you have any idea what this will do to me? My businesses? My family?”

The magistrate sighed, nodding as he reached for the teapot. “I understand.” He poured two cups, sliding one across the table. “Drink first. Then we’ll talk.”

Shenmu took the cup without hesitation, draining it in one go. A quick wave of relief washed over him as he realised something. “You already have a plan, don’t you?”

Qi Heng exhaled, his expression dark. “You won’t like it.”

Shenmu let out a bitter chuckle. “I’ll like anything that gets me out of this situation.”“First of all, there’s no immediate way out. No matter what, there’s going to be an investigation. The City Lord won’t let this go. It could take months for him to shift his attention elsewhere.” He hesitated before adding, “Maybe a year.”

“I need to stay here for a fucking year?”

“That’s just an estimate.” Qi Heng sighed. “I’ll do my best to get you out sooner, but a lot depends on how severe your offenses appear. And now, even if you do want to get out, there’s only one way.” He paused. “You have to sacrifice your sons.”

Silence filled the room.

Shenmu stared at him, his entire body going stiff. “That’s your plan?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Throwing my own blood to the wolves?”

“There’s no other way,” Qi Heng said and groaned. “You have a lot of sons, and some of them already handle your businesses. They’re young. They can endure this better than you. By the end of the investigation, we’ll push the blame onto them. They’ll be jailed, but you will come out as the clueless patriarch who had no idea what was happening under his nose. At most, there will be fines. But no prison for you.”

“And how long will that take?”

Qi Heng didn’t answer immediately. “That depends. There are people working against you. They’ll try to drag this out for as long as possible.”

Shenmu gulped. His anger coiled inside him like a snake, but he forced it down. Lashing out wouldn’t help him now.

This morning, he had woken up as the untouchable head of the Xueying Clan. Now, he was trapped like a rat.

His past sins had caught up to him.

But this wasn’t fate or retribution.

This was the work of one man.

Chen Ren.

Shenmu exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the chair as reality sank in.

He had known Chen Ren was shrewd when their usual carriage ambush had failed. The man had slipped through their grasp like an eel, always a step ahead. But this?

Banding together so many merchants? Reaching deep enough to sink his nails into the union members?

This was something else entirely.

Shenmu had been betrayed from every angle. His competitors, the bureaucrats, and even people within the merchant guild had all turned against him. The magistrate spoke with confidence about getting him out, but even he didn’t know when that would be. A year? That was just an estimate.

And even if he got out, a year was more than enough time for everything to change.

Just the thought made his stomach churn with something violent. He wanted to slam his head against the floor and drown in his own blood rather than swallow this kind of defeat.

But he wasn’t dead yet.

And as long as he lived—and as long as even a part of his businesses remained—he could make a comeback.

And when he did, Chen Ren was going to pay.

Early in his life, he had learned that revenge was the best motivator a man could have. Even the thought of sacrificing his sons felt like a small price to pay for the opportunity.

His jaw clenched as he turned back to the magistrate. “Fine. Do it. I’ll talk to my sons when they come to see me.” He leveled the man with a hard stare. “But know this—if you don’t get me out of here in a year, we’ll be sharing the same cell.”

***

The news of Xueying Shenmu’s arrest spread like crazy.

Chen Ren didn’t even have to fan the flames—the scandal was too big to contain.

For a trade city like Jingxi, where laws around corruption and business practices were strict, this wasn’t something that could be brushed under the rug. He had made sure of that. Shenmu wouldn’t be seeing freedom for at least a year or two.

But even though this was a huge victory, Chen Ren knew better than to celebrate just yet.

Because it wasn’t over.

Getting a man like Shenmu locked away for life was beyond him. The old man’s claws were too deeply embedded in the city. At best, all Chen Ren had done was buy time—time to grow his mall to a level where even if Shenmu returned, it wouldn’t matter.

Of course, that didn’t mean the attacks would stop.

His sons were still out there.

And in this world, if you kill a son, the father comes to fight. And if you kill the father, the son takes up the blade.

But that was fine. He was prepared.

With the support he had gathered, he doubted any of them could seriously harm his business. In fact, the smaller merchants were already celebrating, eager to devour the market share the Xueying Clan had monopolized.

He was happy to let them.

Let them tear apart the old man’s business—because in the end, he was going to own the biggest slice.

Perfumes and fabrics. Two industries Shenmu had dominated for years. And now? They were his. That alone was enough for the merchant union to consider him for partnership. Of course, his current contracts played a part, as did the fact that he wasn’t just any merchant—he had a sect backing him.

Whatever the reason, he knew one thing—He had done everything he could in this city.

And more importantly, he had driven his roots so deep that no one was pulling them out. People would try, of course. Success always attracted jealousy. Always brought conflict.

But if he could take down the Xueying Clan, then there wasn’t a single merchant in Jingxi that he feared.

And now? Now, it was time to expand.

His mall was already a massive success. But he still had his noodles. He still had his chips.

And he had no doubt that the people of this city were going to love them.

***

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95. A journey of flaws

Chen Ren lifted his hand, studying the ring in his hand, polishing it with a cloth as he felt a grin stretch on his face.

The black metal, dull and almost matte but with a thin silver groove running along the band had a faint shine to it. It was unassuming at a glance, the sort of thing a poor merchant might wear, but it sat on his finger with a weight that had nothing to do with its size.

It had once belonged to a man who attacked them from the Xueying Clan, Yushu, who’d been handed over to the city lord’s men to assist their investigation. And Yushu had been scornful until the very last second. He’d sneered even as shackles bound his wrists. “Three years and I’ll walk free,” the man had said with pride bleeding from every syllable.

For cultivators, their jail time for most of the crimes were never more than three years; and three years weren’t considered a long time compared to their lifespan.

Obviously, it was different when sects were involved. They had their own ways of punishing that were much more painful and humiliating than being put in a jail, but all things considered, Yushu chose well.

Chen Ren hadn’t answered. Just forced him to retract his hold over the spatial ring so he could take it for himself. The man wasn't willing, but had no choice when he threatened to kill him if he didn't do it. In the end, Yushu sighed and pressed his hand forward, letting the qi seal on the ring melt away.

A twist of spiritual intent later, the ring was his.

One cubic foot. That was all. Barely enough for what was needed and could be used in a battle. But it was his. His space to use.

In the corner of his mind, memories danced of his time back on Earth. He used to read a lot of Xianxia novels and in all of them, a spatial ring was a staple artifact to identify a protagonist with prestige and background.

And now he had one of them. He felt like he was finally worthy of the title of a sect leader.

He turned the ring again, watching light ripple over it. The fact that it had come from a bandit? A cultivator who did the bidding of a clan without any morals or self respect? He didn't care about that. In the stories, the protagonist always took treasures from their fallen enemies. This was no different.

He had won. And this was the prize.

As he polished the ring, the door creaked open with a soft thunk. Small padded footsteps followed, and a familiar scent—one part dried herbs, two parts disapproval—announced the visitor before she even spoke.

Yalan walked in, flicking her tail in the usual lazy grace, though her ears flattened slightly as she neared. She winced, nose twitching.

"You still smell like a newly married woman," she muttered, blinking up at him like she’d just swallowed something sour.

Chen Ren’s brow furrowed. "It’s the perfume," he said, letting out a sigh. "We sell a lot of them. If you were putting samples on yourself ten times a day to show customers, you’d smell the same."

Yalan’s whiskers twitched. He could already see the sarcastic retort forming in her eyes, so he threw the conversation off a cliff before it could take flight.

"Why are you here?"

"The Tang girl’s looking for you," Yalan said, sitting back on her haunches. "She came back from that union meeting. Wants to talk before we head out. Honestly, I’d rather we left soon."

Chen Ren raised a brow. "Why’s that?"

"Because Xiulan makes better food than all the servants here," she said with a huff. "And it’s not even spiritual food. But at least it doesn’t taste like over boiled tree bark. Eating here makes me remember the time I cultivated alone in the mountains, surviving off qi and dew. Trust me—qi tastes like nothing. Might as well eat air."

Chen Ren held back a grin, the corners of his mouth twitching as he stood. "Just a second. I’ll get down, and then we’ll visit one place before heading back to Meadow."

With that, he turned to the pile near the corner—a few folded outfits and two short daggers resting on cloth. He extended his hand, let his qi flow into the ring, and murmured the command he’d practiced in the courtyard late at night. A flicker of spiritual energy responded.

The air shimmered.

The daggers and clothes trembled—then vanished with a soft pull, disappearing into the ring as if swallowed by water.

Chen Ren exhaled, smiling. Techniques like this weren’t new to him anymore. He’d practiced multiple qi-based techniques and learned how to wield lightning.

But this… this still felt like a new type of magic. The kind that filled the delusions of kids and it appealed to that side of his.

Without a second glance, he walked away from the room.

The lower levels of the building buzzed with life.

Customers moved between counters, their robes rustling, their voices bartering, some curious, some impatient. He moved through the crowd like a fish through reeds—used to the noise, but not quite part of it.

It didn’t take long to spot Yuqiu.

She was with a group of customers, explaining something about lavender scented perfumes with the ease of someone who’d repeated the same script dozens of times. Once she passed them off to her maid, she turned and noticed him.

"How was your first union meeting?" he asked as he approached.

She blew out a soft breath. "Felt like my first day under Scholar Wan, who was my childhood teacher," she said, brushing her hair back from her face. "Nerve-wracking. Every word felt like a test. Half of them didn’t even bother hiding their annoyance that I was there. Some merchants are still loyal to the Xueying Clan. They looked at me like I’d dragged mud in on their fancy rugs."

Her voice was steady, but Chen Ren could see the tightness in her shoulders.

"You stayed through it," he said. "That’s what matters."

She gave him a glance—half gratitude, half doubt—but didn’t reply immediately.

"But there wasn’t much attention on me," Yuqiu continued, folding her arms, her gaze wandering to a group of customers squabbling over a one of the latest introduced perfumes—one smelled like lotus. "They were more focused on choosing a new union head now that Xueying Shenmu’s been suspended."

Chen Ren’s brow lifted slightly. "Who won?"

"Wenqing," Yuqiu said. "She had support from more than two-thirds of the members. It wasn’t even close."

Chen Ren hummed in response, mind drifting back to the sharp-eyed woman with a spine like steel and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Ambition clung to her like a robe, but she’d played her role well. He remembered how effortlessly she’d helped bring Yuqiu into the union, her influence smoothing the way when others balked.

It wasn’t a bad outcome. If anything, Wenqing rising to the top only meant the union would be more pragmatic, more aggressive. And he liked that. With her there, Yuqiu would have a better chance to carve out her place—and more importantly, his business had a foothold in the structure now.

There was still plenty to do.

Yuqiu glanced up at him, her tone a bit softer now. "Are you going to leave now?"

"Yeah," Chen Ren said, shifting his weight. "I plan to head out on foot. It'll be faster to reach my sect that way. I’ve spent enough time here anyway. I want to see how things are going back at Meadow."

Yuqiu gave a slow nod. "Makes sense. Before you go, are you planning to get supplies?"

He nodded. "Heading to the center of the city. Need to stock up on pills and potions."

"Good call," she said. "The wilds are dangerous. I heard a Tier three beast wiped out a dozen caravans in the southern empire. And that’s an area where Tier two beasts are already rare. You never know what you’ll run into."

Chen Ren smiled. "I’ll be careful. But I’m not buying them for myself."

"Oh?" Her brow arched. "Then what for?"

"Research," he said simply.

Yuqiu gave him a long, skeptical look, like he’d just claimed he was going to fly to the moon with two sticks and a gust of wind. "Research?"

He nodded. "Since the expansion’s going well, I need to think ahead. Even if the profits are flowing, I’m still just earning in coins."

"And?"

"And a cultivator doesn’t need coins," he said. "A cultivator needs spirit stones. And there’s no way I’m going to get those just selling perfume to mortals."

"Unless you start making spiritual perfume," she said dryly.

"Exactly," he replied, grinning. "But I’m thinking even beyond that. Pills. Potions. The whole alchemical sector is practically swimming in spirit stones. It's one of the most lucrative markets in the empire—and it's dominated entirely by cultivators."

Yuqiu blinked. "Wait, you’re serious?"

"I’m always serious when it comes to making money," he said.

She stared at him like he’d just declared war on the heavens. "Just breaking into the perfume market nearly made us so many enemies. And you actually had a cost-cutting advantage there. But pills? There’s no way to lower production costs unless you’re some kind of alchemical genius. Even if you burn a mountain of gold just to start up, you’ll still be behind sects that have hundreds of years of reputation. Why would any cultivator buy from you instead?"

Chen Ren nodded slowly, the corners of his mouth tightening. Everything Yuqiu had said was spot on.

He hadn’t realized she’d studied the pill market that deeply, but her words mirrored the conclusions he’d reached through his own research. The empire’s alchemical trade was not just competitive—it was a battlefield, and one long claimed by the ancient sects. They didn’t just brew pills for their own disciples. Their disciples were the workforce, the apprentices churning out cauldrons of elixirs day and night, working in the alchemy halls like cogwheels in a well-oiled divine machine.

These sects had roots sunk deep into imperial cities, clan alliances, and supply chains that stretched across mountains and oceans. Breaking into such a business… it would be like throwing a pebble into a flood.

Unlike perfume, where he’d had a modern edge, or noodles, which weren't there in the empire, pills and potions were abundant. He wouldn’t just have to match the standards—he’d have to surpass them and stand out. There was no easy shortcut this time.

Still… he had a few ideas. If he could get Qing He involved—the strange, brilliant old woman who knew far more about alchemy than him—this might just become his sect’s first true step into the immortal market. A high-risk gamble, but one worth making.

He fell quiet, thoughts weaving together, calculating risks and possibilities. The wheels in his mind turned, over and over.

“It’s not that I don’t believe in you.”

Yuqiu’s voice broke his trance and he looked at her. The softened voice, and the look on her face—she’d mistaken his silence.

"I think if anyone could claw their way into the pill market and actually make a profit, it’s you. But… Just think about it a bit more, alright? This isn't like your noodle stall or the perfume shop. You won’t be fighting clans here. You’ll be fighting sects. The kind that have been around since the founding of the Empire. And they don’t play fair."

She hesitated, then added, "I’ve heard of sect wars starting over things like this. Trade disputes over pills and spiritual resources… and they always end the same way. One sect gets annihilated."

She didn’t need to say the rest. And your sect is too young.

Chen Ren exhaled slowly. "I know. I know the risks. And I’m not rushing in blind. But this is the natural way forward—for me and for the sect. I don’t want to delay it anymore. We’ve played safe long enough."

He met her gaze once again. "As for those sects… I don’t plan to provoke anyone I know I can’t beat."

Yuqiu looked at him for a long moment, then smiled faintly and shook her head. "You sound like one of those wandering cultivators who walks into a tavern, picks a fight, and ends up with a bounty on his head."

"I’d prefer to be the guy who owns the tavern," Chen Ren said, his lips twitching with a smile. "And sells pills out the back."

***

After his conversation with Yuqiu and one last look around the mall that had become the starting point of his little empire, Chen Ren picked up a few mortal grade pills and potions—strictly for research purposes—and left behind another promise to deliver the spirit rice to Wenqing soon.

Then, with a deep breath, he and Yalan took to the road.

The wide stone path leading out of the city was full of carriages, wandering merchants, and the occasional rogue cultivator. But to Chen Ren and Yalan, they were nothing but streaks of blurred silhouettes whisking past them like shadows in a dream.

The path to Meadow Village would have taken several days by a decent carriage. But with a body honed to the qi refinement realm and a pulse of thunder underfoot, Chen Ren was confident they’d make it in a day.

Or… at least, he would, if he could keep up.

Yalan was always ahead of him. Her movement technique—one he couldn’t even begin to understand—set her paws ablaze, igniting the air with bursts of fiery speed. Even with lightning crackling at his heels and wind streaking his face, Chen Ren could barely follow her flaming trail, let alone catch up.

She taunted him more than once, voice echoing through his mind, "Slow again? I think the tortoise back there blinked faster than you could move."

Chen Ren gritted his teeth but didn't rise to the bait. Mostly because he had no retort—and partly because he suspected she was still holding back. He knew Yalan could be faster. She was a spirit beast in the meridian expansion realm, and if she actually tried, she could probably cross the distance in under an hour.

That thought sparked another one.

He realized then… he'd never really seen her full power.

He'd caught a glimpse when she protected him from the spectral rhinos. He’d seen her size shift effortlessly, her claws rip through illusions and bone alike. But how far could she go?

And more importantly, could he… ride her?

Mid-sprint, he asked the question over their link, trying to sound casual. "Hey, I’ve been wondering. You know how you can grow bigger? Could you, maybe, you know… grow big enough for me to ride?"

She only answered with silence for a bit.

Then, a single, sharp glare over her shoulder that nearly made him trip.

"Do I look like some lowly mount to you?" she snapped, ears twitching in outrage. "Keep dreaming, two-legs. My majestic self won’t lower her dignity just so you can feel cool zooming around like a brat in a folk tale."

Chen Ren sighed, disappointed. He had already imagined it—the windswept mountains, the dramatic music in the background, himself racing across the Empire on a giant, flaming cat like something out of a special-effects blockbuster.

Not today, it seemed.

The rest of the journey passed mostly in silence, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the occasional distant roar of a beast far from the road. Yalan stayed ahead, her fiery paws lighting the path, and Chen Ren focused on his own footing, using the opportunity to fine-tune his movement technique.

Each step sparked with lightning now, not just in speed but in precision. He began to learn how to shift direction mid-stride, soften landings, and conserve energy.

For now, he was far behind Yalan.

But Chen Ren had plans. And the next time he passed through this road… he wouldn’t be just a runner.

He’d be a storm.

More qi always meant more speed—but more speed came at a cost.

He had long suspected it, but this journey confirmed it: his control over qi… was still lacking.

No matter how much he pushed himself, there was always leakage. Stray threads of qi, invisible to the mortal eye but clearly seen by him—drifting into the air, mixing with the atmosphere and dissipating without use. It was subtle, but over time, it added up. He’d first noticed it with his offensive techniques—especially [Lightning Frenzy]. A quarter of the qi he poured into the technique never even made it to the target.

It just… vanished. Like throwing coins into a river and hoping they float.

If he were at the foundation establishment realm, maybe he wouldn’t have cared. At that point, he'd have a sea of qi to draw from, and minor inefficiencies wouldn’t matter. But as someone still rooted in qi refinement, with every drop hard-earned, Chen Ren knew he couldn’t afford to be wasteful.

Yalan had agreed with a low rumble of approval, her eyes narrowed in that smug kind of way.

“I’ve been waiting for you to notice. Thought about telling you, but you’ve been busy with your perfumes and noodles and… spirit rice promises.”

Chen Ren could only grunt at that. She wasn’t wrong.

Still, the road gave him room to breathe, and for once, no one was demanding noodles, paperwork, or sudden genius ideas. So he focused.

What he found was… curious.

His qi wasn’t just leaking randomly. It felt like it wanted to blend with the environment, like water naturally soaking into sand. And unless he was deliberately guiding it, his control over it vanished the moment it left his meridians.

It was like holding water in cupped hands—if he relaxed even a little, it slipped through the cracks.

Yalan described it better, “You need to grab it. Not just let it go. Like holding it with a hand made of intent. Grip it after it's left your body. Otherwise, it’s just going to do what qi does—disperse.”

Easier said than done.

By the time the silhouette of Meadow Village rose in the distance—low sloping roofs nestled against the foothills—Chen Ren had made exactly zero progress.

But oddly enough, he wasn’t frustrated.

In fact, he was… satisfied.

He had found a flaw. A clear one. A tangible gap he could work towards closing. And in the path of cultivation, that was sometimes more valuable than a sudden breakthrough.

Still, those thoughts were pushed to the back as something else caught his attention.

Meadow Village, when he’d first arrived, had been quiet. A remote settlement tucked away from the rest of the Empire—hardly bustling, barely inhabited. But now, as he slowed near the entrance, he spotted more than a few people walking about. A gathering, even.

Mortals, merchants and a few guards stood there. He’d passed by a couple of carriages on the road and had thought nothing of it, but now he realized… they were all headed here.

Why?

There was a lot of chatter. The kind that came with people setting up tents, looking for food, speaking of opportunity.

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes, stepping through the entrance as Yalan padded beside him, tail flicking in curiosity.

Without delay, he made his way toward the village chief’s residence to know what was going on and if anyone would know, it would be him.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t normal. And he didn’t believe in coincidence. There was a reason all these people were gathering here.

***

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96. The princess' interest

Haoran moved through the marbled halls of the lord’s estate in Cloud Mist City, his soft-soled boots making no sound as he walked behind the servant guiding him. The young man bowed every few steps, showing the kind of trained courtesy that only came from a well-managed household. Haoran, however, paid him little mind.

His gaze swept from wall to pillar, tracing the cloud-pattern carvings and the subtle sheen of spirit-infused lacquer. He didn’t miss the scent of sandalwood incense drifting in the air, nor the placement of ornamental calligraphy scrolls on the walls—each poem selected not for ostentation, but for intent.

Order, virtue, diligence.

City Lord Li Baolong, it seemed, had taste. More importantly, he had balance.

Haoran had passed through too many cities over the last year, most of them bloated with decay beneath gilded roofs. Corruption, like mold, always found a way to grow in corners left unchecked. But here? The streets had been clean, the vendors sharp-eyed and unafraid. The smiths worked. The tailors worked. The laborers worked. Even the beggars looked far better than the other cities and were occasionally fed.

That was rare.

The economy here wasn't surging to rival the capital’s trade centers, no—but it thrived steadily, like a strong river beneath the morning mist. That was the mark of a competent lord. A cautious, intelligent man.

And his men... Haoran had studied their faces as he arrived. No excessive jewelry. No secret smirks. Their armor had been well-maintained, not over-embellished. Their bellies, blessedly flat. Not the kind of flab born from indulgence and misused authority.

He could always tell. Corrupt officials always carried themselves with a certain smug weight, a false confidence inflated by stolen coins. And if they didn’t, their wives or children often gave it away. But the guards at the city gates had stood with discipline. The record-keepers in the inner office had spoken with purpose.

It helped, of course, that Cloud Mist City was so close to the Soaring Sword Sect.

Where cultivators gathered, so too did merchants, craftsmen, wanderers, and seekers. Spiritual sects were like wells in the desert. They drew life. They brought coins. But coin could just as easily become poison in the wrong hands.

That was what made City Lord Li’s restraint so impressive.

He wasn’t just maintaining order. He was also supporting Princess Yanyue. And that was the real reason Haoran had come.

The Princess, despite her talents, had too few supporters in this conservative empire. She had the mind of a scholar, the grace of a diplomat, and the will of a ruler. But her cultivation lagged behind—an unfair mark in a world that too often weighed strength over wisdom.

It wasn’t right. Haoran didn’t agree with it. But what did it matter what a mere worker thought? He wasn’t a general. He wasn’t a noble. He was a servant of the court, a shadow without a name, tasked with a simple duty, find the extraordinary, and see if they could be convinced to support her.

This city had potential. The man at its head, even more so.

“We have arrived,” the servant said, bowing low.

Haoran blinked, pulled from his thoughts as the tall bronze-inlaid doors before them began to open with a gentle groan. The guards flanking the entrance stepped aside in perfect sync. They showed silent discipline and he admired it.

Beyond the doors, a spacious chamber lay bathed in soft daylight from a domed skylight. At the far end, seated with one leg crossed and his hands resting lightly on the arms of a jadewood chair, was City Lord Li Baolong.

He rose slightly at Haoran’s entrance.

City Lord Li Baolong looked every inch a man who ruled a city should look like. He wore robes of midnight-blue silk with subtle silver embroidery tracing the outline of cranes and pine, the man projected a calm and weathered strength. His features were angular, with a neatly kept beard framing his firm jaw, and his hair, though peppered lightly with grey, was tied in the traditional fashion—dignified but not ostentatious.

His eyes watched Haoran not like a host greeting a guest, but like a general evaluating an envoy. Even seated, he radiated quiet authority, as if the estate and the city beyond moved only because he allowed it.

Haoran stepped forward and offered a low, respectful bow.

“I greet City Lord Li,” he said evenly.

Li Baolong’s gaze didn’t waver. “Please, take a seat.”

Haoran nodded, accepting the offer and settling into the seat opposite the lord. He waited, posture perfectly straight.

“I hope the Princess’s health is good and that she is in high spirits,” Lord Li began with calm civility. “Word reached me that she has entered closed-door cultivation—attempting to break through to the foundation establishment realm, is that correct?”

Haoran inclined his head. “You are well-informed, my lord. She remains in seclusion even now, but the signs are promising. We expect her return soon.”

Li Baolong gave a thoughtful nod. Then, as expected, he moved directly to the point.

“So then... Why has Her Highness sent you here? I trust this is not a matter of idle curiosity.”

“It is not,” Haoran replied smoothly. “It pertains to a report you sent several months ago. Just before beginning her cultivation, the Princess read it and gave me a direct order—to come here and personally evaluate the one you mentioned. The one called Chen Ren. Or, as the city has begun to call him—Dragonheart!”

Li Baolong’s expression flickered with recognition, followed by a knowing nod.

“I expected someone to be sent sooner,” he said. “When I wrote that letter, I assumed the Princess would act quickly.”

“I had intended to,” Haoran admitted. “But the empire... has been turbulent lately. We lost Immortal Silver Jade not long ago. Marquis Daomi petitioned the Emperor to authorize an expedition to avenge his death, and several sects supported the motion. However, the Emperor declined—concerned that any confrontation with the suspected party would cost us far more.”

He sighed softly.

“I was drawn into the mess, and only now have I been released to fulfill my original task. And now, I would like to discuss Chen Ren.”

At that, Lord Li’s brows lifted slightly in surprise. “You may be too late.”

Haoran’s gaze sharpened. “Too late?”

“Chen Ren is no longer in the city,” Li Baolong said with a faint sigh, though his tone remained level. “From what my men tell me, he’s moved on to a small place called Meadow Village. There, he’s established a sect of his own. Divine Coin Sect, they call it.”

“A sect?”

“That’s right,” Lord Li said. “When I sent you that report, he was at the body forging realm. But in truth, he had already broken through to qi refinement by the time he left. And despite being offered discipleship by Vice Sect Leader Yan Xiu of the Soaring Sword Sect... he declined. Instead, he chose to found his own sect.”

Haoran frowned slightly, not in irritation but in contemplation. This was... not what he’d hoped. He had wanted to meet Chen Ren quickly, assess him, and return to the capital in time for the next set of political maneuverings.

But now…

“This person seems... peculiar,” he murmured. “A qi refinement cultivator creating his own sect? That’s not something I’ve seen before.”

“No,” Lord Li agreed, “nor have I.”

“I believe the Princess will find him interesting as well,” Haoran added, lips tightening slightly before relaxing again. “Can I know more? His lineage? His temperament?”

Li Baolong leaned back slightly, the faintest glimmer of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I did look into him,” he admitted after a pause. “Once he started gaining attention in the city. He’s not from here—originated from Red Peak City. From what my sources could gather, he was banished for some reason. Came here afterward, likely hoping to enter the Soaring Sword Sect. But that didn’t go well. He was severely injured around that time in their entrance examinations by my own son, Li Xuan...”

He trailed off briefly, then continued.

“But once he recovered, he didn’t try for the sect again. Instead, he turned his focus toward coin. Built up a noodle business—a delicacy that he said originated from the barbarians—and made a surprising amount of profit. With that, he started investing in himself. His cultivation rose quickly. Too quickly, some thought.”

Haoran tilted his head. “He bought pills?”

“That was the theory,” Li Baolong confirmed. “His spirit roots are low, nothing impressive. Everyone assumed he was using wealth to supplement his progress. But… after the tournament, it was clear there's more. The golden dragon”

Haoran leaned forward slightly. “So, it's true he's connected to the great being.”

“I think so. The dragon came to his aid. What type of connection he has with it? Only he can, but I'm inclining towards the dragon being his spirit manifestation.” Li Baolong folded his hands, then added, “As for lineage, the Chen Clan is Red Peak’s foremost cultivator family. So he’s got the blood, no doubt about it. But personality…”

He exhaled with a faint smirk.

“He’s scheming. Not the malicious kind, at least not yet—but certainly clever. And he doesn’t play fair.”

Haoran narrowed his eyes in interest. “Scheming?”

Li Baolong gave a short, amused laugh. “During the city’s martial tournament, he pulled a rather interesting trick. Let’s just say he managed to win rounds by using an underhanded method and manipulating the flow of the fight—without breaking a single rule. It was clever to say the least.”

Haoran chuckled. “So he’s got brains. That’s good. But his banishment worries me. You don’t exile someone from a clan like that without serious reason.”

“True. But I suppose you’ll find out more once you meet him yourself.”

Haoran exhaled, thinking about the journey he had to take to meet this man.

“If possible, one of my men can escort you to the village,” City Lord Li offered. “We could even prepare a carriage, if you prefer a more comfortable route.”

Haoran waved a hand, politely declining. “Just a guide is enough. I don’t need the extra attention.”

“As you wish,” Li Baolong said, giving a short nod.

But then he hesitated, gaze flicking toward the window as if debating whether to speak further. Eventually, he looked back and said, “May I ask something? About the Princess.”

Haoran raised a brow but nodded. “You may. As long as it’s within reason.”

“I wouldn’t dare step beyond my station,” City Lord Li said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I only want to understand something. Why is Princess Yanyue so intent on finding people with strange pasts? Unusual stories. She doesn’t just go for talent—she seems to be drawn to people with peculiarity in them. The other princes also search for talent, of course. But they look to the guardian sects. The noble academies. They wait for prestige. They care too much about face to chase shadows. But she—she hunts for outliers.”

Haoran nodded slowly, eyes distant with memory.

That—more than anything—was what made Princess Yanyue different from the rest.

While the Princes surrounded themselves with foundation establishment cultivators and clan-taught prodigies, bloated by pride and insulated by their own reputations, the Princess… she scouted the gutters.

A farmer’s son who barely reached body forging realm but showed tactical brilliance? She would consider him.

A girl with fractured meridians but terrifying tenacity? She would test her.

Even those with poor spirit roots—but a story that stood out, a spark that refused to go out—Yanyue would find a place for them.

And in time, those sparks had grown. Many of the “unworthy” cultivators around her had risen faster than anyone predicted. Not through sect favoritism or noble blood—but through effort, through grit, and perhaps a little bit of luck and her support.

“It all began because of one man,” Haoran said, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint, nostalgic smile. “Her aide. Wei Lian.”

Li Baolong raised a brow. “Her aide?”

“Yes,” Haoran said with a nod. “Since Her Highness’s mother passed early, she was mostly raised by palace staff. Wei Lian was one of them. A commoner, originally. No cultivation to speak of, but brilliant in his own way. Rose through the ranks slowly—quietly—until he was trusted enough to work within the inner palace.”

“And this Wei Lian... influenced her?” Li asked.

“Deeply. The Princess was always fascinated by cultivators. She used to sneak into the scroll archives as a child—Wei Lian would bring her records. Tales. Case studies. You know how the royal family keeps detailed accounts of major cultivators across generations?”

Li Baolong nodded.

“Well, he used to tell her those stories,” Haoran said. “But not the ones everyone hears—not the tales of sect-heirs or divine-blooded geniuses. No. Wei Lian focused on the ones who rose from nothing. A declining clan’s forgotten scion with shattered spirit roots, who rose to become a city’s guardian. A boy from a fishing village, saved by a beast god’s blessing. A disciple who was betrayed by their sect, survived, and returned to annihilate it.”

“They all had one thing in common: some kind of fortuitous encounter. A heaven-grade manual buried in a ruined cave. An artifact that lets them slow time and cultivate faster. A soul fragment of a dead sovereign whispering guidance from within a ring.”

Li Baolong sat back in his chair.

“And those stories stayed with her,” Haoran said. “Shaped her. While the Princes waited for geniuses to fall into their laps, she learned to look for the people no one else would see. The kinds of people who just needed a spark to become something terrifying… And the thing with fortuitous encounters, is that they don’t reveal themselves until it's already too late.”

“Too late?”

Haoran nodded. “By the time anyone realizes that some no-name cultivator is holding a heaven-grade treasure or has a celestial soul fragment whispering in his ear, the man’s already reached a level strong enough to protect himself. No one can move against him without consequences.”

The City Lord leaned back, arms crossed. “And that’s the pattern the Princess noticed.”

“Exactly.”

A moment of silence passed between them, filled with the weight of that shared realization. Then Li Baolong’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“Then... does Her Highness believe Chen Ren has had such an encounter?”

Haoran’s reply came without hesitation. “It’s possible. The golden dragon's blessing alone could be one such sign. Of course, I’ll only know for sure once I meet him face to face.”

Li Baolong’s gaze lingered on Haoran a second longer, studying him. Then, in a quieter voice, “And if he has... does the Princess intend to recruit him? Or—if it’s a treasure that he used to gain the blessing—take it away?”

Haoran chuckled softly and shook his head. “No. She knows better than that.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on his knees.

“Anyone with a fortune like that carries destiny with them. You don’t trifle with it. You don’t try to control it. All you do is earn their respect… make a connection. Offer support, not chains. The Princess understands this better than most. And I’m sure you realize how much such a person stands to gain by accepting her hand.”

“I do. Very well.” The lord said. “This has been a good talk. I feel like I understand Princess Yanyue far better now. I thank you for that.”

Haoran rose to his feet, bowing slightly. “It’s no big deal. City Lord Li has long supported her efforts and maintained a good relationship with the Princess. I’ll be sure to mention how helpful you’ve been.”

The City Lord gave a respectful nod in return. “Then I won’t hold you any longer. One of my men outside will show you the way to Meadow Village.”

Haoran offered a final, respectful bow. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

With that, he turned and left the hall. The guards outside inclined their heads as he passed, and one silently stepped forward to lead him on the next leg of his journey.

As the cool air of the estate courtyard greeted him, Haoran’s thoughts lingered on the conversation.

Chen Ren… a sect founder now, is he?

It was unusual. Bold. Ambitious.

But most of all… it bred curiosity.

A lowly cultivator, barely out of obscurity, refusing to kneel before one of the greatest sects in the region—and instead building his own path?

The seed of curiosity planted in Haoran’s mind began to grow. What kind of sect was the Divine Coin Sect? What did it stand for? What kind of disciples had it drawn?

He stepped into the streets of Cloud Mist City, a faint smile forming on his lips.

I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.

***

It didn’t take long for Chen Ren to find Chief Muyang.

The old man was standing near the well at the village center, speaking to a small crowd. From their worn cloaks and weather-beaten expressions, it was easy to tell—they weren’t locals. Newcomers. Outsiders. One glance at the road leading into the village had already shown him carriages and carts trickling in like ants before a storm.

When Chief Muyang saw him approach, he quickly shooed the crowd away with a few polite words. The refugees dispersed without complaint, casting curious glances his way before moving on. Then, the chief turned to Chen Ren and gave a slight bow, his expression warming with relief.

“Young Master Chen Ren, you’re back.”

Chen Ren gave a simple nod, eyes already scanning the distant figures unloading bundles and crates into old homes. “When I entered the village, I noticed a lot of people coming in. What’s going on?”

Chief Muyang gave a wry smile, scratching his chin with a leathery hand. “It’s the winter, Young Master. These people are from the nearby villages. They wish to spend the cold season here.”

Chen Ren’s brow arched, waiting.

“As you know,” the chief continued, “when winter comes, spirit beasts tend to grow more aggressive. Their hunger and instincts flare during the cold moons. Larger cities can withstand the attacks, but small villages like ours… we always suffer casualties. It’s not uncommon for people to move closer to a city during the season for protection.”

The old man sighed, glancing back at the bustling edge of the village.

“But this year, they’ve chosen our village.”

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes slightly, already piecing things together.

“Because of the Divine Coin Sect,” he said.

Chief Muyang nodded. “Yes. Because of the recruitment and the growing reputation. Word’s spread far—about your efforts, the locust plague you helped us solve, even how you started giving the men jobs and good food. These people… they’re hoping to survive the winter here due to you.”

The chief hesitated before continuing, “We do have space. If we house them in the barns, in the storage rooms, and a few unused huts, it’ll work. I was going to agree—if they’re willing to pull their weight and help out around the village. The farms need as much help as it could get. But I wanted your word first.”

Chen Ren looked around, thoughtful.

This... wasn’t unexpected. In fact, in the memories of this body’s previous owner, such winters were even recorded as opportunities. His family used to use this very phenomenon to teach young cultivators how to hunt and defend against beasts.

But knowing about it and being prepared for it were two different things.

Yalan, Zi Wen, and Hong Yi could help defend the perimeter, of course. They were capable. But except for Yalan, the rest were still early in their training, and there weren’t enough of them. Most of the nearby beasts were Tier 1 threats—easily manageable.

But the problem was always the unknowns.

If a Tier 2 beast wandered too close—or worse, if it smelled the influx of people—they could lose everything before a second line of defense even formed. Yalan could easily look out for one and kill it, but she couldn't be everywhere at once and he would prefer to do it without her help.

He folded his arms, a shadow of concern tightening in his chest.

And then… he heard it.

A sharp, faint crack in the distance. Chief Muyang didn’t flinch, and didn't seem to hear it at all. But Chen Ren’s senses had long since sharpened beyond that of a mortal.

The sound of a bullet piercing wood.

He smiled.

Qing He and Feiyu—probably testing out the next model. And just like that, an idea formed in his mind.

He looked back at the chief and nodded once.

“Let them in,” he said. “And start building better walls. High ones. Reinforced.”

Chief Muyang blinked. “You’re sure?”

Chen Ren turned, watching the edge of the forest beyond the fields.

“The Divine Coin Sect will protect everyone here.”

The old man gave a deep bow, voice thick with gratitude. “Thank you, Young Master Chen Ren. I’ll get to work immediately.”

Chen Ren nodded absently, already thinking about where to place the new watchtowers. How to test range. How to determine impact spread. Because while the villagers thought he was preparing defenses…

He was preparing targets.

The beasts weren’t just threats.

They were going to be field tests.

***

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97. Corpse lands

The talk with Chief Muyang was brief.

Once the old man gave his word to protect Meadow Village, he left with a spring in his step—most likely to inform the other elders of the village, blissfully unaware that Chen Ren had wanted exactly that.

The moment Muyang escaped his sight, Chen Ren's gaze turned distant.

This place can’t fall, he thought. Not just because the sect grounds lay nestled within the village’s bounds, but because just beyond them, Luo Feng was laying down the spirit anchors for the farm. A farm meant to feed his people, build their foundation—and eventually, grow into something much bigger.

He would need Chief Muyang’s help for that future. More farmlands wouldn’t be granted without the village’s blessing. It was easier to nod once the dust had settled than to raise walls when fire rained from the woods.

And if things went well… then the wild beasts would serve as more than just a threat.

Target practice, he thought with a smirk, fingers flexing at the thought of the prototype guns.

Once they were ready, there would be no better way to test them than wandering beast. And no better reward than beast cores, flesh, bones, and hides—each one a stepping stone for alchemy, weaponcraft, and cultivation.

He had made up his mind. He was going for the Immortal Market. If his people were to compete with the existing powers, they’d need more than just courage—they’d need equipment.

After the meeting, Chen Ren wasted no time and moved towards the sect. Yalan veered off with a wave of her tail, saying something about checking in on the refugees. He left her to it.

Word of his return had apparently outrun his feet.

Tang Xiulan was waiting at the doorstep like a proper young miss, straight-backed and smiling—until she saw him. No luggage with him. No signs of hardship. Just a slightly amused look on his face.

She blinked. “Where’s your stuff?”

He waved at her and walked past with a lazy flick of his wrist. “Come on. Walk and talk. I will explain.”

They strolled through the courtyard path as the sun filtered gently between the eaves. She filled him in on everything that had happened in his absence. Thankfully, most of it was good news—though she still sounded like she expected to be scolded.

A few unfamiliar faces crossed their path—young men and women who paused mid-step to bow politely at Chen Ren. And almost the entire time, they looked at him with awe and curiosity. Chen Ren politely nodded at them.

“We took in a few more villagers,” Xiulan explained. “They were looking for work and we still had coins left from the moonshine profits. Most of them are helping set up the brewery.”

He nodded. The brewery was essential—not just for coin, but for influence. People followed those who fed them and those who paid them. He was doing both and a bit of alcohol would go a long way with it. Moreover, it would also work as a gift in case he had to have meetings with more clans and sects.

“As for the cultivators…” she smiled faintly. “Zi Wen’s made the most progress. He’s even bonded with another beast—a tier-one greater weasel.”

“A weasel?” Chen Ren asked, faint surprise layered in his voice.

“It plays with the kids near the sect all day. They love it.”

He snorted, but didn’t complain. Playful or not, a tier-one beast was still a good bond for someone his level. Everything was slowly slotting into place. But the clock was ticking.

Chen Ren made a mental note to look for the weasel later—he was curious about the new addition to the sect. A tier-one beast bond wasn’t a small matter, and if it was getting along with the children, even better.

Tang Xiulan, never one to leave a moment quiet, kept talking.

“Hong Yi’s been in his own world. Literally. He's holed up in that workshop all day with the puppets. We can barely get him to eat.”

Chen Ren chuckled under his breath. At least he’s consistent.

“And Luo Feng,” she continued. “He’s just been farming.”

Chen Ren’s steps faltered for half a second, a flicker of disappointment passing through his eyes. Although her words had no other meanings, he realised that the only reason Luo Feng was just farming was because of a lack of an earth-aspected cultivation manual. He needed to get him one that suited his dao and any manual he knew would only slow him down since it won't be aligned with him and too focused on power.

A sour feeling coiled in Chen Ren’s chest at the thought. Guilt, perhaps. He had meant to handle that sooner. But with everything that had happened… Maybe I didn’t plan this sect as well as I thought.

Pushing the thought down, he asked, “What about Feiyu and Qing He? Any progress with guns?”

That got a smile out of her.

“Actually,” Xiulan said, “they wanted you to come meet them. Seems like they’ve finally perfected the prototype. Anji and Han Fei are helping test it too, since we’re building it for mortals.”

Chen Ren nodded. “I’ll go check it out. I need to speak to Qing He anyway.”

They walked a few more steps before Xiulan gave him a side glance. “You still haven’t told me what happened in Jingxi.”

He sighed, as if dragging a heavy cloak off his shoulders. “Long story. New enemies, same old conflict. But I managed to set up a base. Tripled our profits from Heavenly Fragrances.”

Her eyes lit up. “That’s great. And the enemies?”

“Took care of it temporarily.” He looked ahead, feeling the stares of the mortals passing by. “Our plan is to become big enough that when the problem comes again… we’ll be ready. I think we’ll be fine.”

He slowed down, turning slightly. “I’ll give you a detailed report later. For now, I want to see what Qing He’s been up to.”

Xiulan nodded and moved to go—but before she could take a step, his hand landed gently on her shoulder.

“I know I don’t say it a lot,” Chen Ren said sincerely, “but you’ve done a great job managing everything. You’re the reason I can leave the sect for more than a month without worrying. I wouldn’t be able to do it without you.”

She stared at him, unreadable for a beat, but he noticed the twitch at the corner of her lips.

“You pay me,” she said flatly.

“Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t appreciate you,” he said. “Even people who get paid for their work need to hear it. Otherwise, it just feels like an endless grind.”

“It is an endless grind.”

“Hopefully my words make it a little less grindy.”

That earned him a small huff of amusement. Not quite a laugh. But close enough.

Chen Ren turned without waiting for more, boots thudding softly as he moved through the corridors toward the workshop where Qing He and Feiyu had been working.

The loud noise of metal, occasional sharp clicks, and faint bursts of pressure were all the clues he needed. They were testing something. As he stepped closer, the sounds grew sharper, more controlled.

Then he saw them—Qing He and Feiyu, the latter wearing some leather armour, grinning like mad inventors as smoke rose from a line of targets. Han Fei was at the far end, shaking his head and loading something into a cartridge slot.

Chen Ren folded his arms, watching silently.

Perfect, he thought. Let’s see what my mad geniuses have cooked up.

And then, Han Fei passed the rifle to Anji who took it like an experienced marksman. That surprised him a bit, not expecting that sort of confidence from her.

She stood with her feet firmly planted, both hands steady on the rifle. Her brow furrowed slightly in concentration as she took aim at the line of wooden targets placed on the far end of the workshop grounds.

A bullet shot through the air and struck the target. A little left of center, but still a solid hit.

Han Fei, standing off to the side next to the two cultivators, gave an audible gasp. “That was amazing!”

Chen Ren watched quietly as Anji adjusted her stance, took another breath, and fired again.

Crack!

This time, the bullet hit dead center. Then another. And another.

Each shot rang clean through the yard, echoing against the workshop walls. Every puff of smoke from the barrel only solidified it for him—the rifle was thriving.

Chen Ren hadn’t expected Anji to have such a good aim, but even more than that, he was impressed by the weapon itself. It looked stable. Smooth. Powerful. Whatever issues had plagued the prototypes during testing were clearly resolved.

As the last round clicked empty, Qing He—already aware of his presence—turned toward him, brushing some soot off her sleeve.

“Well?” she asked. “How’d you like it?”

The others turned as well. Anji stiffened the moment she saw him, and Han Fei widened his eyes, giving an awkward but swift bow before fidgeting under the weight of his gaze

Chen Ren gave both of them a nod, then looked at the others. “You clearly worked a lot on this. Looks like it’s ready for battle.”

“I barely slept,” Qing He muttered with a tired grin. “Wanted to get it done before you came back.”

He scoffed. “You don’t need to sleep at your cultivation level. Don’t act like you made a great sacrifice.”

She clicked her tongue in annoyance.

He chuckled, then added with sincerity, “But still, you and Feiyu did a great job. It’s way faster than I expected.”

Feiyu nodded, arms crossed. “We’re still trying to improve it. But it’s at a stable phase now. We’re planning to test it against some of Hong Yi’s puppets next—should be a good benchmark.”

Chen Ren nodded approvingly. I was going to suggest that exact thing.

His eyes lingered on the rifle for a moment, then he asked, “Think it can take down a tier-one beast now? Or cultivators”

Feiyu tilted his head, thinking it through. “Low-tier, definitely. One or two well-placed bullets could do it. For anything tougher, we’ll need to aim for vital spots, and it’ll still take a few rounds. The penetration’s good, but against higher-tier muscle or beast hide, it won’t be as effective.”

He paused. “Against qi refinement cultivators? They’ll probably get nicked or distracted at most unless we land a headshot. But body forging ones? That’s where they’ll start feeling it.”

Chen Ren’s lips curled upward.

Not bad at all.

Chen Ren smiled, satisfied, and stepped forward to examine the it resting on the table.

It was cleaner than the last version—less bulky, with smoother metal along the barrel and a chamber that gave off a faint hum of spiritual energy. Etched formation lines ran down the sides, feeding small amounts of qi into a core that pulsed softly. The trigger was no longer a pile of scrap but a solid, well-built mechanism. This wasn’t a rough prototype anymore. This was a real weapon.

As Chen Ren traced a finger along its body, ideas began to stir. He already had a few concepts—ways to make it powerful enough to punch through even qi refinement realm cultivators or disrupt a cultivator’s flow of qi on contact. Some involved formation cores that could accelerate the bullet mid-flight. Others required special metals to conduct spiritual energy, or bullet casings that could absorb and discharge condensed qi like tiny bombs.

But they didn’t have the materials. Not yet. Those ideas would come later—once they had more reach, more wealth. For now, this was more than enough. As he examined the weapon, he sensed an unusually strong energy. It was subtle—controlled—but not invisible.

He turned toward Feiyu, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“You made a leap,” Chen Ren said. “Your qi—it’s different.”

Feiyu smiled, sheepish but proud. “You noticed. I broke through to the third star of the qi refinement realm last week.”

Chen Ren raised his eyebrows, a grin forming on his lips. “That’s a solid jump.”

Feiyu nodded. “Working on the guns helped. Trying to design something new, push past the limits—it made my thoughts sharper. Helped my understanding of the dao of forge in a way that working on swords and shields never did.”

Chen Ren felt a flicker of excitement at those words. So I was right.

He had been wondering about it for some time now—what truly advanced one’s mastery of the dao of forge? Unlike his own path, which seemed to strengthen with every coin earned or trade made, the forge dao wasn’t as straightforward.

There were theories, of course. Some said it required crafting increasingly powerful weapons. Others claimed it was about infusing qi into creations, forming spirit artifacts. But none of the texts he read explained the lack of progress most blacksmiths made past the early realms. There were only theories.

Now it made sense.

Most blacksmiths were bound by tradition, forced to replicate the same weapons their ancestors had made for centuries. Without innovation, without creation, their path stagnated. And as far as qi infusion went—those secrets were closely guarded. Hidden by clans and sects.

It was no wonder most blacksmiths got stuck at the first three realms. But Feiyu wasn’t bound by that. He was making something new. Something never seen before in this world.

Chen Ren made a mental note to sit down with him soon, dig into the specifics of his dao insights. There could be a path forward not just for Feiyu, but for the entire sect if he could increase his understanding of different daos.

Turning his attention, he faced Qing He. “Were you able to procure some techniques?” he asked.

Immediately, Qing He shook her head, a trace of frustration in her voice. “No. I sent out letters to everyone I could think of—anyone who might’ve had what you’re looking for. But like I told you before… These techniques and manuals are heavily guarded. Even if you offer spirit stones, they won’t part with them.”

She paused, then looked him in the eye. “You need to understand—these are clan and sext secrets. Some of the manuals I do know… I can’t share them. Doing so would be betraying the sect I once served.”

Chen Ren’s expression darkened slightly, but he nodded. He understood. Though, that doesn't mean it didn’t sting. But at least now, he had confirmation.

He let out a breath, the bitterness from Qing He’s refusal lingering just a moment longer before he pushed it down. He had asked for earth-aspected cultivation manuals, even offered to pay in spirit stones—what few low-grade ones he had left—but the immortal world didn’t deal in generosity. There were things that couldn't be bought with currency.

Which left him with only one real option.

“Then what about ruins?” he asked, turning to Qing He.

Her brows instantly pulled into a frown. “Are you planning to dive headfirst into your death?”

Chen Ren gave her a casual shrug. “I have confidence. Especially with Yalan around.”

“Confidence doesn't negate danger,” Qing He shot back, folding her arms. “Ruins aren’t exactly friendly treasure vaults. If a sect or clan knew about one, they’d sweep it clean before you ever got there. And if they didn’t? There’s usually a reason why.”

“I know,” Chen Ren said, nodding. “But in the books I read from your shop, it’s clear—new ruins get discovered every decade. Some of them go unnoticed for centuries.” He paused and smiled slightly. “Even Hong Yi managed to find that inheritance, remember? That puppet technique of his didn’t come from a scroll lying in the market.”

Once he’d realized the business route was cut off—his influence in the immortal world too shallow, his name barely a whisper, and his spirit stone pouch more dust than coin—ruins had started to seem less like a reckless gamble and more like the only logical path forward.

Sure, they were dangerous. But even in the cultivation stories he had read before coming here, ruins were always filled with treasures—if you survived the traps. And traps? Traps could be prepared for. He had ideas. Devices. Techniques. And more importantly, he had Yalan. She wasn’t just feline—she was skilled, calm under pressure, loyal, and a meridian expansion realm spirit beast—the last one the most important.

“There might be some in the Corpse Lands,” Qing He finally admitted, reluctantly. “But they’re really dangerous. Definitely not for a cultivator at your level.”

“Corpse Lands?” Chen Ren echoed, brow raised.

It was Feiyu who answered.

“They’re at the empire’s western border. Entirely uninhabited now. Cultivators go there all the time looking for ruins or lost legacies,” he explained. “They say one of the strongest ancient sects fell there due to some unknown reason. The land’s cursed… but people believe the inheritance of their sect leader, a nascent soul cultivator, is still hidden somewhere in the region.” His voice lowered with quiet awe. “Even now, some who return from the outskirts find strange treasures—spirit-infused metals, talisman blueprints, even old formation keys.”

Chen Ren’s interest sparked instantly. Nascent soul inheritance? Hidden artifacts?

He didn’t want to leave again so soon—not after finally getting back and finding everything slowly falling into place—but this sounded like exactly the kind of risk that could turn things around for his sect. And at the very least, he could start learning more.

He turned back to Qing He. “Can you tell me more about it?”

She sighed, but her posture relaxed slightly.

“Follow me,” she said. “I might still have a book about it in the shop.”

Chen Ren nodded and fell into step behind her, thoughts already racing. Hence, he didn’t notice the way Anji’s gaze lingered on his back as he walked away, quiet and unreadable.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

98. Dao of trust

Anji felt her arm shake as the recoil pushed back into her shoulder, a familiar jolt of force echoing through her bones. The bullet tore through the air and carved cleanly into the wooden target ahead.

One. Two. Three. Four. She emptied the entire cartridge (that was what they called it) with a calmness she found in her, each shot finding its mark without deviation. Every trigger pull was certain, her breathing steady, body aligned perfectly.

She’d been doing this for a week now—helping Feiyu and Qing He test the new bullet molds and gun modifications—but for her, it was never just help.

Firing bullets was therapy.

There was something satisfying about the thunderous crack, the sense of raw force controlled by her hands. A mortal woman wielding something that could pierce through a bear’s skull… it made her feel powerful. Important.

But today? There was no satisfaction. No thrill. No smile. No goosebumps.

Only questions. A weight she couldn’t shake. A rising storm in her thoughts that had nothing to do with targets and everything to do with the man behind the design of these weapons.

As the final bullet snapped free and smoke curled from the barrel, she lowered the gun and turned. Feiyu stood at the edge of the range, notebook in hand, scribbling something before giving her a nod.

“That was good,” he said. “I think we can end it for today. I’m going to work on more gun diagrams—based on the notes Sect Leader Chen gave me.” He glanced up again. “When we finally start training mortals with these… I think you’d make a good instructor.”

Anji blinked. “I’d be willing.”

Feiyu smiled lightly, satisfied. “Then I’ll leave it at that. Good session.”

He turned, heading for the workshop—but before he could round the corner, Anji felt something tighten in her chest. Her throat moved, the words clawing their way out before she could think twice.

“Wait. Can I ask you something?”

Feiyu paused mid-step and looked over his shoulder. “About guns? Ask away.”

“No…” she said, and cleared her throat, unable to fathom what she was about to ask. “About Sect Leader Chen.”

He turned fully this time, brows arching faintly. “What about him?”

“Do you trust him?” she asked plainly.

There was a pause. Not long, but enough for her to catch the flicker of change in his expression. His posture didn’t shift, but his eyes… they sharpened.

“He’s my benefactor,” Feiyu said. “He severed my bloodline from slavery—something my ancestors suffered through for generations.”

Anji didn’t move. “That… doesn’t answer my question.”

Feiyu's lips twitched—not quite a smile. “Then yes. I trust him.”

He stepped closer, speaking slowly now, not for her understanding but for his own recollection.

“I’ll admit, when I first met him, a lot of what he said sounded… ridiculous. Risky. Honestly? A little insane. He spoke of weapons, systems, markets, and mortals holding power like cultivators. I thought he was deluded.”

His gaze drifted briefly, before locking with hers again.

“But every promise, every risk—he held to it. Even when things went bad, and it looked like we'd all die… he never wavered. And because he didn’t, I’m here today. So yes. I trust him.”

A quiet fell over the training ground.

“Does that answer your question?” he asked.

Anji nodded.

Feiyu looked like he wanted to ask why—but then, true to his nature, he simply said, “Goodbye,” and turned, already more focused on blueprints and designs than whatever battle was playing out in her head.

Anji remained where she stood.

The gun was still warm in her hand. Her ears still rang faintly from the last shot. And yet her thoughts were somehow louder.

She hadn’t expected Feiyu to say so much. He rarely did. He never spoke about himself. In fact, the few things she knew came from overhearing Xiulan in the main courtyard over tea.

But now, just for a moment, she had seen something else in him. Faith. She had her answer—or so it seemed.

But the words gnawed at her. Not the ones he said, but the why behind them. She knew Feiyu had once been a slave, saved by Chen Ren. How? She didn’t know. But it made her wonder—was that trust born from gratitude alone? Or from something deeper? Something real?

She needed more than one perspective.

Without wasting a moment, Anji set off through the sect buildings, her eyes sharp and her mind buzzing. There were others who had stories tied to the sect leader, people who had seen different sides of him.

She just had to find them. And It didn’t take long.

In the training yard near the outer hall, she spotted Zi Wen, his hands moving, fingers twitching as he guided his bonded wolf—through drills. The wolf pounced, rolled, and retreated on command, eyes always on its master.

“Zi Wen,” Anji called out.

He glanced at her, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Something wrong?”

“I wanted to ask you something. About Sect Leader Chen.”

He tilted his head.

“Do you trust him?”

Zi Wen’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. The wolf padded to his side, tail still wagging as it sat obediently.

“Trust?” he repeated, then nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

He said it so casually, like it wasn’t even a question worth doubting.“I’ve always been wary of cultivators,” he admitted, wiping sweat off his brow and walking closer. “But what I’ve seen of him… he has a good head on his shoulders. More than that, he’s not arrogant. Doesn’t act like the world owes him something just because he’s powerful.” He gave a faint smile. “He helped me find my path. I was just some middle aged man with a pet wolf, barely hanging on and having given up on cultivation. Now, I’ve got a bond, I’ve got a direction—and that’s thanks to him. So yeah. I’d trust him with my life.”

With that, he turned back to his training, the wolf immediately springing back into action.

Anji lingered for a moment, her brows furrowed.

Is it still just gratitude? Was that what tied everyone to him?

She needed more.

Leaving the training yard, she made her way toward the farmlands. The scent of tilled soil and spiritual herbs filled the air, and the sun beat down steadily on the plots of land where crops glimmered with faint qi.

Luo Feng was crouched over one of the rows, mud up to his knees, sleeves rolled, his hands gently adjusting a set of spirit roots that glowed faint green. When he noticed her, he smiled, a streak of dirt across his cheek.

“Need something?” he asked.

“I have a question,” she said, getting right to it. “Do you trust Sect Leader Chen?”

Luo Feng didn’t even blink.

“I trust him,” he said simply.

“Why?”

He returned to adjusting the roots before answering. “Because he seems like someone worth trusting.”

She blinked. “That’s it?”

“Yeah.” He gave her a wry smile. “I’ve been lost before. My parents died when I was still figuring out who I was. I drifted for a while… felt like a seed with no soil.”

He straightened slowly, looking across the rows of shimmering crops.

“But now, I’ve got a purpose. I want to make the best spirit farm this world has ever seen. That goal… that anchor? It came from Sect Leader Chen. If not for him, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be a cultivator. At least not the kind that could ascend to immortality one day.”

Anji gave Luo Feng a short nod, ignoring his attempt at humor. She thanked him politely and walked off, her mind already drifting elsewhere.

Luo Feng, for his part, was more than happy to be left alone. His trust in Sect Leader Chen Ren came from instinct and gratitude, not deep shared experiences. Their interactions had been few, but Chen Ren had given him a field and a future, and for a man who once had neither, that was more than enough.

But Anji needed more.

She needed something firmer than kind gestures and vague admiration. Her next steps led her to the outskirts of the main building, to the slightly scorched, metal-laden workshop where Hong Yi lived among blueprints and half-built wooden nightmares. Today, he was hunched over a new creation, a tall puppet with eight mechanical arms, each ending in a different wicked tool. Its wooden face was twisted in a manic grin, and its limbs clicked and whirred as he adjusted joints with movements.

“Why so many arms?” she asked, more to break the tension than out of curiosity.

“For fear factor,” he answered immediately, not even looking up. “Imagine this thing crawling out in the middle of a battle, painted pale like a ghost, eyes glowing, that smile staring you down. Fear alone will slow a man's blade.”

Anji said nothing. Just waited.

Hong Yi tinkered for a moment longer, then finally glanced her way. “You're not here to critique my puppet aesthetics, are you?”

She shook her head. “Do you trust Sect Leader Chen?”

That made him pause.

The puppet’s head gave a final click as it settled into place. “Trust?” he echoed, then gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah… I guess I do.”

He leaned back and tapped one of the puppet’s arms absently.

“He’s my benefactor. Helped solve a… problem of mine. One most would’ve stayed far away from. I still think he was insane for doing it, but he did it anyway. And more importantly—he’s never once asked me for my knowledge.”

Anji tilted her head. “You mean the puppet techniques?”

Hong Yi nodded. “Most sect leaders would've tried to make me hand it over, or at least demand I teach it. But he hasn’t. Not even once. He said he’d give me a workshop, and he did. He said I could work on my craft, and I can. So yeah. I trust him. But I’d call it a professional trust. He lets me do what I’m good at, and I help the sect grow.”

That was enough for her. Before he could spiral into another tangent about why the puppet needed blood-red eyes, she slipped away.

They trusted him because he had done what he promised. Because he treated them like people, not tools. Because he didn’t just talk about ideals. He acted on them. And she couldn’t deny it. Even for her, their first meeting hadn’t been one of orders or expectations. He had found her half-starved and offered food without asking anything in return. It had been a small gesture, but one that stuck.

Still… This question wasn’t about kindness or leadership. This was about duty. The secret she carried. The truth of who she was and what might come of it. And she wasn’t sure if Chen Ren was someone she could entrust that to.

Not yet.

Her feet, lost in thought, brought her to the sect kitchen. The scent of fresh noodles wafted out like an invisible hand tugging her back to reality.

Inside, Tang Xiulan stood surrounded by children, sleeves rolled up, hair tied in a loose bun as she deftly sliced vegetables. She was clearly trying to teach the kids how to make noodles—but judging by the way the kids looked at the food around them, the lesson was leaning heavily toward “eat everything when Miss Xiulan turns her back.”

Anji stepped into the room, ignoring the chaos and heading straight to the counter.

“Do you trust Sect Leader Chen?”

Xiulan turned around, knife in hand, a brow raised.

“Obviously,” she said without hesitation. “Why are you asking?”

Anji blinked.The tone in her voice was different from the others. Not soft or uncertain. Not professional or grateful. It was final. Like she’d already placed a stake in the ground and dared the world to move her.

There was conviction.

“Why?”

Xiulan returned to slicing vegetables, her movements fluid and steady, voice calm.

“I hated him at first.”

That made Anji pause.

“Thought he was a lecherous, arrogant hedonist who thought way too much of himself. Always scheming, always smiling like he knew something no one else did.”

She chuckled, just a little.

“But one loss… one real defeat was all it took for him to change. Completely. Like he’d been broken down and built back up into someone new.”

Her hands didn’t stop moving, but her voice softened.

“And that’s when I saw the truth. If he wants to… he puts in effort. He takes care of people. He holds to his word, no matter what. And deep down, he has a good heart. Even if sometimes, he doesn’t show it that well.”

Tang Xiulan stirred the pot with practiced grace, her hands moving almost without thought as she added the chopped vegetables to the simmering soup. The scent of broth thickened in the air, wrapping around them like a comforting blanket.

“Before,” she said slowly, “I felt like the good in him was shrouded. Covered up by all the worst things—arrogance, indulgence, carelessness.”

Her voice didn’t hold bitterness, just memory.

“But once the good side took over… he felt like the kind of man I’d want to support.”

She gave the soup a stir and smiled faintly.

“And also, let’s be real—it’s good for me. I mean, come on. From a maid to the manager of a sect? That’s a promotion even cultivators would envy. He’s generous, and I have a feeling he’s just getting started. If there are more steps up, I will be climbing them.”

Anji watched her in silence, absorbing every word. There was something deeper under Xiulan’s practical tone, something not fully voiced… but this was enough.

It always was, wasn’t it? Just enough.

Still, it was the first part of her answer that clung to Anji's thoughts.

She leaned against the doorframe, eyes fixed on the boiling soup. “His bad side,” she said quietly. “Do you think it’s still there?”

Xiulan stopped stirring.

She didn’t look up at first. Just stood, spoon in hand, the steam curling past her face.

Then she said, “It should be. We all have bad sides. Yin and yang go together. That’s just how it is. Greed, anger, lust—they’re all part of us. What matters is what we choose when those parts whisper to us.”

Anji hadn’t expected something so philosophical, but it made her… oddly comforted. She nodded slowly, then asked the real question that had been clawing at her from the inside.

“But what if the opportunity comes? Something big. Something he could only get through deceit. Do you think… that would bring it out?”

This time, Xiulan’s gaze met hers. No smile. No evasiveness. Just clear, sharp attention.

Anji braced herself for a question in return, but it never came.

“I don’t think so,” Xiulan said. “Not anymore.”

She turned down the fire beneath the pot and crossed her arms, watching Anji like she could see more than just the question.

“If something like that was going to bring the old him back, it would’ve already happened. Like with Hong Yi. The man had puppet knowledge—something sects would kill for. And young master Chen Ren? He never even asked how it worked. Never tried to claim it. Just gave him a workshop and let him be.”

She paused, then added more gently, “That’s not the choice someone makes if they’re still driven by greed or lust for power.”

Then, for the first time, she asked the question.

“Why are you asking this, Anji?”

The air shifted.

The kids were laughing in the background, arguing over whose bowl of noodles looked
the best, oblivious to the quiet weight pressing between the two women. And Anji… Anji didn’t answer.

Because she still didn’t know what the answer was.

“I had questions.” It was the only explanation.

Xiulan didn’t press. She didn’t tilt her head or narrow her eyes the way others did when they sensed a secret. She simply watched her for a beat longer before nodding and returning to her soup.

“I think,” she said, “you’re trying to figure out if you trust him. But my trust won’t give you any reason to. That’s not how it works. Trust is a bridge built between two people—not borrowed, not passed around.

“Whatever made you ask, I don’t want to know. I’ve got enough of my own secrets to keep me busy. You need to think about it yourself.”

With that, Tang Xiulan returned to her task, her hands already reaching for the ladle, her attention shifting back to the children and their noisy, flour-covered excitement.

Anji didn’t stay. There was nothing more she could learn here. The questions had ended. Now came the answer.

Did she trust him? If she was being honest with herself, she didn’t know. Trust wasn’t a switch to flip—it was something fragile. Something once shattered that never quite returned to its original shape. And Anji had seen it break before. Felt it. Lived it.

But the truth was undeniable—she needed him now. And not in some vague, “sect leader helps people” way.

And if she was going to go through with what was in her mind—if she was going to hand over the truth of who she was and what she carried—then she would have to trust him with it.

Not with her tasks. Not with her job. With her secrets.

That was a much heavier ask.

Her mind kept turning, looping back through everything she'd seen, everything she'd heard. The words of Feiyu, Zi Wen, Luo Feng, Hong Yi, and finally Xiulan—each like a thread wrapping around the core of her doubt.

And in the center of it all, something her father had once said came to the surface.

The old man had a habit of talking too much, borrowing lines from ancient texts just to sound wiser than he actually was. But every so often, a line slipped through the noise—sharp and lasting.

“Sometimes, you must force yourself to trust someone when you’re desperate. Not because they’ve earned it, but because the alternative is worse. And it doesn’t mean you’ll be betrayed. Human civilization is built on risk. And the greatest of those is the willingness to be vulnerable.”

Anji could still see him, puffing on his pipe, waving his hand like he was narrating the fall of an empire—only to end the lecture by asking her to brew his tea.

But she remembered that line. And now it felt heavier than when she first heard it. Was the risk worth it? She didn’t know. And yet her feet were already moving, thoughts tangled in uncertainty, her heart hammering despite the calm of the sect grounds.

She didn’t even realize where she was heading until her boots tapped against the stone threshold of the alchemical workshop. Chen Ren was inside. She hadn’t asked anyone. Someone had mentioned it, maybe in passing—but the face didn’t matter. The knowledge stuck, and her legs had obeyed.

Now, here she was.

All it would take was one step forward. One decision.

Because if she went in… If she spoke… Then she wasn’t just testing trust. She was offering it.

The question didn’t wait anymore.

Did she take the risk?

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

99. Secrets from past

The Corpse Lands were exactly as dangerous as Qing He had warned.

It had been a proud home of a powerful sect once and then, the entire region had turned into a cursed wasteland after its mysterious destruction. No one knew the exact cause—only that when the sect fell, the land changed with it. Miasma had crept out like smoke from a smoldering ruin, infecting the very air and soil, turning the dead into twisted mockeries of life. The name came later—Corpse Lands—but it had stuck fast.

According to what Qing He told, she’d recounted the rumors. Some said an experiment went awry. Others claimed the sect had been attacked by demonic cultivators. A few exaggerated about a cursed technique, something forbidden, too ancient to control. But her personal theory had stayed with him the most—a corpse collector. One of those foul demonic practitioners who cultivated death itself. If one of them had breached the sect’s walls, and their arts seeped into the earth… it would explain the endless tide of undead.

He didn’t know what was true, and frankly, he didn’t care. His eyes were on the treasures buried deep within—ruins laced with ancient runic weapons, long-forgotten manuals, and maybe, if fate smiled, recipes for pills and potions that he could use to breach deeper into the immortal market.

But therein lay the problem.

The Corpse Lands were crawling with other cultivators—most of them already at the foundation establishment realm. More than capable. More than dangerous. The undead themselves were no joke either. Tier 2 beasts roamed the mists like hounds, and Tier 3 threats were not uncommon. Even if he found something, others would find him. And in a place like this, law didn’t matter. Disputes were settled with blood, and the losers often didn’t stay alive for long.

Chen Ren’s current strength wasn’t enough. Not yet.

He would need to rely on Yalan completely—and he wasn’t sure the cat would agree. She had been watching over him from the start, more guardian than companion, and she hadn’t let him enter battles she thought he couldn’t win. This… this would be a stretch even by her standards.

Pushing the thought aside for now, he stepped into his workshop and slid the door shut behind him with a soft click. The earthy scent of herbs and ash welcomed him. He moved toward the low table and took out a cloth-wrapped bundle.

One by one, he unrolled the items.

Qi replenishment pills.
Scarlet bloom healing pellets.
Bone-refining capsules.

He examined them in silence.

In the world of cultivation, spiritual products were categorized much like techniques—Mortal, Earth, Sky, and Heaven grade. These, unfortunately, were firmly at the bottom of that ladder. Low-tier Mortal-grade. Common enough that any outer disciple or early-stage rogue cultivator had likely bought them at least once. They did the job, barely, but lacked potency or refinement.

Still, they were all he had for now.

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes, picking up one of the dull green bone-refining pills and rolling it between his fingers. They smelled faintly of iron and camphor—unpleasant, but tolerable.

He had a lot to think about. And not much time to prepare.

Being the most common of spiritual products, the recipes for these pills were no great secret. Chen Ren had found several variations tucked within the books Qing He had sent him, all describing the basics in a clear and straightforward manner. But knowing how to make a pill and making a good one were two very different things.

Most sects added their own ingredients—special herbs, refined essences, or long-lost alchemical techniques passed down within their inner circle. That was how they increased the potency of their pills. That was how they gained an edge.

It was also why Chen Ren would never be able to compete with them. Not in raw strength. Not in raw potency. He knew better than to ask Qing He for those secrets. Even if she had access to them, sharing such knowledge would invite more problems than it solved.

But he didn’t need to walk the same path. Potency wasn’t the only thing that made a product unique.

There were other angles—effects that lingered longer, pills that dissolve faster, ones that were easier to absorb for certain constitutions, or even ones that simply had fewer side effects. If he could carve out a niche, create a formula tailored for a large number of people that was better in some way from the pills in the market, then he wouldn’t need to go head-to-head with the sects at all.

Still, before he could test anything, he needed a baseline. A standard.

He would have to break down the entire process—measurements, heating times, spiritual flow, ingredient sequence—everything had to be reproducible, teachable. If he wanted to build a supply chain, he couldn’t be the only one crafting pills. He had plenty of mortals under his wing, but not cultivators skilled in pill-making.

Alchemy required precision, discipline, and time—none of which his people had in abundance. Yet, there was one exception. Luo Feng.

The man was already managing his future herb garden with surprising dedication. Chen Ren had handed him a small pouch of common spiritual seeds after the tournament—rewards he had earned from the tournament but couldn’t store indefinitely. Pills could be sealed and preserved; herbs, less so. They decayed, lost their vitality, and became useless over time. It made more sense to put them inside the ground than on a shelf.

And Luo Feng had taken the task seriously. The spirit farm was beginning to take shape, tiny shoots poking through the enriched soil, visible faintly under the influence of the land’s weak spiritual energy.

If things went well, he might be able to bring him into the alchemy work later. But for now, it would be just him.

He rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms, feeling the back muscles tight. Letting out an exhale, he walked over to the side of the workshop where the cauldron was.

Placing the basic ingredients for the qi replenishment pill onto the workbench, he began sorting them by age, type and dryness. His hands moved without a pause, eyes narrowed in focus.

Today wasn’t about breakthroughs. Today was about repetition. Standardisation.

He’d had some success with pills before—some being the key word.

Truthfully, his results had been passable at best. Potions were where he truly shone. There was a fluidity in crafting them, a kind of intuitive precision that made it easier for him to manage. But potions weren’t as sought after by cultivators. Pills were cleaner, more concentrated, and far more versatile. They lasted longer, stored better, and came in dozens of specialized types. A single pill could boost qi circulation, calm the mind, restore broken meridians, or even awaken dormant bloodlines.

He’d often wondered why pills held such prestige over potions, but he had shelved that question for later. There were too many pressing concerns for these types of musings.

Moving over to his cauldron, he set out the herbs he needed for a basic qi replenishment pill. Alchemy in this world wasn’t as straightforward as it had been in the world he came from. It wasn’t merely about chemical reactions or combining ingredients in the right sequence. Here, he had to draw the qi out of the spiritual herbs, guide it, bind it, then compress it under controlled heat and pressure until it formed a pill.

Simple to describe. Complicated to perform. Especially when trying to standardise the process. He eyed the first few herbs as he began to heat the cauldron, the flame shifting into a blue-white hue under his qi's influence. The familiar hiss of warming metal filled the air.

Then the door creaked open.

Chen Ren turned, surprised. He had been too focused to sense anyone approaching. He narrowed his eyes at Anji who stood there, her eyes being different than usual.

They looked at him directly, but she seemed to be in deep thought. Her stance screamed urgency, restraint, a small flicker of… fear? And something else entirely. The kind of expression someone wore when they had just outrun assassins and knew that jumping off a cliff sounded like a better option.

He didn't speak immediately, letting the silence stretch, hoping she’d break it first.

But when she didn’t, he sighed and decided he needed to break the ice.

“Do you need something?” he asked. “I doubt you’re here to greet me for my glorious return. We already met at the shooting range.”

Anji shook her head slowly, her hands clenched at her sides. “I heard… about your talk with Senior Qing He. About you going to the Corpse Lands to find treasures.”

Her voice didn’t tremble. Not quite. But there was weight in it. Enough for Chen Ren to straighten and let the flame beneath the cauldron die down. He gave her his full attention. This wasn’t going to be a casual conversation.

Chen Ren nodded slowly. “Then… are you worried?”

He didn’t wait for a reply before continuing. “I am thinking of going to the Corpse Lands. Our sect’s short on too many things. I know it’s dangerous, but if I decide to go, I’m going to—”

“I’m not worried,” Anji cut in. “I know you need manuals,” she continued. “Cultivation techniques for the disciples. Xiulan told me about it.”

He paused, her words settling in more than he expected. Xiulan told her? That meant the two had grown closer than he’d realized. He didn’t mind it—there was no harm in it—but still, a part of him had hoped things like that wouldn’t spread too far. It wasn’t exactly a secret, but…

He had wanted the sect to look a little more prestigious in the eyes of outsiders. A bit less desperate.

He sighed. “It’s true. I do need them. That’s the main reason I’ve been considering the Corpse Lands,” he said, then tilted his head slightly. “But why are you asking?”

Anji hesitated.

He caught the flicker in her eyes—like she was weighing something, some unspoken cost.

“What if you don’t have to go to the Corpse Lands?” she asked softly.

Chen Ren gave her a wry smile. “Then I’d be a terrible sect leader. Can’t even provide a proper cultivation manual for my disciples? What kind of face would I have left?”

She shook her head. “No. I meant… what if there’s another place you can look for manuals?”

His smile faltered. His eyes narrowed, not in suspicion, but in realization. Slowly, he straightened.

“You’re serious,” he said.

Anji didn’t reply, but she didn’t need to. Her silence was confirmation enough. His mind whirled. Another place? If such a site existed—and it was less dangerous than the Corpse Lands—it could change everything. He wouldn’t have to gamble his life just to scavenge some ruined scrolls. It was the best possibility he’d heard in weeks.

But that only raised more questions.

Why now? And why had she never mentioned this before?

He had known from the beginning that Anji’s background wasn’t ordinary. The way she carried herself, the way she observed others, and even the way she knew how to read and write—it all hinted at a past buried under layers of half-truths and avoidance. But knowing of a place where cultivation manuals could be found?

That was another level entirely.

He studied her closely now.

“If there really is such a place in the empire,” he began slowly, “wouldn’t the other sects have already scoured it clean? Something like that wouldn’t stay hidden for long.”

Anji didn’t hesitate. “No, they can’t.”

His brow rose.

“It’s a hidden location,” she said. “Even if someone finds it, they wouldn’t be able to open the sect vault on their own.”

That gave him pause.

A sect vault?

So that was it. A hidden vault belonging to a sect—untouched, sealed away, inaccessible to outsiders. But not to her. The way she spoke, the certainty in her voice, the quiet control—it all pointed to one thing, Anji knew the internal workings of this vault. And that meant her connection to it ran deeper than he’d previously guessed.

She had just confirmed what he’d suspected, though he hadn’t expected the truth to come this soon.

“Do you have a way to open the vault?”

Anji nodded slowly.

“And… Do you know what’s inside?”

Her lips twitched—not quite a smile, more like restrained emotion.

“I have an idea,” she said. “Cultivation manuals. Secret techniques. Some of them are easily Earth grade. Weapons, all of them spirit artifacts. And a whole sect inheritance that even I have no clue about. But it’s real. And it’s powerful enough to elevate any sect to an Established Sect overnight.”

Chen Ren’s eyes widened.

That… that was beyond anything he expected.

If even half of what she said was true, this vault wouldn’t just solve his problems—it would propel his sect into prominence. With Earth-grade techniques alone, he could begin recruiting serious cultivators. In the Empire, those were rare treasures. Most sects reserved them for their most promising core disciples. Guardian sects might grant one or two to inner disciples, but never to the outer ranks.

Techniques like that could help someone leap ranks. Fight above their cultivation. Survive battles they had no business surviving. And that wasn’t even counting the inheritance she hinted at.

With all that combined… It would be worth risking everything. But there was still one question burning in his mind.

“How do you know all this?” he asked carefully. “I can’t imagine this kind of knowledge being available to just anyone. Even a sect’s inner disciples might not know of a hidden vault like this.”

“It’s not. Very few people know about it,” she said. “And I can’t tell you more unless we’re on the same page.”

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed slightly, waiting.

“If I tell you everything,” she continued, “you’ll have to go with me to the vault. No turning back.”

He nodded without hesitation. If this was real, he had to go. Only a fool would pass up an opportunity like this. But still, he needed questions to be answered.

“Then let me ask this,” he said. “If we do get access to the vault, how would we divide what we find?”

Anji answered almost immediately. “I’ll take the inheritance. I want access to the manuals, but you can keep and use them however you want—so long as you don’t sell them to any sect, clan, or outsider not affiliated with your sect.”

Chen Ren fell silent.

It was a sharp deal. The inheritance might very well be the most valuable thing in the vault—possibly a bloodline legacy, techniques tailored to a specific cultivation path, maybe even unique methods that could reshape a sect’s foundation. Something priceless. He wondered why a mortal like her needed the inheritance. She couldn't possibly use it, but it didn't look like she was going to budge from her condition.

He could try to negotiate. But… None of this would even be an option without her.

The inheritance wasn’t his to begin with. And he knew it.

So after a moment, he nodded.

“That’s fine by me.”

Anji exhaled slowly, her shoulders easing in the faintest show of relief.

“Before I reveal anything else,” she said, her voice more composed now, “I want a qi oath between us. On everything we discussed. That way, we can trust each other.”

Chen Ren didn’t react immediately. He just studied her face, the seriousness in her eyes. Then he gave a slow nod. “That’s fair. But we’ll need to discuss the wording first. Oaths aren’t something you rush.”

“It’ll be simple,” Anji replied. “Both of us will go to the vault. You’ll protect me, and I’ll lead you all the way to the entrance and unlock access. Once we’re inside, we divide the spoils like we discussed—me taking the inheritance, you keeping the rest.”

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

“There’ll be no betrayals,” she added. “Neither of us will go back on our word. The oath ends when we leave the vault safely, but even after that, you can’t attempt to take my life or the inheritance—directly or indirectly.”

Chen Ren tapped his fingers against his arm, thinking it through.

“That works for me,” he said after a moment. “But I might have to bring others along. And I’ll need you to explain every danger we’re walking into. Clearly.”

Anji gave a small nod. “That’s fine. But they’ll have to swear the same oath.”

“Deal.”

With the terms set, they moved to the center of the workshop. The air stilled as he pulled on his qi, weaving it into the space between them. He drew patterns in the air with his qi, sealing his qi to his words. The symbols shimmered in the air and disappeared ever so slightly.

“I promise to…” Chen Ren put everything to words, and that rippled the qi around him. Anji stared at him and said the same words. And then, she let out a breath. She looked like she’d just passed a point of no return.

Chen Ren noticed.

“So,” he said, voice quieter now, “can I know everything? About the vault. And about you. I want to know what I’m getting into—even with the oath.”

Anji looked at him, long and hard, then gave a slow nod.

“I’ll tell you everything,” she said. “Since we’ll be working together from now on.”

She paused, just for a heartbeat.

And then the next words out of her mouth shattered the silence between them.

Words that made Chen Ren’s heart still in his chest.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

100. A tale of a sect war

The moment the words left her mouth, Chen Ren felt the urge to sit down. He wanted to sit down and slowly process whatever she’d said—if it was any truth.

He didn’t; he didn’t sit down. But the impulse was heavy. His fingers twitched at his side, and he felt his muscles spasming. He looked around the workshop and noticed that this wasn’t the place for this kind of conversation.

He gestured for her to follow and led her out of it, across the hallway, and into his room. No one ever came here, not wanting to disturb the sect leader.

And fortunately, even Yalan wasn’t in the room.

He shut the window, latched the door and looked at her again, fully.

“You’re telling me that you’re the daughter of the previous sect leader of the Void Blade Sect?”

Anji nodded like her background was of a farmer's daughter rather than a sect leader's. “Yes.”

Chen Ren stared at her. A second passed. And another. And a third.

“Adopted.” she muttered. “I was adopted, so I didn't get the family name. But he treated me the same. My father, Ilang—he never married. He was one of those who’d die for cultivation and thought starting a family would just take his time from it. He had disciples, but none of them survived.”

As she spoke, Chen Ren felt something change.

The air around her… shifted. Not literally, but perceptibly. Previously, whenever they’d interacted, he’d noticed a quiet nervous energy surrounding her, like the way she looked around a room, the way she spoke—hesitantly. They were all gone now. She was staring directly into his eyes. She stood taller, shoulders squared, and spoke like someone who used to be listened to.

Was this who she truly was? Or was this simply the version of her that emerged now that the masks were off?

Maybe both.

But what she said made sense now. With no blood kin, no surviving disciples, she would have been the closest thing Ilang had to an heir. Adopted or not, that meant something—especially in a sect as serious and deadly as Void Blade.

It explained the vault.

But it also raised more questions than it answered. Still, there was one question he needed answered before anything else.

“How did you get adopted by a sect leader? No offense, but… someone like that doesn’t just pick up an ordinary child out of pity.”

Anji sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

Anji pressed her lips together, sighing again, she gave a firm nod.

“My village was destroyed. I was one of the survivors. Demonic cultivators raided the area. Void Blade Sect came to handle it.”

The way she spoke was too casual. Like she was talking about a trade caravan getting robbed, not a massacre. It was the kind of detachment that came only with time… or trauma.

“They scattered the survivors, dropped them off at nearby villages. But my father… he took me in.”

She stopped there.

Chen Ren watched her carefully. Her face was still, but the pause wasn’t empty—it lingered. There was more. Of course there was more. No matter how kind Ilang might have been, a sect leader didn’t adopt a random child with no spirit roots unless there was a reason.

A good reason.

And Chen Ren intended to find out what it was. The rest of her story was believable enough.

Sects led clean-up missions after demonic attacks weren’t uncommon—especially a decade ago when chaos ran deeper across the empire and demonic cultivator attacks were much more common. And children orphaned by such raids? Even more common. But Chen Ren wasn’t satisfied with half the truth.

He leaned back slightly, folding his arms.

“I thought mortals in sects were mostly assigned to menial tasks. Working farms. Cleaning. Maybe carrying resources for outer disciples if they were lucky.”

Anji’s lips twitched—not quite a smile. “They are. But there are perks to being adopted by a sect leader.”

Her voice wasn’t arrogant. Just matter-of-fact.

“I wasn’t a princess, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she continued. “I didn’t have a courtyard of my own or servants at my beck and call. But I didn’t scrub floors either. My father believed that even if I couldn’t cultivate, I could still be useful.”

He tilted his head slightly, curious.

“So?”

“So… I was sent to the alchemical halls. I studied ingredients, measured qi emissions, learned how to control flame temperature and track the quality of a pill by scent alone. I worked as an alchemist’s assistant.”

Her tone faltered at the last sentence, softening in a way that made Chen Ren notice.

She’d never told him that before.

He blinked, registering the weight of her words. Alchemy assistant? That was no minor thing. Not in a sect that size. She might know techniques or processing methods that could help him refine his own systems. Temptation passed through his thoughts—wondering how he could use that knowledge—but he shoved it away.

Now wasn’t the time.

Because she wasn’t done.

“Until the war,” she finished.

Chen Ren frowned, his mind already pulling up what little he knew. He’d heard of the Void Blade Sect’s fall. Back in Cloud Mist City, it had been a favorite rumor of the tea houses and gossip-hungry cultivators for a while until Gu Tian had changed that. Theories ranged from betrayal by a core disciple to the sect being far weaker than its reputation.

But no one really knew what had happened. He hadn’t even heard of the name of the sect that had brought them down and had never expected to learn more about it. Until now. She must’ve noticed his thoughts spinning, because she spoke again.

“You want to know what happened in the war,” Anji said.

Chen Ren gave a slow nod. “Let me guess—the vault is a hidden treasure your sect managed to protect. One the invaders didn’t get. And now you want to reach it before anyone else does.”

“Perceptive as usual.”

Then her gaze darkened, brows drawing together as she looked past him—as if remembering something bitter.

“It was a war between the Void Blade Sect and the Blazing Ember Sect.”

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes. Blazing Ember Sect? That name was vaguely familiar. He briefly recalled it was one of the Established sects focused on the flame arts and alchemy.

“We were from the same region,” Anji continued. “Always had minor conflicts. Nothing serious. Border disputes, resource allocation, recruitment scuffles. But two years ago…

“…a disciple entered our sect. Quiet. Talented. Rose quickly through the ranks. His name was Wang Fu. He was undefeated in sword combat and skilled in alchemy—so much that he created improved recipes of common pills. Our sect had always been weak on the alchemy side, so people began to see him as someone who would raise our foundation.”

Chen Ren listened silently, heart slowly picking up speed. Because if this was heading where he thought it was, the real story behind the Void Blade Sect’s fall was going to be far uglier than gossip ever hinted.

“But soon,” Anji continued, “Blazing Ember Sect accused him of stealing those alchemical recipes.”

Chen Ren’s brows drew together.

“They claimed he’d taken the formulas directly from their archives. There was a whole scandal about it. They wanted his head.”

He could almost see it—how it would’ve played out. Accusations flaring like wildfire through both sects, pride and blood boiling beneath the surface.

“My father was furious,” she went on without minding his silence. “He interrogated Wang Fu personally. And eventually… he admitted it. Said he’d found the recipes on the corpses of some Blazing Ember Sect disciples after a skirmish. Apparently, he’d been out on a mission when they attacked him, trying to steal his belongings. He fought back. Killed them. Found the ring with the formulas.”

“And in his mind, that made it worth it,” Chen Ren said.

Anji nodded. “Exactly.”

Chen Ren closed his eyes briefly, mind piecing it all together.

It was messy. Not just betrayal or theft. It was about honor. About lines blurred by violence. Either Ilang gave up a promising disciple—or stood against a rival sect demanding blood. And it was clear what choice he had made.

“So… he didn’t give him up.”

“No,” Anji said quietly. “He was a good sect leader. He would have defended even an outer disciple, let alone someone the whole sect had pinned their hopes on.” She looked down, fingers curling slightly at her side. Chen Ren didn’t miss it.

“He tried to defuse the situation. He gave the recipes back. Sent additional tributes—spirit stones, rare herbs. Everything short of groveling. But…”

She hesitated.

“One of the disciples Wang Fu killed… was an elder’s first grandson. That’s why he had the spatial ring in the first place.”

“So there was no walking back from it.”

“No,” she said. “The elder wanted vengeance. The sect wanted face. And before anyone realized it, the tension had already begun to rot the peace.”

“Then how did it spiral into a full sect war?” he asked.

“Negotiations dragged on for over a year. During that time, small clashes between our sects increased. At first it was just words. Then fists. Then blades. Outer disciples started dying. Missions turned into ambushes. Beast hunts became bloodbaths. If you left the sect borders, you didn’t come back in one piece. If you came back at all.” She sighed, closing her eyes as if remembering everything. “And the worst part was… once disciples with strong backers started dying, elders got involved. ‘Personal revenge’ they called it. ‘Justice for their kin.’ But all they did was fan the flames. It stopped being about the sect and became about grudges.”

Fire and void tearing through forests, mountains scarred from the power of two factions clashing unchecked. The imagination sent a shiver down Chen Ren’s spine, knowing these two were one of the most destructive elements other than lightning.

Anji’s tone grew bitter. “The sect war lasted barely over a month. But for that month, everything burned. Fire and void—pure destruction. And in the end… Void Blade Sect lost. I still remember the moment I saw my father. In the sky, fighting half a dozen elders from Blazing Ember Sect. He was still standing. Still holding his blade. Until he wasn’t.”

Her gaze didn’t waver, but Chen Ren could feel the storm behind it.

“It was a complete victory for them,” she said softly. “When I saw him fall, I knew it was over. I took one of the hidden pathways out of the sect. I ran. From city to city. Hid my name. Burned everything that could tie me back. Eventually, I ended up in Cloud Mist City.”

She gave a hollow laugh. “Being a mortal has its perks. No one bothered chasing me.”

Silence followed.

“You know the rest,” she finished.

Her voice was a mixture of guilt, sadness, and a venom so cold it could freeze flame. She hadn’t cried. She hadn’t asked for pity. But there was something to her words that left the room feeling smaller.

Chen Ren stared at her, unsure what to say. Part of him wanted to offer a shoulder. But the look on her face told him not to.

She wasn’t asking for comfort. She just needed him to understand.

And now… he did.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Anji didn’t respond, but a faint nod acknowledged his words.

Still, one question gnawed at him. The kind of question that didn’t leave room for sentiment.

“But how?” he asked, his brows drawing close. “How did the Blazing Ember Sect manage to win so decisively? Were they just… better at large-scale warfare?”

“No. Both sects were evenly matched. Our sect might’ve even had the edge in terms of defensive techniques. It’s just…”

She hesitated.

“There was a betrayal from inside.”

“Huh?”

“Yes,” she said. “Wang Fu was compromised. Maybe he wasn’t a spy when he first joined,” she continued. “But somewhere along the way… he turned. Everything he did—the stolen recipes, the conflict that started it all—it was a setup. A trap to push the sects into war.”

“And how do you know that? Did he reveal his betrayal?” he asked.

Anji’s voice dropped lower. “Yes. During the war, I saw him kill our disciples. The ones who called him senior brother. He didn’t hesitate. I believe he shared everything he knew about our formations, our defenses, weaknesses and our emergency protocols. Everything.

“We had background checks. Screening. Protocols to catch spies, especially demonic ones. His background was clean. Too clean, in hindsight. And none of us expected someone we had invested so much into to turn on us.”Chen Ren fell silent. It seemed like the rumours about a betrayal was true in the end, but if that was the case, then Blazing Ember Sect had prepared this for a long time. It was clear that there was a rivalry between both sects, but will they do something like this just for that? He wasn't sure and decided it was better to ask.

“Was it for something specific? Some treasure your sect had? It sounds like they planned this long before any conflict started and took a lot of risk with everything.”

“Yes. They wanted our inheritance.”

She looked him dead in the eye.

“According to sect war rules in the Empire… the victor takes everything—techniques, land, spirit veins, artifacts, even the buildings if they’re still standing. The Emperor allows it. Says it’s the most effective way to resolve deep-rooted conflict. He even takes a share of the spoils. A tax on death.” She paused. “And the Blazing Ember Sect had always coveted our sect’s inheritance.”

“So they engineered a war,” Chen Ren muttered, disgusted.

“Yes,” Anji said. “And they won.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly, arms crossed once more.

In the world of cultivation, inheritances were everything. They were the foundation of power, the roots of legacy. A single inheritance could birth a sect, elevate a family, or change the fate of an empire. Of course it would be coveted. Of course someone would wage war over it. There was a reason even Hong Yi was chased so much.

Still… knowing it and listening to everything about it were two very different things.

“So going after the sect vault,” he said, bringing the topic back to the vault, “would mean opposing the Blazing Ember Sect.”

Anji nodded, but then added quickly, “They won’t know. I don’t think they even have a clue where the inheritance is. Only my father knew the exact location. He never told anyone else—not even the elders or his own disciples. It was something passed only to his direct successor.

“He told me before the war… in case he didn’t make it. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I didn’t think he would lose. But now…”

Her voice tightened.

“Now it haunts me. If I had the strength, I would’ve gone to retrieve it long ago. But I can’t. I’m too powerless.”

“Hence, you need my help.”

Anji nodded again. And Chen Ren sighed.

There it was again—that feeling. Like he was stepping into another mess. One more fire waiting to burn him alive.

He doubted he could even back out. Not easily. The qi oath was there, and he suspected Anji knew that. Still, he couldn’t say he hadn’t expected this. Nothing valuable in this world came without risk.

Inheritances didn’t come easy.

Fighting through the Corpse Lands was dangerous—but so was this. Blazing Ember Sect was an Established sect. Going for the vault could put him on their radar. And worse, the inheritance technically belonged to them now—at least, in the eyes of the empire. If anyone found out…

Still, maybe no one would. It wasn’t like they’d put up a sign saying “We’re robbing a dead sect’s vault.” If Anji was right, and only her father had known the true location, then even Blazing Ember might have given up looking by now. They could’ve assumed it was destroyed. Lost. Gone forever.

But if they were still looking…

That would be a problem.

Even so, the rewards… the manuals, the techniques, the weapons, the artifacts—an entire sect’s foundation. That could solve so many of his problems in one move. Not just strengthen his sect, but attract true cultivators to it. No more scraping together scraps. No more having to settle.

As he thought it through, Anji must have noticed the silence in his expression, the gears turning behind his eyes.

“You don’t have to help me.” Chen Ren’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“The qi oath?” he asked.

“It only binds you if we actually go for the inheritance. If you decide not to, that’s fine. I only used the oath to make sure you wouldn’t reveal anything without my permission. I didn’t want to force you.”

Chen Ren let out a breath, this time deeper, the weight in his chest easing just a little.

That… was a better deal than he expected.

He’d already started to feel bitter—like he’d been maneuvered into standing against an Established sect. But this? This gave him control. Gave him the choice.

So now the real question hung before him like a blade.

Would he risk it all to go against an Established sect, gambling for a chance at power, legacy, and growth? Or would he walk away… and put his hopes into the danger of the Corpse Lands instead?

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

101. Making a decision

There were things in life you thought you'd be good at—really good at. And then, when the time came to actually do them, you realized how terribly, disgustingly wrong you were.

Right now, Chen Ren was wrestling with one such thing—making a decision.

Now, he wasn’t bad at decisions. You couldn’t build a business from the ground up without having some talent for it. He'd made dozens of choices before—cutthroat ones, desperate ones, bold ones—and survived every time. But for the past two days, he’d been stuck.

Frozen between two paths.

Should he go with Anji to retrieve her sect’s lost inheritance? Or should he make his move toward the Corpse Lands? It wasn't about profit anymore.

It was about risk.

Real, life-threatening, possibly-never-coming-back-from-it kind of risk. Anji’s option was, comparatively, safer—at least on paper. Her father had taught her the vault’s inner workings. They wouldn’t be walking blind. Sure, there were bound to be traps, maybe guardians or puzzles, but she knew what they were stepping into.

The problem was what came after.

They might be stepping on the tail of Blazing Ember Sect. A name that held weight, disciples, and legitimacy built over centuries. If they caught wind of what was being retrieved… things could get messy.

Then there was the Corpse Lands.

Dangerous in an entirely different way.

Unknown terrain. Wandering undead as strong as Tier 2 or Tier 3 beasts. Other cultivators sniffing out treasure. No maps. No guides. Just death waiting behind every shadowed ruin. But… at least he wouldn’t be offending anyone powerful. Probably.

Chen Ren sighed and rubbed his temples, feeling the headache creep in.

He liked being cautious. Knowing something before he got into it. But again, he had no issue taking risks—but only when he knew what he was risking. Every enemy he had beaten before, he had studied. Understood. Outplayed.

This? This was different.

Against an Established sect, he couldn’t predict the retaliation. Against the Corpse Lands, he couldn’t even predict survival. He closed his eyes, letting the thoughts swirl again—until he felt a light sensation over his shoulder.

He opened his eyes to find Yalan perched behind, staring at him blankly, a half-gnawed piece of roasted corn in her paw.

“Your tea is going cold,” she said.

Chen Ren frowned, coming in contact with reality and blinked. He glanced down, startled to see the cup near his hand. Steamless. Cooling. Neglected.

Fuck.

He quickly took a sip, more out of reflex than thirst before using a bit of his qi to heat it up. Then he finally looked around, registering his surroundings. He was in the courtyard.

After the talk with Anji, he'd split his time between brooding over the decision and working on the new pill formula, but after feeling a headache creep in, he’d come out here for a break. Somewhere along the line, he’d started watching the kids playing nearby, laughing as they tried to catch the small, darting figure of a weasel—Zi Wen’s new bond, he recalled. The thing had a name, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember it now—

“Xinxin! Careful!” One of the kids yelled, and the others followed.

Right, Xinxin. That’s the name.

At some point, a mortal had quietly handed him tea. Yalan had appeared beside him, chewing corn like it was divine food. And he—he had spiraled deep into thought again.

He sighed again.

This wasn’t getting easier.

As he took another sip of his reheated tea, his eyes drifted toward the center of the courtyard where the playful laughter had taken on a more competitive tone.

Apparently, Whiskey had decided to join the kids when he had been deep in thought.

What was once simple running and chasing had now turned into a full-blown “battle” as the lunari and the weasel faced off against each other—while two of the kids, Bo and Jian, stood behind them like miniature generals shouting commands. The whole thing looked like a budget-friendly beast battle arena, with dirt kicks, squeaky war cries, and over-the-top moves that didn’t land.

It wasn’t anything serious—he remembered Xiulan once mentioning that Whiskey and Xinxin had been at odds for a while now. No real fights. Just tension. Maybe they were natural enemies. Maybe it was personal. Who knew?

Still, it was amusing.

He kept the tea in his hands warm with a light trickle of qi and settled in to watch.

Standing to the left, Xinxin was bigger than he remembered. Brown-furred, sleek, and bounding across the grass. It had quite agility, he could give it that.

It let out a high-pitched hiss as it launched itself toward Whiskey.

The lunari dodged with a flick of his tail, using his smaller frame and sheer speed to outmaneuver every lunge. Chen Ren blinked. He hadn’t actually seen Whiskey fight before—but the little thing was fast. Very fast. The weasel was clearly annoyed. Claws swiped. Teeth snapped. But Whiskey was always just out of reach.

The problem, however, became clear soon enough.

Speed wasn’t strength.

Every time Whiskey tried to land a claw swipe on Xinxin’s side, it either bounced off harmlessly or barely even ruffled the fur. Xinxin, being a grown spirit beast, had defenses Whiskey simply couldn’t crack. Not that it mattered to the audience.

The kids were loving it. Bo and Jian were already shouting at the top of their lungs, one backing Whiskey and the other Xinxin like they had bets riding on the outcome.

Chen Ren smirked. Beast battle showcases… huh. Could be fun. Might even make a good event for the locals. Something light to balance out the training drills and the brewing chaos in his life. But he doubted Zi Wen would be thrilled about turning them into a sideshow.

Still, the idea sat in the back of his mind as a maybe.

Just as he took another sip, Yalan spoke beside him.

“What’s on your mind?”

Chen Ren didn’t flinch. Of course she’d noticed. Him going blank, falling silent—it wasn’t hard to read.

“Just… thinking of ways to get the manuals,” he admitted.

Yalan flicked a bit of corn off her paw. “I heard you were considering the Corpse Lands. Rotten place.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been there?”

“Twice,” she said, licking her paw casually. “I’ve been to a lot of places in the Empire, you know. You keep forgetting how much older I am than you.”

Right. Chen Ren exhaled, remembering again who she really was—not just some oversized talking feline, but a guardian spirit, tied to his bloodline, one who had watched over his ancestors long before he was even born.

“So?” he asked. “Why don’t you like it?”

Yalan narrowed her eyes, staring into the distance like she was remembering something particularly disgusting.

“It’s far too much trouble for too little gain. Sure, you might find a treasure or two, but half the time you get attacked by rogue cultivators before you even make it out. And the artifacts?” She shook her head. “Too old. Too unstable. And don’t even get me started on the zombies.”

Chen Ren blinked. “What about them?”

“They taste horrible.”

He stared. “Wait. You ate a zombie?”

“What else was I supposed to eat there? Poisonous berries?”

He stared at her, utterly baffled, as she calmly licked the last bit of roasted corn from her paw.

“There’s no proper food in the Corpse Lands,” she continued. “You can bring some with you, sure—but unless it’s stored in a high-grade spatial ring, it spoils within a day. The miasma seeps into everything. Then you’re left with two options, demonic monsters and zombies.”

She made a face like she’d just recalled the worst mistake of her life.

“And let me tell you—zombies taste like rubber that’s been soaked in pig’s piss.”

Chen Ren made a sound of pure disgust and gently pushed his tea cup aside, all appetite to sip it gone.

“I never want to try that again,” Yalan grumbled. “My tongue deserves better. I have standards.”

He glanced at her with an unreadable look. “Clearly.”

But as she casually stretched out in the sun-drenched corner of the bench, he found himself watching her—not with amusement, but consideration.

How do I even bring this up without giving it all away?

He hesitated. Tried to weigh his words. Then he gave up, deciding that he didn't need to be subtle until he didn't say anything that went against his oath.

“Let’s say,” he started slowly, “there was another way to get those manuals. And treasures. But it might draw the ire of an Established sect. Do you think it will be a better option than the Corpse Lands?”

Yalan turned her head slightly and stared at him, squinting like she was trying to decide if he was speaking hypothetically or not.

After a moment, she replied, “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On what kind of sect you’re poking,” she said bluntly. “And what kind of treasures we’re talking about. If it’s just Mortal-grade junk and low-level talisman scrolls, it’s not worth it. But…”

She tilted her head thoughtfully.

“If we’re talking Earth-grade manuals or better, then maybe. From what I know, sect wars in the Empire can’t just happen anymore. Not without permission or legitimate cause. It’s too costly. Too political. The empire regulates them now. So, this Established sect can't just send out cultivators to blast this village off the map until they have very definite proof you have their property. What you need to watch out for is the quiet retaliation—assassins, spies, subtle sabotage.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly.

“And I thought,” Yalan added, giving him a sideways look, “you were already working on a large-scale defensive array around the village and the sect?”

“I am,” he admitted. “After hearing about how the beasts become in winter, I asked Qing He about what kind of array formations could be set up. We agreed on two. one for the village’s perimeter and another tighter one for the sect grounds.”

“Good.” Yalan nodded approvingly. “Most large sects have that. Soaring Sword Sect’s defensive array is strong enough to keep out mid-tier beasts without a single disciple lifting a blade.”

“She said it’ll be hard to create something that advanced,” Chen Ren added. “Too many components, not enough skilled array masters.”

“But?”

“But I can get basic structures in place. Early warning wards, alarm triggers for foreign cultivators entering the perimeter, and beast detection.”

“Not bad,” Yalan muttered, curling her tail around herself. “Not enough for war, but enough to buy you time. And time,” she said with a yawn, “is half the battle.”

Chen Ren leaned back, eyes flicking to the “battle” in the courtyard again—Whiskey now standing victorious on Xinxin’s tail as the children cheered like it was the championship of the decade. Xinxin somehow escaped Whiskey’s grasp. And they were at it all over again.

Ignoring the beast battle, he pondered upon Yalan's words. He still wasn't sure on antagonising an Established sect. But he was slowly laying the groundwork for the worst-case scenario. And that, at least, made him feel a little more in control.

Chen Ren looked over at Yalan, steam from the reheated tea curling faintly between them.

“I thought you’d be against taking on an established sect,” he said, her words more than surprising him. She didn't look entirely against the idea, if at all.

Yalan’s whiskers twitched. “It’s something you’ll have to do eventually. I’ve been thinking,” she continued, “sooner or later, you’ll reach the foundation establishment realm. And once that happens, things will shift. You’ll have more cards to play. More eyes on you, too. And I honestly don’t think we’ll have much trouble with me here unless you manage to offend multiple meridian expansion realm cultivators.”

She paused, tapping a claw against the bench.

“Moreover… you’re going to have to take them on economically anyway. In the Immortal Market.”

Chen Ren nodded, his thoughts turning to a different kind of battlefield. The Immortal Market—sprawling, ruthless, and utterly dominated by Established sects and Guardian sects monopolies. It was the Empire’s own brand of internal warfare—fought not with blades, but spirit stones, artifacts, and connections.

“There’s no way around that,” he murmured. “It’s a playground made for them. If I don't go against them, I won't get any share of the market. But taking them there and offending them over treasures and manuals they covet?” He shook his head. “That’s a whole different level of risk.”

Anji had said they might not know where the vault was. They might be able to sneak in and out without ever drawing attention.

That was the best-case scenario.

But would that actually happen? This was a Xianxia land. And in this world, best-case scenarios had a tendency to explode halfway through. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, still feeling undecided, when Yalan suddenly said, “Why are you thinking so much about it, anyway?”

He looked at her.

“I need to choose the option with the least risk—for me and for the sect.”

Yalan stared at him, unimpressed. “You didn’t think like that when you took on a gang. Or when you tried to manipulate sect leaders. Or when you challenged a trade union head-on.”

Chen Ren exhaled. “In all those situations, I knew I had a good chance of winning. I had plans.” He looked at her. “Even if I didn’t win, I knew I’d survive. I could run. Lay low. Preserve what mattered. I had you with me. That gave me confidence. In a way, you’re my cheat in this world.”

Yalan’s ears twitched slightly, tail swaying lazily.

“But if I offend an Established sect?” Chen Ren continued. “This time, it won’t just be me. The entire sect… the village might suffer. We don’t have enough strength to protect everyone if things go wrong.”

The words lingered in the air for a moment, heavier than before. Because they were true. And that was the risk of leadership.

“Situations like this will always come,” Yalan replied.

Chen Ren looked at her.

“You think you won’t offend someone in the Corpse Lands?” she asked, eyes narrowed. “You will. Maybe not intentionally. But someone’s going to take offense. Always. Some rogue cultivator, some vengeful idiot who wants what you find… and chances are, they’re connected to someone stronger. That’s how it works. Half the cultivators around come from a clan or sect of stronger cultivators.”

For a second, he could see all of her experience in those words. She’d clearly been there, done that. So, he listened.

“And then what?” she continued. “You’ll still have a problem. You’ll still have to fight or run or outsmart them.”

“What I’m saying is,” Yalan said, “cultivation is risk. You can’t escape it. It’s not for the weak-hearted. You think I reached my current realm by chewing fish and relaxing in the sunbeams?” She snorted. “I’ve taken risks. You need to, too. You’re trying to calculate which path has less risk. But you don’t know either path well enough to make that choice.”

“Then… what should I do?”

Yalan didn’t hesitate.

“Choose the path that will benefit you the most,” she said. “And prepare for when things go wrong. That’s always been your strength. You’re not like most cultivators, Chen Ren. Even if you don’t have endless resources, what you have is unique. Think. Plan. Use what’s yours. You always had backup plans before—have them now, too.”

A loud cheer erupted from the center of the courtyard, breaking the stillness.

Chen Ren glanced up.

The battle had ended. The weasel—Xinxin—stood triumphantly, fur puffed and stance proud, over Whiskey’s twitching, mildly humiliated body. Bo and Jian whooped dramatically. A few of the other kids were already surrounding Whiskey, trying to console the lunari, who glared up at the weasel like he was vowing eternal revenge.

Chen Ren didn’t even crack a smile. Because Yalan’s words were still echoing in his head—and the more he thought about them, the more he realized how true they were. No matter which path he chose—Corpse Lands or the sect vault—danger was a given. There was no safe option.

The Corpse Lands were chaos incarnate. Unknown terrain. Rogue cultivators. Demonic beasts. Undead things he’d only heard of in passing—like corpse kings, zombies and skeleton drakes. Worse, if he actually did find a treasure, it would put a mark on his back. Blood would follow.

And that was if he found anything at all.

The sect vault, though? At least he knew the risks there. And the vault itself? That he could prepare for—with Anji’s knowledge guiding the way. As long as the Blazing Ember Sect didn’t know, they couldn’t retaliate.

Even if they do, sect wars required the Emperor’s approval. The Empire was strict on large-scale conflict. Unless Blazing Ember had concrete proof—not suspicions, not rumors—they wouldn’t be able to start anything overt. They’d turn to subtler methods, sabotage, assassinations, targeting his allies.

And those? Those he could plan for. He already had Yalan. Qing He was no pushover. And if… if he managed to awaken the golden dagon, he’d have the strength of a heavenly beast at his side.

That wasn’t just protection. That was deterrence.

The more he thought about it, the clearer it became. He didn’t have to choose safety, he had to choose what was worth the danger. That line of thought was enough, enough to anchor his confidence and push every ounce of hesitation away.

He could prepare for this one, plan for it and control more variables. Especially since he knew that he wasn’t walking blind anymore.

Yalan tilted her head slightly and looked up at him, eyes narrowing with a knowing gleam.

“I think you made a decision.”

Chen Ren exhaled slowly and nodded. “I did. But I’ll need your help with it.”

Yalan gave him a flat look. “That’s a constant thing by now.”

Chen Ren allowed himself a small smirk. “Fair. But this time it’s a bit more… unconventional.”

“Oh?”

“We’ll be raiding the secret vault of the Void Blade Sect.”

Yalan blinked. Her tail paused mid-sway. “Void Blade Sect?”

“It’s a long story,” he said. “And I’ll tell you. But first… We need to do a qi oath. I made one with someone else before I learned about this. I can’t talk freely until we’re bound by it. But I’ll tell you this, It’s interesting,” he said.

And he meant it.

***

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102. Immortal blood

The sound of Wang Fu’s footsteps followed him as he walked through the corridor. His eyes trailed at the murals and hanging scrolls that were on the wall, depictions of legendary elders conjuring flames into dragons, phoenixes soaring above burning mountains and lone cultivators tempering themselves in volcanic infernos.

But none of that compared to the qi.

It was all around the very air he breathed, coiling around his limbs. Just standing within the inner sect hall felt nourishing. It almost felt like the air was feeding his cultivation, filling his dantian and reinforcing his bones.

A few years ago, he had been wasting away his life in the outer courtyard, a nobody with dull meridians, and no hope of advancement. He remembered the cracked tiles he slept on, the cheap knockoff pills he peddled, and the rank stench of latrines he cleaned for coins. He had no fortune to call his own, no guidance to reach his goals, he was left with only a stagnant path to nowhere.

But now? He was breathing immortality. The one that everyone in this world wished for.

Disciples passed him, bowing with respectful nods.

“Senior Brother Wang.”

“Greetings, Senior.”

He gave a slight nod, allowing himself a small smile. Not arrogance—just recognition. These weren’t the same men who used to sneer at his patched robes or mock his failed breakthroughs. These were the ones who knew what it meant to survive in the Blazing Ember Sect.

And he had done more than survive. He had chosen the forbidden path.

At first, he hesitated. But desperation had carved open his heart, and once the decision was made, there was no looking back. He had nearly lost his life to a meridian expansion cultivator during his first field trial—his arms had burned for days, and he had been forced to gnaw on spirit leaves just to dull the pain—but he had endured. And survived.

As he neared the crimson double doors at the end of the corridor, he paused. On his left, the training grounds were busy with activity.

Rows of disciples meditated cross-legged atop blackened stone platforms, their bodies bathed in ambient flame. A few sparred under the watchful eye of a golden-robed instructor, their fists alight as they shattered boulders into red-hot shards. Further along, one fool had wrapped himself in a cocoon of fire, his skin bubbling and charring, only to reform with each breath. A trial by torment—for the legendary [Infernal Carapace Technique].

Wang Fu had tried that once. Lost three toes and the ability to sit for a week.

With the power coursing through his meridians, those training grounds felt like distant memories. The techniques the outer disciples bled to master were mere sparks to him now—childish attempts at kindling flame.

Still, Wang Fu didn’t linger. His destination was ahead.

He turned from the training yard, his pace quickening until he stood before an enormous set of crimson doors. Runes were alive across their surface, shimmering beneath the surface. He paused for a breath, taking in the craftsmanship—a seal of power, a reminder of who waited inside.

Then, he pushed the door open and stepped into the inner sanctum. Immediately, he was warped with the scent of burning incense and sandalwood.

And at the heart of the room, there awaited a man.

His silver beard reached the floor. His narrow, small, beady eyes stayed closed. His robes layered in gold thread and red silk, and embroidered with phoenixes wreathed in fire. He sat unmoving.

On either side of him, two female disciples attended to him, one fanning gently, and the other pressing her soft hands onto his back, fingers glowing faintly with soothing qi.

Both were beautiful, extremely beautiful. The kind poets would write in scrolls for hours. They looked untouched by time or hardship, chosen not just for their skill but for their bond to the elder.

Wang Fu’s eyes betrayed him for a moment, lingering. But just as quickly, he averted them. They were not his to desire. They were Dao Companions of the sect raegent himself.

His gaze lowered, and without hesitation, he dropped to his knees, his forehead touching the cold stone floor.

“This lowly disciple greets Sect Regent Shen Linao, Infernal Warrior of the Empire.”

He held the bow until a rough voice broke the silence.

“Raise your head.”

Wang Fu obeyed, lifting his gaze just in time to see his master flick his eyes toward the two women. Without a word, they bowed gracefully and glided out through a side door, their presence vanishing like smoke.

Now, the room felt different.

He was alone with his master, and that meant only one thing—Something dangerous. Something secret.

The last time they had spoken privately, he’d ended up barely surviving a fight with a meridian expansion cultivator and losing three of his toes while infiltrating another sect for over a year.

Still… This was how he’d gained power. And if his master was calling him again—then something important was about to begin.

Cultivation had never been a path for the safe and the soft. It was a road paved in blood, betrayal, and endless risk. And so, Wang Fu said nothing—he simply waited.

Sect Regent Shen's voice broke the silence again, rough, like stone grinding against stone.

“Your cultivation has improved by leaps and bounds. You’re approaching the bottleneck of the foundation establishment realm. Have you faced any issues?”

Wang Fu bowed his head again—not as deep this time, but still with reverence.

“This lowly disciple is grateful for the pills and treasures Master has bestowed. Without them, I would still be stuck clawing at the threshold.”

He paused, his lips tightening for a brief moment.

“There have been... whispers. Some inner disciples are jealous. Spreading rumors, questioning my progress. But none have dared act. Not with your shadow behind me.”

His master gave an approving nod. His eyes, deep like simmering coals, held a glint of something unreadable.

“Good. My shadow brings protection... but it also casts pressure. If you want to stand further within it—and perhaps one day cast your own—you’ll need to prove you're worthy of more.”

“I’m ready,” Wang Fu said without hesitation, fists clenched against his robes. “Whatever task Master commands, I will complete it. Even if I must burn for it.”

His master's gaze lingered on him a while longer before he finally spoke.

“There are two matters that require attention. The first is regarding the medallion to the Gate of Immortals. From the information I got, it resurfaced in Cloud Mist City. One of the Chosen Immortal’s own disciples attempted to obtain it, and failed. It is still in the region… for now. The task of retrieving it has been entrusted to me.”

Wang Fu bowed again. “Do you want me to retrieve it?”

Master Shen raised a single finger, silencing him.

“Not yet. First, the second task. After the war with the Void Blade Sect, we searched for their sect vault—the inheritance that was said to have been passed down since their founding. But we found nothing. Their grounds were scorched, their corpses burned, and their secrets buried. Until recently...”

Wang Fu straightened, spine tightening with anticipation.

“We finally have success.”

“That’s the best news, Master.”

Sect Regent Shen gave a satisfied nod.

“It is. After interrogating and torturing countless core disciples of the Void Blade Sect—all of it feeling like scraping ash—we finally struck gold. A tattered map, which is ancient and faded. But real.”

He tapped his fingers against the stone armrest.

“It leads to the vault. We still don’t know what traps or formations lie inside. Whatever protections their ancestors laid down have likely warped over the centuries. But the location is confirmed. And that... is enough. I want you to lead the expedition. Take a team, retrieve the treasure, and return everything to me.

“I would go myself, but I’m at the threshold of core formation. The next few weeks are critical—I can’t afford distraction. But you… you’ve already proven yourself.”

Through the usual, cold gaze, Wang Fu almost saw something akin to fondness—but before he could put it into his memory, it was gone.

“You were the sharpest dagger in the fall of the Void Blade Sect. Now it’s time to carve open what they tried to hide.”

Wang Fu bowed again.

“Then I will make preparations immediately. I’ll select disciples worthy to accompany me and head out at once.”

“Good,” Master Shen said. “But listen well, Wang Fu.”

Suddenly, pressure crushed down on him like a mountain had fallen from the sky. His knees buckled slightly even as he remained kneeling, a thin sheen of sweat instantly blooming across his brow.

“If you take anything from the vault for yourself—be it coin, pill, scroll, or shard—I will know. And unlike before, there will be no mercy. Others have done such things and lived because their betrayal was small. I will not allow such leniency with you. Not for this.”

Wang Fu’s entire body tensed, and he bowed until his forehead hit the floor again with an audible thud.

“This disciple understands, Master Shen. I swear on my soul—I will make sure no one dares to steal from your prize.”

The pressure lifted slowly, like a boulder being rolled off his spine. Master Shen nodded once, then reached into his sleeve and flicked his wrist. A flash of light, and a spatial ring arced through the air.

Wang Fu caught it instinctively.

“That ring will hold everything. Including the inheritance stone. There are spirit artifacts within the vault—some may aid you in surviving what’s inside. Use them if needed, but bring them back.”

Wang Fu stared at the ring in his palm, unable to help the gleam that entered his eyes. It was a valuable artifact and just the runes etched on it told him that it was far bigger than any other spatial rings he had owned.

“Don’t look at it like that. Even if you return with everything, even if not a single scratch appears on any of your companions, the ring won't be yours.”

Wang Fu’s fingers clenched tight around the ring.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before a single word could leave his lips, his master’s voice cut in again—calm, casual… and far more dangerous.

“But if you complete this mission well,” Master Shen said, “I will give you more of the Immortal Blood.”

Time seemed to freeze at that sentence. Wang Fu’s eyes widened, pupils contracting.

Immortal Blood.

Even a single drop was enough for him to break through his current bottleneck and achieve the realm he once thought was impossible for him. It was the treasure that had changed his life the first time—and now, another chance?

But Master Shen wasn’t finished.

“And more than that... I’ll let you have the two.”

Wang Fu’s breath hitched. He didn’t need to ask which two. His master smiled faintly, as if reading his disciple’s thoughts.

“I saw how you looked at them.”

His voice held no malice, only disinterest.

“I have a lot more dao companions. They’ll never surpass the foundation establishment realm either way. Beautiful, yes. Loyal, yes. But to me? Useless.”

The implication landed like thunder in Wang Fu’s chest.

Dao Companions. His Master’s own. To be offered such a thing wasn’t just indulgence—it was favor made flesh.

Wang Fu dropped to his knees again, bowing lower than before.

“You won’t be disappointed, Master.”

Master Shen gave no reply at first—only a long, unreadable silence. “I hope not.”

With that, the conversation ended. Wang Fu was dismissed with a flick of the hand.

The doors shut behind him with a soft thud as Wang Fu stepped back into the corridor. The light that filtered through the ornate windows felt different now—brighter, sharper.

His feet moved automatically, but his mind burned.

As he passed the courtyard again, his gaze flicked once more to the disciples meditating and practicing—same as before. Fists blazing, qi pulsing, sweat flying.

But now he grinned.

A sharp, crooked grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

They would cultivate for decades. Centuries. And they still wouldn’t touch his shadow. Not when he was about to ascend into the meridian expansion realm. Not when his blood would soon carry the essence of immortality itself.

They trained for a future he had already claimed.

He would become a powerhouse. Not equal to his master—never that. But his own mountain. A name to etch into the empire's halls of fame. The dao companions? He wouldn't lie—they were a reward he’d enjoy.

But they were fleeting.

The true prize was the Immortal Blood.

That shimmering crimson liquid that once touched his veins and changed everything. As the thought settled in, he felt it again—that tremble in his bloodstream. The way his core throbbed, the qi inside him stirring like molten lava beneath cracked earth.

His eyes turned red.

He quickly lowered his head, shadow hiding the gleam and bowed to get to the inheritance as soon as possible.

***

After making the decision, Chen Ren knew one thing for certain—he couldn’t afford to wait.

The Blazing Ember Sect had been searching for the vault for a while now. Now that he had decided to go there, he didn't want to give them any more time. It was prudent to clear it as soon as possible before they could even get a whiff off it.

So he moved fast.

When he told Anji about his decision, she looked visibly relieved, like a weight had been lifted.

“I wasn’t sure you’d go through with it,” she said, brushing her hair back. “But... I promise, it’ll all be worth it.”

He hoped so. Because now, it was all about preparation.

He wasn’t going to charge into the unknown like some hot-headed disciple in his first field trial. This was a sect vault—which meant traps, formations, maybe even ancient puppets or guardian beasts. Every mistake could cost them lives.

So the first question was, who was going with him?

Aside from Yalan and Anji, who were non-negotiable, Chen Ren decided on bringing only one more—Hong Yi.

There were reasons.

Zi Wen's fighting style was around his beast bonds. And if Anji’s description was accurate, the vault was built into a mountain and stretched deep underground. He didn’t want Little Yuze down there. The space would be tight, the formations would be layered, and a rampaging beast—no matter how loyal—would be a liability.

Not to mention, Zi Wen was busy these days trying to form bonds with the striker beaks, a species of flying beast that lived on the eastern edge of the surrounding forest and Chen Ren wasn’t going to pull him away from that. Those birds could fly and scout—things he might need later.

Luo Feng was too weak and not combat-oriented. A support cultivator without a strong defense was just extra weight in a place like that.

Feiyu was still refining his guns and working closely with Qing He on guns and even thinking of ways to build sniper rifles. Taking him now would just slow them all down.

But Hong Yi—Hong Yi brought something different.

His puppets were both shields and extra hands. They were reliable, durable and extremely silent. And more importantly, he had a history with secret vaults and inheritances.

So when Chen Ren mentioned the possibility of inheritance, hidden artifacts, and legacy techniques? Hong Yi agreed on the spot.

He didn’t even ask questions—just nodded, eyes already glowing with calculation as he returned to reinforce two of his older constructs.

With the team formed, Chen Ren wasted no time.

The vault wasn’t close. It would take time to reach it. So once everything was ready, they didn't delay and set off at once.

Even though all of them were cultivators, Anji wasn’t—not truly—so they decided to travel by carriage, keeping a low profile and sparing her the strain of keeping up on foot.

Inside the carriage, the ride was smooth, the rhythmic clatter of wheels against the dirt road providing a background hum. Chen Ren sat near the window, polishing a gun resting across his lap—one of the newer prototypes Feiyu had passed along.

It wasn’t as refined as the finalized model, but it would do.

Across from him, Anji raised a brow.

“Why’d you bring a gun?”

Chen Ren didn’t look up as he answered, running a cloth over the rifle.

“Testing purposes. If we come across any Tier 1 beasts, I’ll try it out. Also… helps me practice my aim. Lightning’s great, but hard to control—and right now, I’m still trash at precision.”

Anji nodded at that, settling back in her seat, but Chen Ren caught the amused glint in her eyes. He didn’t press it.

Instead, he shifted topics.

“So, how many days from the village to the vault?”

“Few days. It’s hidden pretty deep, though. Once we get there, we’ll probably be out in half a day—just need to get to the main vault, take everything and be on our way.”

“You think it’ll be that easy?”

“Why not?”

“You mentioned traps. And the vault’s entrance is near a forest. Forest means beasts. Hidden ruins usually mean layers of problems.”

Anji shrugged. “I’ve studied the place a lot. I’ve got a good idea about the outer formations and traps. I’ll handle them. The bigger issue is the guardians that protect the inner chamber. But if we reach the main vault hall, I’ll be able to handle them too. They’re programmed not to act against sect members.”

She sounded confident—too confident, if Chen Ren was honest.

He remembered her explanation from before. The guardians were puppets, constructs built to defend the inheritance chamber against outsiders. Their task was simple, protect the legacy, destroy any not of the Void Blade Sect.

That’s why Anji believed they’d let her pass. Chen Ren didn’t argue. They probably would be fine.

Still… He leaned his head back against the carriage wall, exhaling slowly. He didn’t trust things to go smoothly. Not anymore. Maybe it was paranoia. Or just experience. Things always went wrong. Even Qing He had once told him, while elbow-deep in making gunpowder, that in cultivation.

“The heavens test everyone trying to climb higher. The road to immortality is supposed to be hard.”

Chen Ren didn’t know if he believed the whole “heavens are watching” thing. Sounded a bit too dramatic. As far as he was concerned, no divine judge was needed to make life hard. Life handled that fine on its own. But the thought that there was someone alive and judging—forget about it.

He wasn’t the type to brood.

He had a good feeling that something was going to go wrong. But he’d come out on top anyway. He always did.

***

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103. Danger up front

Their journey to Heiwu, the city closest to the vault, had been smooth—almost suspiciously so. Not a single beast had mistaken them for a midday snack, and the skies had remained a calm grey the entire way.

The city itself sat on the eastern edge of the empire, far from the regions Chen Ren was more familiar with. When he first learned the vault was hidden nearby, it had struck him how completely opposite it lay from the location of the Void Blade Sect. Whether by design or fate, someone had gone to great lengths to bury it as far away from the sect as possible.

According to Anji, the vault was sealed deep within a mountain—protected not by force, but misdirection. Complex arrays covered its location, bending perception and warping direction. Even if one walked right past it, they'd never know. Without exact knowledge, even finding the entrance was near impossible. Recovering the treasures hidden deep inside? That was another story altogether.

He spent most of the trip deep in thought, rethinking contingencies in his mind while the others enjoyed the peace of the road. That was fine. He didn't expect them to share his anxiety and even if they did, they didn't show it to face.

Once they reached Heiwu city’s outskirts, he ordered the carriage to stay hidden between dense trees, away from roads and eyes. From here on, only he and Yalan would go forward—into the city to find food, probe the local powers, and gather any rumours about strange happenings near the mountains. There was always a chance Blazing Ember Sect had gotten there first. Unlikely, sure, but not impossible.

If they had, He needed to know.

Anji had wanted to come along, but he had calmly refused. She was the only person from Void Blade Sect and needed to be hidden. He could understand her impatience—hell, he felt it—but understanding didn’t change facts.

Instead, he reached for Hong Yi’s mask and placed it over his face, his features morphing into that of an aged, wrinkled man. Disguise in place, he gave Anji a nod and slipped into the city with Yalan by his side.

It wasn’t much of a city.

More like a mining town with iron dust in the air and gunk-stained buildings lining the slope. Most of the people here earned their coin hauling ore or shaping metal—Chen Ren counted three smithies within the first two streets. But cultivation? That was rare. As they moved through the narrow roads, Yalan quietly pointed out only two cultivators in the entire place—both in the body forging realm, and from their ragged robes and wandering gazes, they looked more like rogue drifters than anything serious.

Good. That meant less eyes to worry about.

After a few casual inquiries, Chen Ren found the location of the town’s best-known tavern and made his way over. In towns like these, inns and taverns were more than just places to sleep or drink—they were the heartbeat of local gossip. And he needed information. Also, their food supplies had run thin during the journey, and while hunting a beast would’ve been easy enough, he didn’t want to risk leaving tracks or wasting qi. Jerky and flatbread would do just fine.

The place was called The Nine Heavens—a squat building with an uneven roof and a faded sign dangling on one hinge, certainly not like a heaven. But inside, the place was alive. Packed with miners and laborers, all loud voices and heavy laughter, buns and stew bowls in hand.

Chen Ren headed straight for the counter where a burly man stood, arms crossed over his apron-covered chest. The man gave him a quick once-over and grunted in greeting.

“Got stew, boiled grain, and roasted tubers,” the man said. “A meal will cost you four copper wen. Room’s another six.”

“I’m not staying,” Chen Ren replied with a faint smile. “Just passing through. Looking to stock up for the road—dried jerky, maybe something that’ll last a few days.”

“Ah, a traveler.” The man nodded knowingly, wiping his hands on a cloth. “I’ve got smoked jerky, dried flatbread, and some nut packs left from yesterday. All decent stuff. You’ll be looking at one silver wen for a good bundle.”

Chen Ren agreed with a slight nod, and the man shouted at a teenage boy darting between tables, “Go grab a pack for our friend here!”

As the boy moved to get it, Chen Ren waited until the counter was less busy, except for the customers who came for refills. This was the moment to ask what he needed. He leaned forward. “I was thinking of heading near the western ridges,” he said. The burly man’s eyes immediately came to him, for a brief moment and then he went back to wiping the dirty plates. “Heard there might be some wild berry patches around those parts—Askar berries, I think they're called?”

“Not exactly the west side,” the man replied, “but near enough, yeah. You’ll find some if you look hard enough, though beasts roam there too. Tier 1 types mostly. Nothing too dangerous, but still…”

Chen Ren gave a small chuckle. “I’m good at sneaking, and better at running. I’ll manage.”

The man grunted again but then hesitated. His thick brow furrowed for a moment. Chen Ren felt the man’s subtle opening, and his suspicion confirmed when he cleared his throat and leaned forward.

“Beasts aren’t what you should be worried about.”

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow. “No?”

The man extended a thick hand silently across the counter. Understanding the cue, Chen Ren slid a copper piece into his palm. The weight of it disappeared instantly.

“Yesterday,”he murmured, “a group passed through town. Didn’t look local. Dressed like travelers, but the kind who don't carry picks or shovels. Asking about the western side of the mountain too. Real loud about it. Caused quite a stir, then left before nightfall.”

That sent a twinge of tension through Chen Ren’s chest, but he kept his expression even. “How many?”

“Five. All cloaked. One of ’em had a big sword. Real shiny.”

“What kind of commotion?” Chen Ren asked, keeping his tone casual like he was asking about a road direction.

“One of them was a woman. Striking—pretty in the way that always stirs trouble in towns like this. Young master of the Windbone Clan spotted her and, well… thought he could charm her into spending the night.”

Chen Ren already had a bad feeling creeping down his spine.

“Didn’t end well,” the man continued with a half-smirk. “She didn’t even raise her voice. Just punched him square in the chest. Broke half his ribs and maybe more. He’s still struggling to stay alive.”

Chen Ren blinked, eyes narrowing slightly. “And the Windbone Clan let that go?”

“That’s the strange part,” the man said. “They haven’t done a thing. Sent a few men to confront them—probably looking for revenge—but they all came back quiet. No injuries, no fight. Just… came back.”

Chen Ren’s eyes widened, the pieces clicking into place. “They’re cultivators.”

The man nodded slowly. “That’s what the whole town’s whispering. Dangerous ones. No sect symbols on their robes, but even the Windbone Clan—wealthy as they are—won’t touch them now. They hold rights to three iron mines, mind you, and aren’t used to bowing their heads. If they’re staying quiet… Well, it means those cultivators aren’t just strong—they’ve got powerful backing. Something that the Windbone Clan can’t go against.”

Chen Ren didn’t say it aloud, but the thought echoed like thunder in his mind.

He asked a few more questions—about the Windbone Clan, the other local forces, the layout of the town—but his thoughts kept drifting back to the group that had come through just a day ago. It was too much of a coincidence. And he wasn’t the type to believe in luck, not when it came to things like ancient vaults and inheritance sites.

They found it. Or at least found something close enough to act on.

He left The Nine Heavens with a scowl tugging at the corner of his mouth, the dry bundle of food tucked under his arm now forgotten. He didn’t return to the carriage immediately. Instead, he wandered across the town, visiting other stalls, speaking to vendors and stable hands, confirming the story in pieces and rumors.

It was all the same. A cloaked group. One pretty woman. Dangerous. Unbothered by the Windbone Clan. Asking about the western forest.

If they were from Blazing Ember Sect—and every instinct in his bones screamed they were—then things had already grown far more complicated. By the time he made it back to the hidden carriage, dusk had begun to settle across the trees. Anji was perched on a boulder nearby, her expression distant, while Hong Yi sat cross-legged with a puppet in his lap, polishing its frame with a cloth as if it were a treasured weapon.

Both of them looked up as Chen Ren approached.

Without preamble, he dropped the bundle of supplies and said, “We need to change plans.”

Anji stood, her brows furrowed. “Why?”

“There are other cultivators heading for the same ruins. And I’m inclined to believe they belong to the Blazing Ember Sect.”

Silence dropped between them.

The weight of his words sank in immediately. Hong Yi stilled, his fingers frozen on the puppet. Anji didn’t move, but Chen Ren noticed how her skin lost a shade of color, the confident air around her faltering just slightly.

She tried to speak, then stopped. Even before she said a word, Chen Ren could already see it—the fear. Not of the fight, but of losing what they’d come for. And he felt it too. They were no longer racing time. They were racing an enemy they couldn’t afford to let win.

She had seemed relaxed throughout the journey—smiling occasionally, asking questions, reading a book she had brought when bored. But now, he noticed it. Her hand shaking furiously on her lap, fingers curling and uncurling at her side.

The mask was slipping. And for the first time, it looked like her worst fear had walked right out of her nightmares and stood in front of her.

“Ruthless heavens,” Hong Yi muttered, setting down the puppet he had been polishing. “What kind of coincidence is this?”

Chen Ren exhaled sharply. “Looks like we’re not getting an easy path after all.”

Anji pulled in a slow breath, visibly trying to steady herself before asking, “How strong are they?”

“I don’t know,” Chen Ren said, shaking his head. “But if the inheritance really holds as much value as we think, then they won’t send just anyone. Expect foundation establishment realm cultivators at the very least.” His gaze shifted to her, serious. “I thought no one else knew of it.”

“They don’t,” Anji replied quickly. “My father told me—information about the ruin is always passed down verbally. There’s no written record. It shouldn’t be possible for them to know.”

“But they know the location,” Chen Ren said flatly.

That silenced her. The fire in her eyes dimmed, and for a brief moment, doubt crept in.

He studied her carefully. If she was telling the truth—and he had no reason to believe she wasn’t—then the other group must’ve found it by other means. A rumor. A slip of the tongue. Or maybe just dumb luck. Either way, if they only knew where the vault was and not what lay inside, that gave Chen Ren’s group a single, narrow edge.

One they’d have to gamble everything on.

“What are we going to do?” Hong Yi asked. “Return to the sect? Wait for another chance?”

“No!” Anji snapped, stepping forward. “We can’t. If the inheritance falls into the hands of the Blazing Ember Sect, it won’t just be bad—it’ll be a disaster.”

Hong Yi frowned. “It won’t be good for you. Don’t act like we all swore some loyalty oath to your sect’s legacy. You’re the one that dragged us here. And now you want us to throw our lives away just to protect a few old scrolls and some inheritance you haven't told us about?”

“You’re NOT doing me a favor,” she snapped back. “You’re here for the manuals too. The treasures. Don’t pretend you’re just being charitable!”

Before the argument could spiral further, Chen Ren raised his voice. “Enough.”

They both fell quiet, though their glares still lingered.

“Fighting solves nothing,” he said. “We talk. We plan. Then we decide.”

He turned toward Yalan, who had been silent the entire time, her tail flicking lazily as she sat atop the carriage wheel. She lifted her head slightly, eyes glinting with intelligence, and chose—for once—to speak aloud instead of through the mind link. After all, there were no secrets here.

“I believe we should still head to the vault,” she said. “We’re close. If those cultivators don’t know what’s inside, we may still beat them to it. I see no reason to turn back now.”

Anji let out a breath, some of the tension lifting from her face. A faint smile touched her lips, grateful. But Hong Yi's scowl only deepened, arms crossed tightly across his chest.

Chen Ren shifted his attention back to her. “And what about the cultivators?”

Anji’s smile vanished. That was the real question.

“We plan around them,” Yalan said simply.

All eyes turned to her.

She flicked her tail, gaze resting on Anji. “Are you certain most of the vault’s knowledge is passed down verbally?”

Anji straightened, the tremble in her hand now gone. “Yes. My father was clear—there are no written records. Only trusted successors even hear about it.”

Yalan gave a small nod, as if she was satisfied with the answer. “Then we proceed assuming they only know the location. If the vault has restrictions—bloodline locks, formations that reject outsiders—then we already have the advantage. They might get there first, but getting in… that’s a different matter entirely. We just need to make sure none of them leave.”

Chen Ren grimaced.

She was right. If even one of them escaped and reported back, it wouldn’t just be a ruined opportunity—it could become a war. But still, the idea of killing people who weren’t enemies yet didn’t sit well with him. It wasn’t some duel over pride or honor. This was… preemptive. But what other choice did they have?

They couldn’t capture foundation establishment realm cultivators. If they tried, they’d just end up dead. No, the only way forward would be to lure them into the vault’s traps—if they could—and let Yalan handle the rest.

He felt far more suited to economic games and business rivalries. Profits, sabotage, trade blockades. Those didn’t involve much blood.

But this was the path of a cultivator. Everyone walked through blood eventually.

And Yalan’s suggestion made sense. He didn’t want to go back now—not when they were this close. And as long as no one learned their identities, they could finish this and leave without any trouble from Blazing Ember Sect.

He took a breath and looked around the group. “Let’s vote.”

“Vote?” Hong Yi raised a brow.

Chen Ren nodded. “Yes. Majority rules. We decide together.”

“Alright then,” he said, crossing his arms.

Chen Ren looked around. “Who’s in favor of going back? Raise your hand.”

Only Hong Yi lifted his. His two puppets, following his command, raised their mechanical arms beside him. He glanced at them, sighed, as if he knew that their votes didn’t count.

Chen Ren smirked. “Who’s in favor of going to the vault and taking on the disciples if needed?”

His own hand went up. Then Anji’s. Then, Yalan’s paw raised in silent elegance.

Chen Ren nodded. “I guess the decision’s made.”

“I still think it’s a tie,” Hong Yi grumbled.

Chen Ren walked over and patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

Hong Yi narrowed his eyes. “How are you so sure? Foundation establishment cultivators aren’t pushovers. One of them alone can destroy a squad of lesser realm fighters.”

Chen Ren smiled.

“Because I have a plan.”

“A plan?” Hong Yi asked back.

“I thought of one on the way here,” Chen Ren said. “Now we just need to see if the vault is the kind of place where it’ll work.”

***

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104. Trailing

As Chen Ren walked through the forest with the others, his heart thrummed like a drum, loud enough that he half-wondered if the others could hear it. But outwardly, his face stayed calm. He couldn’t let any trace of worry slip—especially not with Hong Yi twitching at every rustle of leaves and Anji glancing over his shoulder like a startled hare.

Only Yalan seemed truly at ease, leaping from branch to branch far ahead of them, her presence barely more than a shadow slipping through the trees. But that didn’t surprise him. There were few things in this world that could truly trouble her.

As they moved deeper into the forest, Chen Ren went over the plan again in his head. He hadn’t crafted it for the treasure—not entirely. It was the knowledge of one key detail that had shaped it all, there was only one entrance into the ruins. No back doors. No hidden paths. That, at least according to Anji, was their advantage.

If they were lucky, they could trap the cultivators before they even stepped inside. With Anji’s descriptions of the internal traps, it might even be possible to turn the ruins into a death trap. Still, if he could, Chen Ren would prefer to end things before anyone even crossed the threshold. That, of course, depended on their enemy’s strength. He couldn’t afford to let a single one escape.

He found himself thinking less about treasure and more about wiping them out completely. It wasn’t greed or anger—it felt more like a test. One he had to pass if he ever wanted to reach the manuals hidden within. The realization unsettled him.

Then, Yalan’s voice sliced through his thoughts.

“I see them.”

She dropped down beside them without a sound. He hadn't even seen her coming back from scouting. Her voice, like a whisper carried by the wind, echoed in their minds. Hong Yi and Anji tensed, clearly startled by the mental transmission. Chen Ren, however, looked at Yalan for more information.

“Where are they exactly?” he asked calmly, voicing it in a whisper.

“Right at the entrance to what looks like the sect’s vault,” Yalan replied, speaking out loud so the other two would get the information too. “They’re resting. Two of them are scouting the area before they move in. I didn’t see a map, but they’re trying to read the runes on the stone face. Most of them are damaged—likely destroyed by their own hands.”

She paused. “They’re about thirty minutes ahead of us.”

Hong Yi spoke next. “How many?”

“Five,” Yalan answered. “Three of them are in the qi refinement realm. Not a threat, unless they’re hiding something. One has just stepped into the foundation establishment realm—his foundation not stable yet. But the last one…” She hesitated. “I couldn’t see him clearly. Might be an artifact hiding his presence, but he’s the one giving orders. That means he’s either mid-star foundation establishment realm or near the peak.”

That didn’t bode well at all.

Chen Ren’s jaw tightened. A mid-star foundation establishment realm cultivator was already pushing their limits—but a peak realm one? That would be above them even if they fought as a group, barring Yalan. But he gave a mindless nod.

They were going to be facing cultivators far stronger than most of his team. Maybe he and Hong Yi could handle the three at the qi refinement realm, but the two foundation establishment ones would fall to Yalan—and that was asking a lot, even from someone like her.

She was strong, no doubt. But at that level, cultivators came armed with more than just raw power—hidden artifacts, unpredictable pills, and techniques sharpened by real bloodshed.

The plan to ambush them outside the vault dissolved in his mind, vanishing like smoke in the wind. Before he could speak, Anji stepped forward.

“How do they look?” she asked, her eyes narrowing at where Yalan said the men were.

Chen Ren frowned, not understanding the question at first. Then he realized—she must have seen members of the Blazing Ember Sect before, maybe even fought them. Descriptions could help her piece together their strengths.

Yalan answered smoothly. “Two of the qi refinement cultivators look like twins. Male and female. Both short. Brown hair. The girl carries a short sword and a bow, I think—her posture’s offhanded, like she’s used to shooting from cover. The boy moves with daggers—quick feet, twitchy hands. Scouts, from the looks of it.”

She paused. “The third one’s a man. Black hair, scar across his face. Looks more seasoned than the twins. Carries himself like he’s survived a few close calls. The leader has red hair. Bushy eyebrows. Wears too many rings, all artifacts. Sharp face, alert eyes. He talks, they listen. And the last one’s bald. No facial hair. No eyebrows either. Stood like a statue, but his eyes never stopped moving.”

Anji’s face drained of color. Then it flushed with something far darker—rage.

“The leader… his name is Wang Fu.”

Chen Ren’s eyes widened. “The spy?”

Anji nodded stiffly. “Yes. It’s him.”

Yalan narrowed her gaze and flicked her tail. “Tell me what you know.”

Anji’s words came fast and bitter. “He entered the foundation establishment realm during the sect war. But with the loot from that conflict, I wouldn’t be surprised if he climbed higher. He hoards poison and healing pills in his spatial rings—throws them mid-battle to confuse or trap enemies. He uses a spear. An artifact.”

She inhaled sharply. “He’s not easy to face. Used to be one of the top duelists in the sect. Arrogant bastard, but skilled.”

Chen Ren’s jaw clenched. This was worse than he thought.

“What about the others?” he asked.

“I only recognize the twins,” Anji replied. “The girl prefers range, but isn't bad at close combat. The boy uses blades and stealth techniques mixed with the signature flames of his sect. They’re scouts. If we split them from the group, they’re manageable.”

Yalan nodded. “They were moving through the trees earlier, probably scouting the perimeter.”

Chen Ren glanced around. Both Hong Yi and Anji were watching him now, waiting—ready for his call. He paused, thinking it through again. There was no perfect move here. Just the best gamble.

“We stick to the same plan,” he said, attracting attention back to him. “Wang Fu might recognize you, Anji. So we’ll avoid a direct clash outside. We’ll enter the vault once they’re ten minutes in. That’s our window.”

“Alright, sounds good,” Hong Yi said.

And the rest nodded, and without another word, Yalan disappeared into the treeline, her figure vanishing like mist between leaves.

As they waited, Chen Ren unrolled the map Anji had sketched from memory. The layout of the ruins was a maze—twisting paths, dead ends, and trap-laden corridors leading toward the main vault chamber. Every route was dangerous, but one chamber in particular caught his attention. It wasn’t the central vault, not exactly, but it branched from several main paths. If he was right, it would be the point where their enemies would eventually diverge. Unless they had a map of their own—which was doubtful—they would have no choice but to split up.

And when they did, he’d strike.

Before his thoughts could spiral further, Yalan returned, silent as ever. “They’ve entered the ruins,” she reported. “If we run now, we’ll reach the entrance within ten minutes if we are fast.”

Chen Ren gave a nod. “Let’s move.”

The group broke into a sprint, weaving through trees and ducking under branches. The forest blurred around them, the sharp scent of bark and moss rising with each breath. Along the way, they passed several beasts—felled and missing parts, their bodies still fresh. Signs of the cultivators' passage. It meant fewer threats for them to face… but he didn’t let his guard drop.

Soon, the vault came into view.

It was located within the mountain, hidden by a massive boulder that would have gone unnoticed if you weren’t looking closely. As Chen Ren approached, he noticed the faint shimmer of runes carved along the rocky surface—redirection arrays.

“They must’ve redirected anyone who came too close,” he murmured. “Standard vault defense.”

The Blazing Ember Sect must’ve come prepared. Most old sect vaults used either redirection or illusion formations. It wasn’t hard to guess—they likely had mind-shielding artifacts to counter the effect. For a group like them, that kind of precaution was expected.

He studied the entrance a moment longer before glancing at Hong Yi. “Leave one of your puppets outside. If anyone follows us or the cultivators run out, I want to know.”

Hong Yi nodded and quickly commanded one of his smaller constructs, setting it just behind the boulder. Then Chen Ren turned to the others. “Let’s move.”

They stepped into the darkness.

The corridor was cut straight into the mountain—stone walls stretching endlessly, cold air brushing past their skin. Hong Yi struck a match and lit a torch, the flickering flame casting long shadows across the walls. Their puppets walked in front, heavy steps echoing, ready to trigger any traps—but Chen Ren knew there wouldn’t be any this close to the entrance.

Still, he kept his eyes low, scanning the dust-filled stone beneath them. Footprints. He counted them as they walked. Some were deep and heavy. Two of them were light and spaced far apart—scouts, quick on their feet.

“Your dantians,” Chen Ren whispered as they moved, glancing at Hong Yi and Yalan. “You’ve shrouded them, right?”

Hong Yi gave a tight nod. “I have.”

Yalan scoffed. “My dantian is always shrouded. I’m not a rookie.”

Chen Ren allowed himself a small breath. One of the more valuable things he’d learned from Yalan recently—core shrouding. A vital technique for stealth. At higher realms, cultivators could sense one another from a distance, thanks to the qi that naturally leaked from their cores. So, shrouding was necessary.

It was something Anji didn’t need, being a mortal. But for them, it could mean the difference between life and death in these narrow corridors. Even as he silently checked himself again—making sure no qi slipped past his control—Chen Ren kept his senses sharp. Every flicker of light, every shift in shadow along the corridor walls made his fingers twitch. He didn’t want anything surprising jumping onto them.

Even if their presence was cloaked from other cultivators, it didn’t mean they were invisible to beasts—and according to Anji, the vault housed more than just traps. There were old nests, left behind as part of the ruins’ natural defense. Beasts raised in the dark, meant to guard what lay buried.

But thirty minutes into the walk, Chen Ren began to suspect that threat had passed—for now. The group halted momentarily as they came upon several carcasses scattered across the corridor floor.

Large, leathery-winged creatures with bloated torsos and sunken eyes. Overgrown bat-like creatures he recognised as nightfeeders—known for sinking their hooked fangs into human prey and draining them dry. Even the sight of them was enough to make Hong Yi grimace.

As they knelt to inspect the bodies, Chen Ren narrowed his eyes. Charred.

Some were burned clean through, ribs split open like dried husks. Others had been crushed outright, their blackened limbs embedded in the stone walls. Splatters of blood painted the rock in jagged arcs.

One of them had hit hard. A brawler, most likely. Someone with strength-based techniques or an artifact that amplified brute force. He filed the detail away for later—until he knew which cultivator it was, it wouldn't help.

“At least we’re on the right path,” Hong Yi muttered, gaze still on the mangled corpses. “But I guess there's only one path here, so it's natural.”

The deeper they went, the more the silence pressed on them. With every step, the corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, turning from passage to maze. And still, there was no sign of the enemy.

Chen Ren’s unease began to grow.

How massive was this structure? He had known it was deep, but this felt like walking through a tomb built for a sect ten times the size of theirs. It was horrifying to say the least.

Still, he kept his calm, knowing that no matter how far the Blazing Ember cultivators had come… they weren’t leaving with the inheritance. They couldn’t. The final chamber, the true vault, was sealed—possibly accessible only by someone at the meridian expansion realm or above by force. It would take time, effort, and strength far beyond what this team carried. If anything, they were scouts, maybe sent to map it out before an elder or the sect leader came to claim the prize themselves.

That would only happen if these five made it back alive. They shouldn’t, he thought to himself.

His eyes wandered around the path.

More nightfeeder corpses littered the way ahead. Their burned and broken bodies forced the group to slow their pace, but they didn’t stop. Eventually, the corridor widened—and split.

It was a fork, the one he had been waiting for.

Chen Ren raised a hand, halting the group. He crouched near the stone and traced the dusty floor with his fingers, reading the path through faint tracks. Three sets of footsteps went left. Two went right.

His brows furrowed. “They split.”

The prints were clear, and among them, he could see lighter ones—quick, careful. Likely the twins. One went left and one right. He turned to Anji.

“Thoughts?”

She studied the fork, then pointed left. “This one leads to the main vault chamber. There are a few chambers before it, but they’re guarded—traps and beast and puppet guardians. It won’t be easy.”

Chen Ren tilted his head toward the right passage. “And that one?”

She hesitated. “Not sure. But… My father once told me that before the guardians were brought in, some cultivators were stationed here to protect the vault. They had quarters carved into the mountain, so it's probably that .”

“Why did they stop?”

“One of them tried to steal the inheritance. After that, the elders decided beasts and mindless puppets were more trustworthy.”

Chen Ren let out a dry breath. “Hard to argue with that.”

Yalan perched low, taking a proper look at the paths. “So what are we doing?”

“It’s simple. We’re not getting a better chance than this to thin their numbers. Taking all five head-on would stretch us too thin—but now? This is a golden opportunity.”

He pointed down the left corridor. “I’ll take Anji and one of Hong Yi’s puppets. We’ll follow the group that went left. That path should lead to the quarters—and hopefully to the two qi refinement realm cultivators.”

Then he turned to the other. “You and Hong Yi go right. If we’re right, that path leads to the sect vault. And with you there, Hong Yi won’t have to worry as much.”

“Will we be able to follow the tracks easily?” Yalan asked, her whiskers twitching.

Chen Ren nodded. “They’re not hiding their movements. Probably think they’re alone down here and I don't think they would shroud their cores.”

Hong Yi frowned, glancing toward the left path. “And what if one of them is a foundation establishment realm cultivator?”

Chen Ren offered a slight shrug. “Then we pull back and regroup. Yalan can speak to me mentally—we’ll stay in touch. But if it’s the two scouts, I can handle them. Fast and clean.”

Yalan smirked faintly. “You think you can take down two of them at once?”

“I’ve got tricks,” Chen Ren said calmly. “And a puppet. That’s more than enough. Trust me—I’ve got plans.”

No one objected, though Hong Yi’s expression said enough. He didn’t like being sent off to face two stronger enemies—even with Yalan by his side. But he didn’t argue. At least with her, he must have felt he had a chance.

They split at the fork, silent as ghosts.

Chen Ren and Anji moved swiftly down the left passage. The air was cooler here, the walls tighter, torches still burning—lit recently by the cultivators ahead. Their shadows danced along the walls, moving right beside them. He had a feeling that the more they walked, the closer they were getting.

But Anji from the side couldn’t keep the silence. “Are you sure you can handle them?”

Chen Ren caught the note of worry beneath it. Whether it was for his safety or hers, he didn’t know.

He whispered back, “I’ve grown. And according to Yalan, if they are actually the qi refinement realm ones, they are the weakest of the group. If we’re not walking into a trap, this is the best scenario we could ask for.” He paused for a breath. “And half the battle is knowing where to fight. I think I can beat them.”

The truth?

He wasn’t sure. Anything could go wrong. A missed strike, a hidden artifact, a wrong assumption. But he trusted in his preparation—his instincts, his techniques, the puppet at his side. And most of all, he knew this was the risk he’d chosen.

He’d come too far to second-guess himself now. But he didn’t want to worry the woman who put her trust in this either. If anything came, he would take on it head-first.

His thoughts paused when the corridor narrowed into a choke point, and when the walls gave way to a larger chamber ahead. Both their feet slowed down.

***

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105. Array traping

As they walked, Chen Ren slowly realized the place was much larger than he had anticipated.

The narrow stone corridors opened up to wider halls, cracked but still standing after who knew how many decades. He spotted the remains of broken pottery, decayed wooden racks, and shattered tiles—signs of life that had once filled these ruins long ago.

Unable to hide his curiosity any longer, he glanced sideways at Anji. “This… looks a lot bigger than just a simple sect vault.”

Anji nodded. She had no reason to hide the truth from him now. “It was more than a vault. Like I said, cultivators used to live here. Back then, before the Kalian Empire expanded this far, the Void Blade Sect ruled these lands. Them, and a few others that didn’t survive the passage of time.”

She paused, stepping carefully over a fallen beam. “This was one of their outposts. A small one—but important enough to fortify. Library, training grounds, food storage, barracks... everything a cultivator force needed to sustain itself away from their main sect grounds. When the sect got assimilated in the empire, they didn’t destroy it—they turned it into a vault to protect what was left.”

Chen Ren nodded thoughtfully, his mind immediately drifting toward the one thing that mattered most. “The library... Is it still intact?”

Anji smiled faintly. “It should be. That’s where you’ll find the manuals. Once we secure the inheritance, I can help you locate it. It should be near the vault.”

Chen Ren’s fingers unconsciously tightened into a fist before he relaxed them. Just the thought of it—the knowledge stored there—was enough to make his heart beat faster. That library alone could fulfill the vows he had made to his sect.

The conversation drifted into silence after that, each of them focusing on the path ahead. Chen Ren kept his gaze low, following the trail of footsteps left in the dust. A small reassurance that they were still on the right path.

Then, faintly, he heard it.

Voices. Low, but distinct. Coming from just ahead.

Anji must have caught it too because she stiffened beside him. Without a word, they moved faster, sticking to the shadows until the narrow corridor finally opened up into a wide room.

They slipped behind a broken stone pillar, Chen Ren carefully peeking around its edge.

The room was large—wide enough to house dozens. Beds, or what remained of them, were scattered across the floor. Some lay in splinters, others rotted beyond recognition. This must have been the quarters Anji had mentioned. A place for the outpost's cultivators to rest.

But he didn’t waste much time on the scenery. His focus snapped to the two figures standing inside.

The first was a young woman, short and wiry, with a slim build that looked made for speed. Her arms and legs were lean, packed with tight muscle. She wore light leather armor that clung close to her body, probably allowing easy movement. A short sword hung at her hip alongside a bow on her back, and her brown hair was tied back tightly, keeping it out of her sharp, narrow face.

The second was a large, bald, with no facial hair and no eyebrows, broad-shouldered man, thick with heavy muscle. His arms were bulky, covered in old scars, and he carried a massive hammer slung over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. His chest and shoulders were wrapped in thick, reinforced armor, giving him a hulking, almost wall-like appearance. His movements were slower, heavier, but full of raw strength, like a beast ready to crush anything that got too close.

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed slightly as he noticed the faint gleam of rings on the man’s fingers. A spatial ring. That explained how he had carried such a heavy weapon through the narrow halls.

Fortunately, neither of them had bothered to suppress their qi.

It leaked off their bodies in faint, steady waves—enough for Chen Ren to judge their strength. Early-star qi refinement realm, both of them. Exactly as he had hoped.

He focused harder, trying to peer deeper into the structure of their energy. Both of them had fire-aspected qi—which wasn’t surprising, given their sect—but he couldn’t tell if they had a secondary aspect. His qi perception wasn’t good enough to be sure.

Still, it didn’t matter. They were strong—but manageable.

His mind began to race, mapping out possibilities. The puppet, though sturdy, was only at the body forging realm. It wouldn’t last long in a direct clash, but it could serve as a distraction.

The real problem was their synergy.

Even without watching them fight, Chen Ren could tell—their roles were well-matched. The man would charge and pin the enemy down, drawing attention with sheer brute force, while the girl moved swiftly around the edges, striking precise, lethal blows when the enemy’s guard dropped.

A classic hammer-and-needle tactic. If he wasn’t careful, he could be overwhelmed before he even realized it.

Chen Ren exhaled slowly, feeling the tension settle into his limbs. He had an opening. But whether he could turn it into a victory would depend entirely on how he moved next. If he wanted to win, there was only one real path forward—finish one of them quickly, then take on the other alone.

But how?

Chen Ren’s mind raced, thinking risks, angles, timings. He was on a clock—the woman was already scouring the room, searching through the debris, while the hammer-wielding man guarded her, sharp-eyed. Sooner or later, she would finish checking the room, and they would move on. His window was closing fast.

As he crouched behind the pillar, his gaze swept the room—and an idea formed. The walls.

They were the same dark, glossy material he had seen at the vault’s entrance. Stone that held runic arrays well. If he could draw the right formation, maybe… just maybe… he could trap one of them, even for a few seconds.

And that was all he needed.

Heart steadying, Chen Ren leaned toward Anji, whispering his plan into her ear. Her only question was simple, direct.

“Do you think it’ll hold one of them?”

Chen Ren nodded. “Long enough. A few seconds of confusion and panic—that’s all I need to strike.”

Anji didn’t argue. She nodded once, understanding the risk but trusting him, and slid further back behind the pillar to stay out of sight.

Chen Ren wasted no more time.

Moving low and silent, he slipped toward the nearest wall. His fingers pulled out a small piece of chalk, worn down from past use. Quickly, efficiently, he began sketching the runes, the chalk scraping lightly against the dark stone.

Fortunately, the array he was attempting wasn’t unfamiliar. He had practiced it once—long ago. A simple but vicious snare formation designed for binding someone. He had memorized every rune, every intersection, precisely for the day he might need it.

Circles and triangles, interwoven in patterns, began to take shape beneath his hands. He cast a glance over his shoulder every few strokes. The two cultivators hadn’t noticed him yet. No torches had been lit here in this part—working in his favor.

Silently, he took a few steps back and shifted to the opposite wall and began the second half of the formation. His hands were steady, but his heartbeat was a drumbeat in his ears.

He finished the chalkwork within minutes, but he knew it wasn’t enough. The runes needed to be properly etched into the stone to carry enough power to trigger. The hard part.

Drawing in a deep breath, Chen Ren pulled out a small chisel and a hammer from his belt. He set the chisel carefully against the chalked lines and began tapping—soft, deliberate taps that barely made a whisper.

Every second he spent here, the danger grew. One wrong noise, one glance in his direction, and everything would fall apart. And he could hear his heart beat in his ears, but he couldn’t let the anxiety roll.

He focused, letting the rhythm of his work drown out the pounding in his chest.

Fortunately, among the runes he had chosen for the formation, there were several that dampened sound during the engraving process—a precaution that now paid off immensely.

Still, Chen Ren couldn’t shake the paranoia curling at the back of his mind. Every few seconds, he glanced up, careful to ensure he hadn’t been spotted.

And minutes flew by. Thankfully, luck was with him.

Both cultivators were distracted, flipping through a dusty old book they had pulled from a broken shelf, their attention absorbed by the faded pages.

Slowly, painstakingly, Chen Ren finished carving the last lines of the array into the second wall. Once the final rune was set, he stepped back, running a practiced eye over the work. Solid. It would hold.

He took a long, slow breath, letting the tension bleed from his shoulders, and turned toward Anji. Catching her eye, he made a quick hand signal.

Ready.

Anji nodded from behind her pillar, crouching lower into the shadows.

Now comes the real gamble.

Chen Ren drew back further, hiding himself behind the thick stone, but with a clear view into the open room. Quietly, he sent a mental command to the puppet hidden nearby.

Hong Yi had reworked the programming of the puppets before they left, ensuring they could listen to Chen Ren's commands even without Hong Yi's direct control.

The puppet that was stocky with a worn metal frame, stirred to life. Its eyes glowed faintly as it turned its head toward the open chamber—and without hesitation, it lumbered forward.

Heavy, echoing footsteps filled the chamber, drawing the attention of the two cultivators instantly.

“What’s that?” the burly man muttered, shifting his hammer into a ready grip as he narrowed his eyes at the approaching figure.

The puppet came to a halt just inside the room, standing there in eerie stillness.

The girl, still holding the book, frowned. “Is it one of the old guards that’s supposed to protect this place?”

“We’ve been here a while and nothing's come out till now,” the man said, his voice cautious but dismissive. “Probably faulty. Must’ve finally woken up after lying dead for years.”

She eyed the puppet critically. “It doesn’t look strong... and it’s not attacking.” Her lips curled into a smirk. “Lost its functions, probably. Let me get closer. I’ll check it out.”

She stepped forward, casual and unhurried, lowering her guard without even realizing it.

Exactly as Chen Ren had hoped.

He steadied himself, feeling the faint thrumming of qi building in the array carved into the walls around the room—silent and invisible, and ready. All he needed now... was the right moment.

And it was coming fast.

As the scout girl stepped closer to the puppet, her caution giving way to curiosity, Chen Ren silently gave the second command. The puppet jerked slightly, reaching behind its back. With one swift tug, it tore away the talisman affixed to its metal spine.

The effect was immediate.

A burst of crackling lightning exploded outward, engulfing the girl in a cage of blinding arcs. She barely had time to scream—her body seized as the lightning wrapped around her like living chains, holding her trapped in mid-step, too close and too surprised to escape.

The burly man’s eyes widened in horror—and then filled with pure, burning rage.

“Jin Xue!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the chamber. “No! I’ll fucking kill you, bastard!”

With a savage bellow, he lifted his hammer and charged at the puppet, fury overriding any sense of caution.

Chen Ren gave another silent command.

The puppet turned and bolted, its heavy footsteps pounding against the stone as it fled, leading the man away from his fallen companion.

The burly man roared after it. “Don’t run, you piece of shit! I’ll smash you to pieces!”

He barreled forward, hammer raised high—blind, reckless. Perfect.

The moment the puppet crossed the invisible boundary Chen Ren had marked, he unleashed his qi into the walls.

The runes he had carefully carved earlier shimmered to life, burning with a deep blue glow as the Tier 2 [Binding Web] Array activated.

Threads of qi shot out from the walls, wrapping around the burly man before he could even realize what was happening. His body jerked to a halt, the hammer falling from his grip with a heavy thud.

“What the—?” he gasped, thrashing against the bindings—but the threads coiled tighter, locking him in place.

Chen Ren didn’t waste a second.

Lightning surged from his core, crackling along his arms. He shaped it mid-flight, manipulating the energy with precise control. Thin, needle-like spears formed within the arcs, buzzing with lethal power. A new technique he had learnt from Chen Ren's memories of his clan lightning manuals.

“[Needle Flash Technique!]”

With a sharp thrust of his hands, he sent them flying. The lightning spears struck the man’s body like a hailstorm, forcing him to his knees. His body convulsed under the barrage, the smell of scorched flesh filling the air.

But Chen Ren wasn’t done.

Before the threads could lose their grip, he tore open more talismans tucked into his belt. With a sudden rush of energy, dozens of extremely sharp stones materialized in the air around him—[Stone Lance Talismans], crafted for exactly this kind of assault.

He pointed forward.

The stones shot through the air like missiles, slamming into the burly man’s exposed flesh. Blood splattered across the broken floor as the man howled in agony, pinned down by a hundred tiny blades.

His screams echoed through the chamber—but Chen Ren didn’t flinch. He stepped forward, eyes cold, ready to end it. He watched the burly man bleed heavily, his body slumping, but he didn’t relax.

This wasn’t over.

Already, the cultivator was gritting his teeth, forcing his trembling hands to weave a gathering of qi. Wisps of flame began to snake around parts of his body, flickering with desperate life.

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes. No you don't.

His fingers brushed over the spatial ring hidden at his side. In a flash, a weapon materialized in his grip—a spear, the same one he had once seized from Yushu. Without hesitation, he spun and hurled it forward.

The spear whistled through the air and plunged deep into the cultivator’s chest, pinning him to the cracked stone floor. The man’s hammer slipped from his grasp with a dull thud.

Chen Ren didn’t waste a second. He extended his arm and felt another lightning surge, weaving it into a concentrated bolt and driving it straight into the wound. The man jerked once—then slumped.

The threads of the array binding him shimmered, then broke apart with a soft crackle as the formation finally collapsed. Still cautious, Chen Ren stepped forward, his body tense and ready to dodge.

He moved into the remains of the broken array, approaching the fallen figure. The man’s chest wasn’t rising.

Still, Chen Ren nudged the body over with the tip of his foot, revealing a lifeless face twisted in agony. Blood continued to pool beneath him. Dead.

Chen Ren exhaled slowly, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders.

But there was no time to savor the victory.

A scream tore through the air. "You killed Rong!"

Chen Ren spun around to see the scout girl—Jin Xue, if he remembered correctly—standing at the far end of the room. Twin short swords—not one, but two, flashed in her hands, now coated in flame as her qi burst forth in raw fury.

For a heartbeat, her gaze remained fixed on her fallen comrade. Only after a few moments did her bloodshot eyes snap to Chen Ren. There were no words. Just rage.

With a snarl, she lunged at him, her small frame moving faster than a striking viper, her blades trailing burning arcs through the air.

Chen Ren had expected this.

Already moving, he dodged her furious strikes with tight, controlled steps, channeling his [Starlight Defense technique] over his arms to absorb the heat of her attacks. The glowing shield of energy flickered under each glancing blow but held firm.

Chen Ren vaulted over her, rolling across the cracked floor and retreating further into the chamber—where he would have more space to maneuver.

Jin Xue followed, her attacks wild, her flames cutting swaths through the air. She wasn’t thinking—just striking, slashing, trying to burn him to ash.

And that was her mistake.

No good fighter lets fury take over.

Even after just a minute of exchanging blows, Chen Ren could tell—this girl wasn’t used to real battle. Her steps were heavy. Her strikes were predictable. And in her rage, she never noticed the thin layer of powder Chen Ren had spread across the stone floor when she wasn’t looking.

The moment she stepped into the trap, Chen Ren sent a flicker of qi outward. With a violent roar, flames erupted around her, engulfing her in an explosive wave.

She screamed, staggered by the sudden onslaught. Being a fire-aspected cultivator gave her some resistance—but talismanic flames weren’t something normal resistance could simply shrug off.

Her flesh burned, her clothes scorched, her movements faltered.

Chen Ren didn’t let up.

He hurled more [Stone Lance Talismans], sharp rocks slamming into her battered form, puncturing her armor and sending her reeling. And then, with a final surge of his qi, he unleashed a [Lightning Frenzy]—a barrage of crackling, furious energy that struck her in a relentless rhythm.

Flames, earth, and lightning. Three elements battering her at once.

Jin Xue’s body slammed into the far wall with a sickening crunch. She slid down, leaving a smear of blood behind, her body limp and unmoving. Chen Ren kept the lightning crackling around his hands, waiting—ready to strike again if she showed any sign of life.

Seconds passed.

A minute.

Two minutes.

Still nothing.

Finally, Chen Ren let the lightning fade, exhaustion hitting him like a crashing wave. He stumbled back, dropping to the ground, breathing hard.

Across the room, Jin Xue’s eyes—dull, unfocused—met his for the briefest moment before her head slumped forward, unconscious or dead, he couldn't yet tell.

But the fight was over. For now.

He waited for the guilt to come—the heavy, sinking feeling he thought any normal person from Earth would feel after taking a life.

After all, this wasn’t like killing a monster. These were people. Cultivators, yes, and enemies standing in his way, but not murderers or demonic beasts. There was no personal hatred between them. No blood feud. Only the unfortunate fact that they had been on opposite sides.

He thought back to Gu Tian—the first person he had personally killed in this world.

But Gu Tian had been different. A demonic cultivator, a serial killer, a man whose death felt more like cleaning filth from the world than anything else. When Gu Tian had fallen, Chen Ren hadn’t felt guilt. Only a grim satisfaction.

And now, with Jin Xue and Rong lying still in front of him, he expected something.

Regret, remorse, anything.

But there was nothing. Nothing pressing down on his heart. No tremble in his fingers. Only the steady, cold realization that they had tried to kill him—and he had killed them first.

Before he could dwell on it longer, footsteps echoed through the silent room.

Anji appeared from the shadows, her expression taut until she saw him standing there, unharmed. A soft sigh of relief escaped her lips. Then her gaze shifted to Jin Xue’s bloodied form, and the cold detachment in her eyes returned.

"I guess that's two of them," she said simply, voice devoid of emotion.

Chen Ren blinked once, shaking off the strange stupor that had settled over him. He nodded. "Yes."

He turned back toward the ruined room, scanning the scattered remnants of ancient life.

"Let’s check the area quickly," he said. "See if there’s anything useful. After that, we need to hurry back to Yalan and Hong Yi." He cleared his throat. "They’ll need our help... especially against the strongest of the enemies."

***

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106. Another act (Hope you like new cover)

The quarters, as expected, didn’t have anything particularly valuable left behind. Chen Ren wasn’t surprised—after all, the two cultivators who had clearly scoured the place. Still, a few battered books remained, scattered among broken crates and half-rotted furniture.

Most of them were in poor condition, their pages water-stained, moldy, or torn, but Chen Ren flipped through them anyway while Anji inspected the walls. One of the books he held had no title, the cover faded and cracked with age, but from the few intact pages, he guessed it was about herbalism.

Meanwhile, Anji dragged one of the sturdier crates closer to the wall, balancing precariously as she pressed her hands against the stone surface, testing for any hidden mechanisms.

"You know the room's too big,” Chen Ren said without looking up, his fingers idly brushing over the flaking paper. "We won’t be able to find hidden pathways easily."

"I know," Anji called back, her voice strained as she leaned her weight against the wall. "But I still have to try. These places were always designed with escape routes in case of an attack. And if there’s one, the quarters would be the best place to hide an entrance. Unfortunately, I only know there are pathways, but not their locations."

Chen Ren nodded absently. Her reasoning made sense. But he also knew that after so many years, even if there had once been hidden pathways, time could have easily destroyed them—or worse, sealed them completely. Still, he didn’t stop her. Let her try. They had a few minutes before they had to regroup with Yalan and Hong Yi.

He turned his attention back to the books. Most of them had nothing useful—basic herbal recipes, faded cultivation notes, a few random sketches that barely made sense. He went through three books like that, and they all wasted his precious time. He knew he could only manage to skim one more before they had to move.

He picked up the last one, this one thinner than the rest, and he noticed the binding was loose. The first page had a crude drawing of a giant dog, almost childlike in its strokes. Curious, Chen Ren flipped further and realized this wasn’t a manual or treatise—it was a diary.

A diary that a cultivator had continued. The short entries were kept too casual, as if he was just writing his thoughts as it was.

Chen Ren read a couple. Sword practice, long, boring watch shifts and lonely rants about missing some girl he’d left behind. He took in the details of the rough portrait of her tucked between two pages. Eh, must be an old lover. He turned past it.

A major reason he was even bothering to read it was because he wanted to see if he could get more information about the sect vault beyond the knowledge Anji provided to make changes in his plan to make it better. His original thoughts were fixed on divide and conquer since the cultivators had to go separate ways to properly scout out the sect vault and it had worked to his favour, but the last three cultivators were together and he wanted to see if he could add something to it to better act against them.

Page after page went by, but then, written between a few lazy entries, one scribbled note caught his eye

"Today, I'm assigned to check the flooding mechanism again. It's been a year since anyone looked at it, and I'd rather not be the one to find out it’s broken. I hate going to the library. It's so damp and smells like old paper. And the mechanism? It's hidden behind a bookshelf. Had to move a ton of books just to reach it. Hope I don’t mess up and flood half the place. Again."

The writing was messy, almost rushed, but clear enough. Chen Ren’s mind immediately started turning.

A mechanism behind a bookshelf in the library. A flooding mechanism. He sat up straighter, a slight spark lighting in his chest. Did he just find something that could give them an advantage?

He read the entry twice just to be sure and lifted his head and called out, “Anji, you need to see this.”

She hopped down from the crate and moved toward him, brushing dust off her sleeves. He handed her the diary, tapping against the scribbled passage. Her eyes scanned the lines quickly.

"Do you know anything about this mechanism?" Chen Ren asked.

Anji frowned thoughtfully. "If I had to guess... it's probably something set up in case of an attack. Emergency exits, flooding mechanisms—they go hand in hand. If the Void Blade Sect was under siege, the disciples could escape through secret paths while someone activated this to flood the whole place behind them."

Chen Ren nodded, having come to the same conclusion. His mind was already racing ahead, wondering if they could turn this old trap into a weapon against the Blazing Ember Sect cultivators. In fact, it’ll be a formidable weapon against them.

"If it still works," he said quietly, "it would be a massive advantage."

Anji looked at him, brows drawn together. "What are we going to do about it?"

"First," Chen Ren said, "do you know where the library is?"

She thought for a moment, then pointed vaguely toward the other side of the ruins. "If I remember correctly, it should be left of the main vault room."

Chen Ren’s lips curved into a thin smile. "So right along the path the cultivators are taking."

Anji caught onto his line of thinking immediately. "You think they'll ignore it for now, right? Focus on the vault and deal with the library later?"

"Exactly," Chen Ren said. "It should be relatively undisturbed, at least until they secure the inheritance."

Anji narrowed her eyes. "Well, what exactly are you planning?"

"I'm thinking of making use of you. If there's no beast guardian in the library that is."

She crossed her arms, frowning. "I get the gist... but you know I might not even find the mechanism. And even if I do, it might be too damaged to use. And yes, I don't think there's a guardian there."

Chen Ren shrugged. "It's just a gamble. Even if it doesn’t work, it won't matter. Until we find a way to control the flooding—or at least stop it before we drown ourselves—we’ll only use it as a distraction."

As he spoke, the wheels inside his mind spinned. A plan was formed. He outlined it to her in quick, clear words, how they would separate after leaving the room, how she would locate the library and look for the mechanism, and if she found it and if it looked operational, how she would wait for his signal before triggering it.

He knew this could help them. Even a small chance was better than none. And in war, that was sometimes all you needed. By the end of the explanation, Yalan’s voice suddenly cut into his mind.

"They’ve reached the sect vault chamber."

Chen Ren’s eyes widened slightly. "So fast?" he asked back, surprised.

"Half the traps are either too old or broken," Yalan said. "And the guardian puppets inside the vault didn't attack them when they entered. They’re broken too. But the cultivators are cautious—checking the puppets to make sure they won’t suddenly activate once they try to open the vault."

Chen Ren nodded grimly. "We’re coming. Hold off on any attack until we get there."

There was no further reply, but he knew Yalan had received the message. He turned to Anji, his voice brisk. "We need to move. They found the vault. The guardian puppets probably rusted out... no maintenance over the years. We have to hurry if we want to pull off the plan."

Anji’s face paled, but she swallowed hard and nodded quickly. Without wasting another second, they sprinted back the way they had come. Chen Ren gave the two looted corpses a final glance, then pushed forward with no hesitation. They already knew the path now—wide, mostly clear, and much easier to move through than before.

As they ran, he caught sight of the wreckage left behind by the Blazing Ember Sect’s advance. Holes gouged into walls, broken pincer traps lying smashed on the ground, and scattered signs of old mechanisms that had long since failed or been destroyed by brute force. The cultivators hadn’t been subtle—just efficient.

Finally, they reached a branching point where the path split into several tunnels. Footsteps clearly led down the middle path—the Blazing Ember Sect’s trail was obvious even to an amateur.

"The library should be on the left side," Anji said, slightly breathless but focused.

Chen Ren nodded, slowing only for a second. "Good luck. Watch for any traps that might still be active. Take the puppet with you."

Immediately, he gave a mental command. She nodded firmly, moving with the puppet behind her—not a strong warrior but enough for basic defense—and hurriedly moved toward the left passage.

Chen Ren didn’t waste time either. He followed the right path at a fast jog, keeping his senses sharp. After a short while, he spotted Yalan and Hong Yi crouching behind a massive boulder that half-covered the entrance to a large room. He ducked beside them silently as they noticed him.

Peeking out, he finally got his first proper look inside the sect’s vault chamber.

It was massive—both wide and long, and the ceiling soared higher than any room he had seen so far. In the center of the far wall stood a towering, heavy-set door, unmistakably the vault’s true entrance. A glowing orb was set into it where a handle should have been, surrounded by complex carvings of runes that seemed to be alive by how they continued to pulse.

In front of the door, three figures milled about, their attention fixed on the runes.

Just as Anji had described, one of them stood out immediately—Wang Fu. He was a tall, red hair. Even redder up close. His hands were filled with rings. But he looked like a very strong man. His hands hovered carefully around the runes, analyzing without touching. His eyes stuck like glue with an extremely serious expression.

Behind him stood two others. One was a short, brown haired man with daggers tucked in his torso. Chen Ren noticed his flat nose that looked like it had been broken multiple times.

The last one wore a heavier set, his armor more worn, with small nicks and scratches marring the polished surface. A deep scar across his face. He had the air of a veteran bruiser, someone who favored blunt force over subtlety.

Along the sides of the room, two giant stone puppets loomed, one on each side of the vault door. They stood easily nine feet tall, and he could say that the exterior of their bodies were cracked. Both had gaping holes punched into their stomachs—likely from the Blazing Ember Sect cultivators trying to find and destroy the cores. Whatever life they had once held was gone.

Chen Ren’s sharp observation was broken by Yalan’s voice again, cutting into his mind.

"You're late," she spoke mentally. "What happened to the other two?"

"They're dead.”

There was a small pause, then Yalan asked, "Where's Anji? Is she—"

Chen Ren interrupted her before she could finish. "No. I sent her to do something. We found a description of an old mechanism. If it’s still working, it could help us win this fight."

Yalan turned to look at him like he had lost his mind.

Chen Ren wasn't surprised. She didn't seem like the type to appreciate last-minute, chaotic plans—but to him, it fit perfectly. The enemy wasn’t expecting anything. That was exactly the window he needed.

Without wasting another moment, he mentally outlined her every bit of his plan. Yalan listened, her frown deepening by the second, but didn’t interrupt. Once he finished, she sighed heavily through her nose, then closed her eyes for a second, reaching out mentally to Hong Yi to relay everything.

When Hong Yi turned to look at Chen Ren, he had the same expression Yalan did—part incredulity, part resignation.

Chen Ren only smiled faintly. They might think I'm crazy... but it’ll work. Or at least, it’ll cause enough chaos for us to make a move.

Trying anything now would be foolish, the two Blazing Ember Sect cultivators standing back weren’t just idle—they were sharp, their eyes constantly sweeping the room. They would spot the smallest disturbance.

"Can you get in touch with Anji?" he asked Yalan.

Yalan closed her eyes again, focusing. After a moment, she grimaced. "My communication skills don’t work well over larger distances... but I’ll try." Seconds ticked by before she opened her eyes. "I can reach her. It'll just take a few more seconds for messages to pass."

Chen Ren nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on the cultivators. "Did she find it?"

"She's still searching," Yalan replied. "But she said she found the bookshelf mentioned in the diary. There were hints as to which one it was in more entries."

Chen Ren’s lips quirked into a small, approving smile. "Good enough. That’s all we needed."

He glanced again at the cultivators, still bent over the vault’s rune-locked door, carefully tracing patterns and murmuring among themselves. They hadn’t noticed anything yet. That wouldn’t last.

Yalan sighed under her breath, her expression tight. "Alright. I hope this works."

Chen Ren chuckled softly. "Even if it doesn't," he said, "I have my [Starlight Defense Technique]. I can take one good hit at least—and if I’m right, the chaos will buy me enough time to dodge the rest."

Yalan gave a short nod, then relayed the final details to Hong Yi, who responded with a single firm nod, nothing more. Everything was set. Chen Ren reached into his robe, pulling out the simple but precious object he had prepared—the mask. Smooth, featureless, but imbued with light illusion formations.

He slipped it on.

Immediately, the transformation took effect. His young, clear features melted away, replaced by the wrinkled, sagging skin of an old man, almost grotesque with how the "flesh" seemed half-melted under invisible years of decay. He carefully adjusted his sleeves, hiding the smoothness of his arms inside the loose folds of his robe.

An ancient cultivator, frail but cunning, now crouched where Chen Ren had been a moment ago. Chen Ren thought the disguise couldn't have been more perfect for this moment.

Without wasting time, he bent down and scooped up Yalan, who had already shifted into her kitten form. She clambered onto his back, hiding herself under the folds of his robe where only a faint glint of amber eyes could be seen if one looked too close.

He glanced once at Hong Yi, who gave him a sharp, determined nod, his face hardening into focus. And then, Chen Ren hunched his shoulders, composed his breathing into something rougher, shakier, and strode forward into the vault room.

The instant his footsteps echoed against the stone floor, the Blazing Ember Sect cultivators snapped to attention.

Three heads turned sharply toward him. Their eyes narrowed and their vigilance shot up immediately. The scout in particular moved fast, two daggers flashing into his hand with a metallic hiss, and the heavier bruiser tensed like a coiled spring, ready to charge.

Chen Ren's heart pounded once—but he stayed calm.

A second later, Yalan’s qi pulsed sharply from behind his back. It wasn't aggressive—but it was heavy, ancient, an overwhelming force that filled the room in an instant. The reaction was immediate.

The daggers lowered a fraction. The brute shifted uncertaintly. Even Wang Fu’s sharp eyes flickered with caution.

They froze.

Still working as well as ever, Chen Ren thought, hiding his inward grin. Seeing all eyes fixed on him, Chen Ren took the opening and opened his mouth, slipping fully into the role.

"It seems," he said, voice slow and rasped, dragging syllables like a true elder, "the sect grounds have finally found some visitors willing to give this old man some company."

He took a few slow, shuffling steps forward, the illusion of frailty flawless.

"Unfortunate," he continued, sighing with mock sadness, "that you chose to break everything I built, rather than simply come and talk to me. I had good tea, once."

He let the words hang in the air, doing his best old-man impression—gravelly, wistful, even a little cracked with age. Inside, a tight coil of tension wound itself through him. Part of him truly expected them to attack at any second. These were fire-aspected cultivators, after all—hot-blooded, short-tempered, used to solving problems with swords and flames. At least, that was the stereotype around them.

But surprisingly, they didn’t move.

They listened.

Chen Ren took the chance and pressed on, letting a small, sad chuckle escape his lips.

"At least two of your companions..." he said, shaking his head like a disappointed grandfather, "They met me before you. But they were... rude."

He let the last word linger a little too long, deliberately.

"And so," he finished, tilting his head slightly, "I had to teach them a few lessons."

At his words, Chen Ren saw their eyes flicker—shifting briefly toward the bloodstains still drying on his robes. Blood that had splattered during the earlier battle. He almost smiled behind the mask. Good. I’m glad I didn’t bother cleaning it off.

The scout, who was the twin brother of the girl they had faced earlier—visibly paled. His hands tightened at his sides and he took a step forward, half out of instinct, half out of fear.

Only the suffocating qi that Yalan continued to pulse from his back seemed to stop him from doing anything reckless.

And then, finally, Wang Fu spoke, his voice measured but edged with suspicion.

"Who are you?"

The question was exactly what Chen Ren had been waiting for. He let a slow, heavy breath escape his lips, as though the weight of centuries pressed down on his back.

"I am the guardian of this vault," he rasped, letting his voice tremble slightly with the weight of false years. "The one tasked with waiting... centuries... for the rightful heir to the inheritance to arrive."

He let his words sink in, watching as uncertainty grew in their eyes.

"But all I have seen," Chen Ren said, "are bastards who carry not even a hint of the Great Void’s legacy in their dantian."

His gaze, hidden by the mask, swept across each of them as if judging and finding them lacking.

"And for that..." he finished, his voice lowering into something almost grave, "you will be punished."

He raised one hand slightly—not threateningly, just enough to draw their attention.

"Not by me," he said, letting the faintest smirk twist beneath the mask, unseen, "but by the vault grounds themselves."

***

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107. Fuk yu

The effect of his words was immediate. A pause followed, almost as if everyone was holding their breath.

Wang Fu and the two other cultivators stood frozen, their faces painted with shock. It would have been almost funny to anyone who knew the truth— that Chen Ren’s so-called "vault guardian" act was nothing more than smoke and mirrors. But he kept his face calm, playing his role without a hint of hesitation.

The real secret to his success, he knew, wasn’t just his acting. It was Yalan, quietly in his robes.

The three cultivators in front of him shifted uncomfortably. Chen Ren could see it clearly—the way their shoulders tightened, the way their fingers twitched near their weapons. If not for their leader, Wang Fu, he was certain the other two would have already bolted. Their faces grew paler with each passing second, the fear of facing a meridian expansion realm cultivator sinking deep into their bones.

Chen Ren allowed the moment to stretch, then spoke again.

"For your insolence in trying to flood this place. Fuk Yu of Void Blade Sect would make sure you all drown under the crushing pressure of water. You would not even have time to take a final breath. Your bodies would be left floating, a warning left by the wrath of Void Blade Sect."

For a heartbeat, the only sound was the faint rustling of the wind.

Then Wang Fu laughed—a short, sharp, rich sound. "Void Blade Sect is dead," he said. "Our sect destroyed it. Flattened it to the ground. Nothing of that name exists anymore. You are protecting the legacy of a graveyard, nothing more."

He tilted his chin up. "Give up the act. Surrender the vault, and our sect will be merciful. We might even spare your life."

For a second, Chen Ren blinked, taken aback. Not because of the stock of Wang Fu's words. That was no latest information—but because of the sheer arrogance dripping from him. The man was clearly no match for the level of power Chen Ren was pretending to have. And yet, here he was, speaking with the confidence of someone who believed he held all the cards.

It was almost amusing. Almost.

Was it because he was confident in his sect’s backing? Or was it something else? Was the man simply hiding his true strength under that easy arrogance?

Despite the questions swirling in his mind, Chen Ren didn’t let a hint of doubt show on his face. Instead, he forced a pained expression, as if Wang Fu’s words had struck a nerve.

"Is that... true?" he asked in a low voice, sounding almost wounded.

One of the other cultivators, gathering courage from their leader’s boldness, quickly added, "It is. But if you open the sect vault for us, we’ll reward you. We’ll grant you an elder position in Blazing Ember Sect. You’re wasting your life here, guarding a legacy that no longer exists."

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes slightly, hiding his amusement. Again, that strange, misplaced confidence. Even if two of them looked like they were ready to bolt at the first sign of a fight, they were still pushing forward, betting on the idea that loyalty to a dead sect wouldn’t hold... or maybe they knew something he didn’t.

Either way, he held the act firmly, letting his anger show—no, letting it boil. A growl rumbled from his throat as he straightened his back and glared at them.

"Then," Chen Ren said, "it is prudent that I kill all of you here... and then take revenge against your sect for what you did to mine."

Before the words had even finished echoing across the hall, Yalan gave a tiny signal through mind. The message was sent to Anji.

A few heartbeats later, a deep, grinding noise filled the air. It was the sound of old gears—heavy with rust, protesting against the passage of years—finally turning once again.

For a breath, Chen Ren worried the old trap might fail completely. But in truth, he didn’t need it to work perfectly. If it couldn’t be a weapon, let it be a distraction. And surprisingly, it worked.

Immediately, the three cultivators’ heads snapped around, eyes wide, hands twitching toward their weapons.They weren’t looking at him anymore. They were looking for traps, for hidden attacks, for anything that might spring upon them from the dark.

And then, as if the heavens had decided to bless his gamble, it happened. From cracks in the walls, from unseen drains above, a rush of water began to pour into the room—clear at first, then dark with the grime of ages.

The gates of the chamber shuddered once—then began to close, groaning like beasts dragged from slumber.

Chen Ren didn’t move. He simply smiled—his lips stretching coldly—as the water lapped against the floor and the realization began to dawn on the three cultivators that they were trapped.

The three cultivators panicked the moment the water touched their boots. They bolted for the door, abandoning any thought of fighting back.

That was exactly what Chen Ren had been waiting for.

Before they could reach the narrowing gap of the gate, Yalan moved. She shot out from behind Chen Ren like a streak of flame, targeting the one he had marked earlier—the second foundation establishment realm cultivator.

With a swipe of her hands, burning symbols took shape in the air, massive, clawed emblems that seemed to roar with fire. The man barely managed to raise a burning shield in front of himself, formed in desperation at the last second.

It didn’t save him.

The burning claws crashed into him, raking across his face, neck, and chest, tearing flesh from bone. He stumbled back with a strangled cry, blood spraying across the wet floor.

But Yalan didn’t stop. Her tail ignited behind her, flames surging outward as she launched fireballs at the wounded cultivator. Despite the man’s obvious fire resistance, the blazing attacks scorched through his defenses, blackening his skin and armor.

Even wounded, the cultivator tried to fight back, qi surging around his body in wild, chaotic streams. But Yalan was already on him — a flash of burning claws slashing through the half-formed qi shield — ending his life before he could even stand properly. Two more left.

Chen Ren didn’t have time to celebrate. He turned his gaze toward the entrance.

There, Hong Yi and his puppets were holding the line — barely. One puppet was already a shattered heap on the ground, its broken arms twitching uselessly, probably destroyed by Wang Fu himself. The other was locked in a brutal struggle against the third cultivator—a mere qi refinement realm fighter, but still slippery enough to hold his ground.As for Hong Yi… He was struggling.

Chen Ren could see it clearly. Hong Yi darting, weaving, ducking next to the remaining puppet, barely dodging the fire-aspected spear strikes Wang Fu hurled at him. The air around the spear shimmered with heat, and wherever it struck, it left burning scars on the stone.

Hong Yi wouldn’t last long.

Chen Ren didn’t hesitate. "Yalan! Help Hong Yi! I'll deal with the other one!"

Yalan snapped her head toward him, eyes flashing, then pivoted sharply, already moving toward Hong Yi and Wang Fu without a second thought.

Chen Ren shifted his focus, stepping forward toward the remaining qi refinement cultivator. His expression hardened. It was time to clean up.

The last cultivator had already unleashed a blazing tornado, sending it roaring toward the remaining puppet. The puppet braced itself and took the full brunt of the flames, but Chen Ren could see chunks of it burning away. In the end, it was made of wood—no match for a fire-aspected cultivator.

Chen Ren didn't waste time. Lightning surged through his legs, crackling with raw energy as he pushed off the ground, closing the distance in a blur of speed.

The cultivator barely had time to react before Chen Ren’s palm strike slammed into him. But instead of crumpling, the man’s armor flared with defensive runes, taking the hit and dispersing the force.

The latter stumbled back a step, looking down at himself and then up at Chen Ren. Realization twisted his face.

"You’re a bloody imposter!" he snarled. "I’ll kill you!"

Flames burst to life around him, spiraling up his arms, wreathing his body in searing heat. Chen Ren reacted immediately, willing the power of his [Starlight Defense Technique] to unfold around him.

Star qi shimmered across his skin, forming a glowing, translucent shield that wrapped around him like a second skin. The heat of the man’s flames washed over him — but the starlight armor held strong, the brilliance of countless stars scattering the fire harmlessly away.

Chen Ren didn’t slow. He let the lightning flood his core again, channeling it into his limbs, and unleashed a [Lightning Frenzy]. It was not an easy combination—maintaining both defense and offense at the same time. The drain on his reserves was heavy, the pressure to control both techniques in balance was immense.

But it was a good thing that he had practiced for this exact kind of battle. In the heat of combat, he could endure.

He struck again, fists and palms moving with blinding speed, each blow crackling with electric fury. The cultivator’s armor absorbed most of the strikes but not without cost. And he saw it, how the cultivator’s arms shook slightly each time lightning traveled through the armor, jolting his muscles.

Tiny openings. Mistakes waiting to happen.

They moved across the flooded floor, sparks and fire flying between them.

Chen Ren was faster, lighter on his feet, and then landing palm strikes and lightning-laced bursts of elemental energy. His opponent, now clearly a battle-hardened scout, wielded a pair of daggers short, brutal things meant for fast kills. He supplemented them with occasional ranged flame attacks, forcing Chen Ren to dodge and weave between strikes.

The scout wasn’t as fast as Chen Ren, but he made up for it with sheer toughness and sharp instincts born from countless battles. Each dagger thrust was annoyingly accurate, each counterattack efficient.

But Chen Ren was no ordinary fighter. What he lacked in sheer battle experience, he more than made up for with his resourcefulness and his creative use of a cultivator’s tools.

As he twisted away from another dagger thrust, his hands flicked forward with practiced ease. Small pills inconspicuous at a glance flew toward the man.

At this distance, the scout had no time to dodge. Instead, he instinctively countered with a surge of flames, trying to incinerate the strange objects before they could reach him.

Exactly what Chen Ren had wanted.

The moment the fire touched the pills, a chain reaction erupted. A deafening series of explosions tore through the air, rattling the very walls of the ancient vault. The shockwaves slammed into the scout, hurling him across the room like a broken doll.

Thud!

He crashed into the far wall with a sickening thud, leaving a bloody smear where he slid down. His armor was scorched, his skin burned raw, blood flowing freely from open wounds.

Chen Ren stood still, breathing hard, his lightning arcing faintly around him as he watched.

The man should have been dead. By all rights, he should have been nothing more than a charred corpse after a hit like that.

But he wasn’t.

With a ragged breath, the scout staggered back onto his feet, swaying unsteadily. There was no strategy in his movements now, only raw, desperate instinct keeping him upright.

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes. And then, just as he expected, the man disappeared.

A blur a shadow in the corner of his vision and then nothing. Gone.

But Chen Ren didn’t panic. Anji had warned him about this about the scout’s stealth techniques, about how he could vanish even in open battle. It had happened. So he stayed exactly where he was, muscles coiled tight, even his own breathing controlled. He was listening.

Trying to catch any hint of movement, even a shift of the air, but it was nearly impossible. The loud noises that surrounded him with Yalan’s roars, Hong Yi’s desperate strikes, and the grinding of the ancient walls were too much noise. He couldn’t pick out anything clean.

So he changed his approach.

"I'm sorry about your sister," Chen Ren called out. "I swear... it was a quick death—"

He didn’t get to finish.

The moment the words left his mouth, every hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Without thinking, he dropped his body low, the instinct honed from being in life and death situations kicking in.

A blade whistled through the air where his head had been a split second earlier. Before the scout could recover, Chen Ren surged forward, slamming his shoulder into the wounded man’s gut, driving him hard into the cracked stone wall.

The scout coughed, blood spraying from his mouth, but his eyes—His eyes burned with rage.

Scorched, bleeding, half-crippled — and still he fought.

Chen Ren grimaced.

"I'll kill you!" the scout spat, blood foaming at the corners of his mouth. "I'll fucking kill you for what you did to my sister—and then I'll find your family and raze them to the ground! You will not leave this room alive! "Chen Ren gave him a blank look.

"You talk too much."

He punctuated the words with a brutal punch straight to the man's throat. The scout's mouth flew open in a gagging gasp, and Chen Ren didn’t waste the chance.

He shoved a small pill between the man's teeth and forced it down his throat, pressing hard until the scout reflexively swallowed. Immediately, the man tried to retaliate, flames gathering around his hands but his daggers had been lost during the tackle, leaving him slower, sloppier.

"Wrong move," Chen Ren said. His words came out sharper.

Lightning crackled around him as he surged backward, putting distance between himself and the scout. The man staggered to his feet, coughing, confused until the realization hit him.

His eyes widened in horror, but it was too late.

With a sickening crack, part of his stomach erupted outward, blood and intestines splattering across the floor. Another explosion of flesh followed, tearing through his chest and arms.

He didn’t even have the chance to scream. His vital organs were shredded from the inside, and his body collapsed in a ruined heap, unmoving, blood pooling around him.

Chen Ren stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, watching the body to make sure it didn’t twitch again. Only when he was sure did he let out a small sigh of relief.

He hadn't been sure if the [Fireburst Pills]—lethal concoctions designed to ignite qi inside the body—would work. A skilled cultivator, one more focused, might have forced the pill back out, or sealed their qi to prevent the explosion.

But rage had clouded the scout’s mind. In his blind anger, he had instinctively used his qi to burn the pill and sealed his own fate.

Chen Ren flexed his fingers once, letting the last traces of lightning fade from his limbs. Then he turned, already searching for the others.

His eyes found Hong Yi slumped against a wall, one arm hanging uselessly at his side, blood staining his robes. Water still leaked steadily from the cracks around them, the floor slick and cold underfoot.

Without hesitation, Chen Ren ran over. "Are you okay?" he called, already reaching for a healing pill from his pouch.

Hong Yi grinned weakly at him, grimacing through the pain.

"Do you think I look okay?" he said, half-laughing, half-wincing. "That bastard almost took my whole arm off. If it weren’t for the healing pills already working... I'd be way worse."

Chen Ren crouched beside him, pressing the pill into his hand. "Thank you," he said quietly. "You did more than I expected."

Hong Yi chuckled dryly, swallowing one more pill. "Yeah, yeah. I’m a good sect member, right, Sect Leader Chen?" He smirked through the blood on his face. "Just make sure I get my share of the loot once we find the good stuff in this place."

Chen Ren smiled faintly, helping him steady himself. "But first... we wait for Yalan to finish her battle."

As he spoke, his eyes shifted to the center of the chamber.

There, atop the rising stone platform, Yalan and Wang Fu clashed like forces of nature. Wang Fu spun his spear with brutal efficiency, the blade gleaming with twin flames, one black as night, the other a deep, violent red. The swings carved lines of fire through the air, the stone underfoot scorched and cracked by the raw force of his strikes.

Chen Ren's gaze sharpened. Wang Fu had a few cuts on his arms and legs, blood trailing down in thin rivers, but none of them seemed serious. Yalan, by contrast, looked untouched, her white fur gleaming, her movements sharp and fast.

But Chen Ren knew better. The fact that Yalan hadn’t already ended the fight spoke volumes. Wang Fu wasn’t just strong, he was skilled, and likely sitting at the absolute peak of the foundation establishment realm.

Shit, this won’t be easy.

His eyes widened when Wang Fu hurled pill bombs at Yalan, explosions shaking the chamber as they went off around her. But Yalan’s body twisted and weaved through the blasts, her burning tail sending out volleys of fireballs in return.

Fireballs exploded against Wang Fu's defenses, forcing him to meet them head-on with his spear, a weapon that, from the pressure it gave off, was easily peak Earth grade.

Chen Ren’s fists tightened slightly. Should he jump in? Part of him itched to move, to help.

But a quick surge of qi from their battlefield answered him brutally. The sheer strength behind every strike, every clash, was overwhelming. If he threw himself into that, he'd be crushed under their qi alone, let alone their attacks.

Still, he couldn’t shake a bad feeling gnawing at the edge of his mind. He forced himself to focus, watching carefully. Wang Fu’s strikes were wild with rage, but there was a strange pattern to them — a rhythm just beneath the surface.

And then Chen Ren saw it. Just for a heartbeat. Wang Fu's eyes flashed — a deep, unnatural red.

It was so quick he almost doubted himself. Wait… No way! But he knew what he had seen. He would never mistake that kind of eye again. Not after everything he had experienced.

Yalan, caught in the heat of battle, probably missed it. But Chen Ren hadn't.

A jolt of urgency ran through him. He turned sharply to Hong Yi, who was still resting against the wall, clutching his injured arm.

"You need to get to safety," Chen Ren said, his voice low but firm.

Hong Yi frowned at him, confused.

"Why?" he asked. "We’ve already won, haven’t we? Just Wang Fu is left."

Chen Ren didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his eyes stayed locked on Wang Fu, on the red glimmer that had already faded, but that he couldn’t unsee. And deep inside, he knew. The real fight hadn’t even started yet.

"There’s no time to explain," Chen Ren said sharply. "Don’t stay out in the open. Find a place to hide. Anywhere. Just go. Don't ask questions."

He didn’t wait to see if Hong Yi obeyed. His attention snapped back to the battle at the center of the room.

"Yalan!" he called out urgently, sending his voice reverberating through the room. "He's a demonic cultivator!"

Mid-slash, Yalan's body tensed. She pivoted around a strike, her tail lashing, and flicked a sharp question back at him through the mental channel:

“What?”

"Yes," Chen Ren answered immediately, not wasting a breath. "I saw it — his eyes turned red for a second. Just like Gu Tian's did." He pushed the words quickly, knowing there wasn’t much time. "Tell Anji to stop flooding the room. I have a plan, but for that—"

He didn’t get to finish.

Wang Fu, who had clearly heard Chen Ren’s earlier shout, let out a low, mocking laugh that echoed through the hall.

"Oh... so you noticed," Wang Fu said, voice twisting with glee. He grinned bloody. "It’s been so hard holding back with Jin Sen around. But since he's dead — and all of you will be soon too—" His mouth stretched into a wide, unnatural grin. "I guess there’s no need to pretend anymore."

The change was immediate.

A wave of pressure rippled through the room, thick and suffocating. Wang Fu’s qi, once blazing and aggressive, twisted into something darker and heavier until it no longer felt like human qi at all.

It was demonic. Pure, corrupt, and violent.

Chen Ren felt the temperature spike violently as Wang Fu’s transformation began. But unlike Gu Tian, whose transformation had twisted his body and aura, Wang Fu’s change was even more terrifying in one crucial way,

His skin literally caught fire.

Flames—dark red and black—ignited across his body, clinging to his flesh but not consuming it.His robes burned away, leaving only scorched remnants around his waist and legs, but the man himself stood unharmed within the blaze.

When the transformation finished, Wang Fu stood taller, more monstrous. His eyes a crimson that looked straight out of a horror book.The spear in his hands glowed white-hot from the sheer heat pouring off him.

And he grinned—a wide, savage grin that showed too many teeth.

***

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108. Demon

Everything stilled when Wang Fu transformed.

There were moments in life when an entire plan unraveled without warning, and this was one of them.

Chen Ren had prepared for many outcomes. He had studied, planned, made contingencies… but none of them accounted for this. For his enemy being a demonic cultivator. How could he have known?

He doubted even Anji had knowledge of it. But if Wang Fu had been hiding this the whole time… then what did it say about the Blazing Ember Sect? Did they know? No, they couldn’t have. Or maybe they did.

But he didn’t have time to dwell on that. Before his eyes, Wang Fu’s body twisted and cracked, the transformation grotesque–skin blackening and peeling, demonic qi bursting from him in thick, burning waves. Dark flames licked across his limbs. The smell of nasty burnt flesh filled the room.

He looked too much like him — Gu Tian, the man who had nearly killed Chen Ren before. But this one… this one was worse.

Even Yalan froze, stunned by what she was seeing. She only moved when a jet of black flame tore toward her. She leapt just in time — the wall behind her melted like wax.

That one attack confirmed it. Wang Fu was strong. Too strong. The transformation had increased his strength a realm and now he was strong against to stand against Yalan. Maybe even win. Chen Ren knew there would be repercussions of his strength, but he doubted it mattered to him until he won.

Chen Ren’s thoughts spiraled for a second. Should they run? Could they? No. It wouldn’t matter.

He had seen a demonic cultivator before. Once they turned, they lost control. There would be no escape, no place to hide. Wang Fu would chase them to the ends of the earth. And the worst part?

There was no time to think.

Wang Fu let out a guttural laugh — one that rumbled through Chen Ren’s body. Before he could settle with the current situation, Wang Fu flung another wave of dark flames toward Yalan, each blast hotter and more violent than the last.

The black fire twisted in ways that Chen Ren hadn’t seen before, as if alive, chasing her across the cracked floor. She couldn’t get close. She barely managed to dodge, slipping between columns and broken tiles.

One of the flames turned mid-air and came straight for Chen Ren. He activated his movement technique in an instant, his body flickering to the side just as the fire struck where he had stood. He activated his starlight body but even then, the heat licked at his skin, causing it to turn red.

It was unbearable. He gritted his teeth. But at least he didn’t see Hong Yi anywhere. That meant the man had listened. He had taken his warning and hidden.

Wang Fu stood tall amidst the chaos, his fiery body radiating power as black smoke swirled around him. His grin widened, fangs showing. “You came here hoping to claim the inheritance?” he shouted. “Fools! It belongs to the Blazing Ember Sect — to its rightful new owners!”

He raised his arms, flames swirling between his fingers. “You are all thieves. And before the Empire gets you, I will.”

Yalan didn’t flinch. She darted to the side and released a burst of her own flames — bright gold, cutting through the darkness like sunlight. “The Empire will kill you first,” she spat, “and burn your rotten sect to the ground for harboring demonic cultivators!”

Wang Fu laughed again, blocking the flames with his spear. “Try escaping first, you silly little cat,” he sneered. “Then talk.”

Their battle exploded once more. Flame met flame — gold and black clashing with violent bursts of heat and pressure. But then something began to change.

Yalan was… growing.

Not dramatically. But each time she moved, each time she struck, her form seemed to shift — muscle rippling, posture widening. Her claws grew longer, her strikes heavier. His eyes widened. Glowing runes shimmered to life across her back, curving and curling like living tattoos.

Was this the true extent of her power? He hadn’t seen this happen before. And he didn’t exactly know how far her strength went. So he observed.

She let out a feral cry and cloaked herself in a layer of gold fire. It clung to her body like armor, shielding her as she broke through the next wave of demonic flames and launched herself forward.

Wang Fu raised his spear in defense, just in time.

Claws met steel. The impact sent a shockwave through the chamber — stone cracked, air rippled, and sparks exploded from where they collided.

Chen Ren barely escaped the next blast — only managing it because he stood near the edge of the room. Even then, the shockwave from the clash knocked him back a step, a blast of hot wind slamming into his chest. His ears rang. The very ground beneath his feet trembled. If the chamber hadn’t been built with ancient stone that were meant to uphold extreme destruction, it might have already crumbled under the strain.

But it wouldn’t hold forever.

That was when her voice came through the link.

"Run."

His eyes widened. "What?" he said aloud, heart pounding.

"Run, Chen Ren!" Yalan’s voice was urgent now. "Wang Fu is stronger than I expected. I can hold him for now, but the longer this goes on, the more dangerous it becomes for you. You need to escape. Get out of here and inform the Empire. That’s the only way we win."

He stared at her figure clashing against Wang Fu, flame against flame, steel against claw. His throat tightened.

"You're saying that like you’re not coming with me," he muttered.

There was a pause — only for a second — but it felt like an eternity.

"I don’t know if I will."

Her voice was quieter now. He could hear the strain beneath her calm. "When two cultivators of equal strength fight… one usually dies. He’s on my level, Chen Ren. Maybe even stronger, with that… destruction-imbued demonic qi. I don’t know how long I can keep this up. But he doesn’t look like he’s tiring any time soon."

Chen Ren clenched his fists, shaking his head. This felt wrong. Everything about it felt wrong. He wanted to scream at her. To tell her no, that they’d figure out another way. But the words wouldn’t come. Because deep down, he knew she was right.

Without Yalan, he would have died long ago.

She wasn’t just his protector. She was his friend. His only real anchor in this world that still felt too cruel and too vast. She was the one person who believed in him when he was beginning his journey in this world — the one who stood by him in every impossible moment. Even after knowing who he really was.

And now she was asking him to leave? To run?

It was the last thing he wanted. But it was also the only thing he could do unless…

I need to rely on my plan.

It was risky. Full of holes. A thousand things could go wrong and most likely would. But right now, it was the only shot they had. Because no matter how much he hated to admit it, he wasn’t strong enough to face Wang Fu head-on. Not yet.

But maybe he didn’t have to be.

Would anything else work?

Chen Ren didn’t know. Maybe his plan had no merit at all. But there was no time left to doubt, and thinking too long had already killed better men. He pushed everything through their link — the full idea, hastily pieced together as it was — and trusted her to understand.

Yalan was in the middle of dodging another volley of black flaming spears, her ethereal claws slashing through them with explosive bursts of force. But even in that chaos, she heard him.

“No,” she called out between blows. “That’s too risky!”

Chen Ren didn’t flinch. “It’s the only way. You don’t really want to die here, do you? I know you have a sense of self-preservation.”

She growled, spinning mid-air to parry Wang Fu’s thrusting spear. “Your life is more important!”

He exhaled, stepping into the shadows of a shattered pillar. “And I’m barely part of this plan. I don’t even have to do anything other than the initial array. That’s all.”

There was no reply. Not right away.

She kept fighting — dodging, striking, leaping back — but Chen Ren knew her well enough by now to know that she was processing. In the meantime, he saw how the walls kept getting hit with blackened flames one after another–every time Yalan dodged, massive holes erupted.

And then, after what felt like forever, her voice returned through their bond.

“I gave Anji the command.”

“Good,” he whispered, casting a glance toward the massive stone door at the far end of the room. It remained shut — for now — and the water still rushed through the channels in the walls.

He moved behind a collapsed chunk of debris—the remnants of a broken statue’s shoulder—and crouched low. Power surged into his legs, his breathing steadying as he prepared to launch himself at a moment’s notice.

Then it happened.

With a sudden click, the door began to rumble.

The water channels ceased their endless flow.

Anji had done it.

The shift in atmosphere said everything that he needed to. Wang Fu noticed too.

He turned his head toward the now-opening entrance, amusement dancing in his molten eyes.

“So… you’ve stopped trying to drown me. Accepted defeat already?” He grinned. “You figured it out, didn’t you? All that water would’ve turned to steam anyway.”

Yalan didn’t reply. She didn’t have to. Because just then, a roar tore through the corridor. It echoed like a beast from nightmares—shaking dust loose from the ceiling.

Wang Fu’s grin vanished.

He turned fully toward the entrance as the ground beneath them trembled.

Out from the opening thundered a metal-bodied puppet—its limbs clanging against the stone, moving far faster than it had any right to. But it wasn’t alone.

Behind it came a monster easily twice the size of a man. Its fur was pitch black, slick like oil, and steam hissed from between its jaws. It had two heads, both canid, each one had white teeth glowing with inner heat. Fire flickered in its throats as it growled, saliva dripping and sizzling where it hit the floor.

Chen Ren could only gape as the two-headed hound burst through the doorway.

Peak Tier 3. A foundation establishment beast. Exactly what they needed.

A beast guardian. One of the many horrors sealed within the sect vault chambers — now awakened from its hibernation just as planned. The hound didn’t waste a second. Its dual heads snarled and snapped as it chased after the puppet, which sprinted across the floor in erratic zigzags, drawing attention like bait.

It worked.

The moment the puppet entered Wang Fu’s line of sight, he scowled — recognizing the trick immediately. With a roar, he sent out a blast of concentrated heat. The fire struck the puppet dead-on, melting it down to slag within seconds.

But by then… it was too late.

The hound was already upon him.

It didn’t hesitate. It lunged straight for Wang Fu thirst for death, both jaws glowing with qi as it aimed to tear through him.

The bite landed.

Fangs scraped through Wang Fu’s charred shoulder, tearing through flesh and drawing blood — black and smoking. But Wang Fu didn’t flinch. He twisted his body mid-step and brought his spear down in a sweeping arc.

The hound was fast.

The beast jumped to the side, its claws scraping loudly against the stone. Wang Fu’s spear swung past, missing by a hair. Flames burst from Wang Fu’s body, lighting up the space between them. The fight started fast — claws swinging at fire, teeth snapping at the spear.

Chen Ren held his breath, his heart pounding hard. For a moment, he thought maybe they could win. Then he saw it. The beast wasn’t going to hold out.

It fought with everything it had — all speed, all strength, all anger — but it wasn’t built for this kind of fight. Close-up, it was strong. But against fire and a long spear, it struggled. The flames burned too wide. The spear moved too fast.

Still... It just had to keep fighting. And right now, it was doing that.

As Chen Ren watched the fight, Yalan’s voice slipped into his mind again.

“The first phase of your plan is working.”

He exhaled, not realizing he’d been holding his breath.

“But…” she continued, “I don’t know if your arrays are really going to do much to him. That qi of his… it’s too volatile.”

Chen Ren’s jaw tightened. He knew that too. Everything they were about to throw at Wang Fu might not be enough. But they’d come this far. And turning back now would mean watching a friend die.

“It’s just for a little more time,” Chen Ren said under his breath, responding to Yalan’s silence. “He won’t be able to maintain that demonic form for long. I can already see it—he’s slowing down.”

There was no answer at first, but he felt her sigh ripple through their spiritual connection, weary, resigned, but still fighting. That was enough. He didn’t wait. There was no more time to argue.

Chen Ren moved quickly toward the center of the chamber, the stone still warm beneath his feet from the earlier explosions. His fingers trembled slightly — not from fear, but from the sheer pressure of what he was about to attempt.

Once, after the battle with Gu Tian, he had started looking into techniques that could actually work against demonic cultivators. He had hoped for a pill, something lethal, something efficient.

But he found nothing. Or at least, nothing he could afford. Anti-demonic pills were rare, complex, and expensive far beyond his current capabilities.

But arrays? Arrays he could learn. Arrays he could build. Even if it was desperate. Even if it was dangerous. And now, as Yalan and the two-headed hound fought to keep Wang Fu occupied, Chen Ren dropped to one knee and began carving.

The first stroke cut into the stone. Then another. Then another.

A dozen curved lines, each precise, each needed. He was building the strongest array he had ever attempted, a containment-suppression hybrid designed to destabilize corrupted qi for even a few seconds. That was all they needed.

All around him, the battle raged on. It was so intense that his presence was completely concealed. He knew that by how Wang Fu’s amused yet cruel voice rose above the din.

“Two beasts at once? You’re spoiling me. I'm going to consume both your flesh after this.”

Another blast of black fire roared through the chamber, smashing into the wall and crumbling part of the ceiling. Stone dust rained down. Chen Ren dared a glance.

The hound was still attacking — its claws slashing across Wang Fu’s body — but it was bleeding now, deep wounds along its flanks. The beast wasn’t healing fast enough.

Yalan struck from the back, sending arcs of golden fire that shattered the ground and burst in wide, radiant explosions. She wasn’t holding back anymore. But neither was Wang Fu.

Chen Ren turned back to the array.

He couldn’t waste another second. His focus sharpened. His breath slowed.

The runes were complex, ten layered glyph lines twisting and overlapping, branching out like veins. If not for his memory, drilled into shape by hours of reading and repetition, he wouldn’t have been able to recall the sequence. But fortunately, he was smarter than that. He knew the power of knowledge and had experienced the results of taking things for granted.

Which was why he’d never missed important information like this.

Every ten seconds, new lines of runes took shape beneath Chen Ren’s hands. He worked fast, chalking out each one before chiseling them into the stone floor. It was rushed, imprecise in places, but the lines still glowed faintly with qi as he pressed powder into each curve.

It had to work. It had to fucking work.

He hadn’t meant to use this array so soon and had only tested it once in the safety of the forest near Meadow. Back then, it had been a backup. Preparation for an opponent like this.

But life had a way to force him to use everything in his arsenal.

“Fuck!”

A sudden explosion from the side took him by surprise.

He gathered himself again, and moved faster. He shifted his body to reach the far sides, crawling, kneeling, pressing hard into the floor as sweat dripped from his chin.

Just a little more… please, just hold…

A stray thought crept into his mind — one he didn’t like.

What if I just let Wang Fu kill me? Would that be enough to wake the dragon inside me?

He dismissed it with a bitter grunt. The beast inside him was still dormant. Gambling his life to wake it was the same as throwing it away. He couldn’t afford that. Not now. Half the array was done. Then three-fourths.

Every second felt like a battle. Then Yalan’s voice echoed in his mind, sending a sharp shiver down his spine.

“The hound is dead.”

He froze for a split second, glancing up.

“I can’t distract him much longer. The explosions and steam are covering you for now, but not for long. How much more?”

Chen Ren grit his teeth. “One more minute.”

He didn’t wait for a reply.

He threw himself back into the work, fingers burning as he poured his qi into each final line. The chalk dust smeared his robes, and his breathing grew heavier with every stroke. Every carved line pulsed with unstable energy, like a living net tightening.

The last symbol was the hardest — a twelve-line binding rune, spiraled inward and locked with an anchor glyph. He thought it would take longer than that to finish, but he did it.

He finished it.

He staggered back and gave the mental command: “It’s done.”

Yalan responded instantly. “Good. He’s getting agitated anyway.”

Chen Ren slipped outside the array’s boundary, heart pounding. He turned—and saw him.

Wang Fu stood at the heart of the ruined chamber, demonic flames swirling wildly around him. His body radiated heat, steam hissing from his skin. His eyes were no longer fully human—pits of burning rage, twisted with madness.

The corpse of the hound lay at his feet, split in half. Black blood oozed out and pooled into the shallow water on the floor, mixing with the dust and debris.

“I killed one beast,” Wang Fu roared, eyes blazing. “I’ll kill you too!”

He charged forward, fury boiling off him in waves. Each step scorched the ground, steam erupting from every footprint. His demonic flames lashed out with every movement — wild, uncontrolled, unstoppable.

But Yalan didn’t meet him head-on.

Instead, she darted upward — a blur of fire and fur — leaping high toward the far side of the chamber.

Wang Fu barked a laugh, twisted and cruel. “Running away? So you finally understand. There’s no escape. This ends with your corpse on the floor!”

Chen Ren crouched low behind a shattered boulder, breath shallow, heart pounding against his ribs like a drum of war. His hands trembled slightly as he steadied his stance. His eyes flicked between the array and Wang Fu.

Was this going to work? Would they survive? He didn’t know.

But for what it was worth, he would try.

Yalan soared over the center of the chamber, clearing the array formation in one clean, burning arc. And Wang Fu—blinded by his own rage—followed her.

He landed right in the middle of it.

Chen Ren didn’t hesitate.

With a flick of his wrist, he channeled qi into the final anchor point — the one hidden beneath the stone at the array’s edge.

The glyphs flared. The air split with a crack. And the world went white.

A blinding burst of light erupted from the array, consuming the chamber in an instant. Winds howled. The walls shook. Even the lingering steam was burned away by the sheer intensity of the blast.

For a moment — a single, breathless moment — everything went silent.

***

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109. The vault

Chen Ren closed his eyes tightly, trying to avoid the light. He had warned Yalan it would happen, a flash triggered by the array. It was part of the plan. But he underestimated the scale of it.

And when the light faded, his vision slowly returned.

Wang Fu was on the ground, one hand over his eyes, groaning. The heat in his voice from before was gone. A pale, see-through barrier shimmered faintly around him, a last line of defense. But the array wasn’t done.

From above, bolts of lightning cracked through the barrier, crashing down on him. The chamber trembled. Sparks flew. Stone cracked.

Chen Ren stayed behind cover, watching. That lightning would’ve killed any normal cultivator in the qi refinement realm and even injure foundation establishment realm ones easily. But not Wang Fu. He was tough. The bolts slammed him across the floor, smoke rising from his clothes, but he was still breathing.

And that’s when Yalan moved.

She didn’t shout. She didn’t rush in. Her lips moved in a quiet chant, and the air around her began to ripple. Flaming weapons burst into view, spears, swords, even a massive hammer.

They spun around her like a storm held in place, waiting to be let loose.

Chen Ren had told her to strike when the enemy was down, to use her strongest move. But this... this wasn’t something he had seen before. Wang Fu stirred, still trying to rise through the lightning strikes that had started to slow. Just as he lifted his head—

Yalan’s weapons shot forward.

A spear struck first. Wang Fu caught it with one hand, barely. before a hammer slammed into his chest, flattening him to the floor. Another blade pierced his shoulder. Then another. Then more.

It looked endless. And that was the best part. All those weapons against Wang Fu.

Chen Ren didn’t waste the moment. He pulled out a small glass vial with thick, green liquid swirling inside and moved towards the array. Qing He had given it to him right before he left, just in case he faced puppeted constructs knowing that the potion burnt through almost anything. Even human flesh. And now was the best time to use it.

He threw the vial. It flew past the barrier and smashed against Wang Fu’s face. Acid sprayed across his skin, and Wang Fu screamed—high, raw, full of pain. Chen Ren didn’t stop.

He pulled out another vial and aimed lower—at Wang Fu’s belts, his rings, the items where healing pills or other treasures might be hidden. The second vial shattered, spilling its contents across cloth and skin.

The acid hissed as it ate through everything. Flesh, metal, robes. Black smoke curled into the air. Wang Fu's skin peeled away, and his rings melted on his fingers. Demonic qi surged to heal him, but it was too late.

His knees buckled. He collapsed fully, arms shaking, blood dripping onto the stone. But his eyes still burned with hatred. Through the pain, through the damage, he lifted his head and locked his gaze on Chen Ren — not Yalan.

“You,” Wang Fu rasped, voice hoarse. Then louder, like a curse spat from deep inside, “I’ll kill you. I’ll fucking kill you, bastard!”

Wang Fu groaned and pushed himself forward, dragging his body across the ground. Blood smeared beneath him, and one of his fists slammed into the glowing barrier. Again. And again.

He didn’t use any techniques. His qi was busy holding his body together, trying to stop the bleeding, to repair what it could. But still, he crawled, fists cracking against the shield with brute strength alone.

Chen Ren watched, tense. How is he still alive?

Lightning. Conjured weapons. Acid. Any normal cultivator would’ve died five times over. But Wang Fu was a demonic cultivator. Their bodies were built to endure. For all he knew, the man had some secret body cultivation technique or ancient defense art.

And worst of all, his punches were working.

Thin cracks spread across the edge of the barrier, spider webbing out beneath Wang Fu’s fists. Chen Ren’s breath caught. If the man got through, the fight must just end in his favour. He was weakened, yes. Bleeding, yes. But was far more dangerous than anyone else. Chen Ren steeled himself. He could take one hit—maybe—and try to kill him.

But he didn’t get the chance. A blur dropped from above. Yalan.

She slammed into the barrier, her claws glowing bright as they sliced clean through the cracks. The shield shattered with a sharp crack, and before Wang Fu could even look up, her claws carved into his neck.

Wang Fu jerked, one arm swiping wildly to shove her off, but more blood sprayed out. Her claws dug deeper, burning with power. With a final, heavy slash, his head came loose, rolling once across the stone before stopping near Chen Ren’s feet.

Silence stretched in the chamber.

Yalan stood there, chest rising and falling fast, blood dripping from her claws. Then she turned toward him and said, between breaths, “The head. Always go for the head.”

Her voice was quiet but firm.

“Demonic cultivators can heal from anything... but not that.”

Then her legs gave out.

Chen Ren rushed forward and caught her before she hit the floor. She was heavier than she looked, her furry body limp in his arms. He lowered her carefully into his lap, panic rising as he noticed cuts and burns along her side, wounds he hadn’t seen in the heat of the battle.

He reached for a healing pill at once. But her voice stopped him.

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “It’ll heal... just need to rest. That last attack... and the weapon storm... drained everything.”

Chen Ren let out a slow breath. Relief washed over him.

“You’ve done enough,” he said gently. “We’ve dealt with everything. You can rest now.”

“I’m going to,” she muttered, already closing her eyes. Then, almost as an afterthought, “Protect me well, okay? I gave everything... to protect you.”

Chen Ren smiled faintly at that. “I will,” he said, pulling her closer. Unsaid feelings rushed to him in waves, catching him off guard. He was glad she made it, he was glad she was powerful and he was glad that she was alive.

He wiped his eye from the free hand.

He finally let his hand stroke through her fur, rough from battle, warm from life, and to his surprise, Yalan let out a soft, contented purr.

That was the first time he patted her.

***

It didn’t take long for Yalan to recover. Just like she had said, her body began healing within hours. Chen Ren sat by her side and watched as the wounds along her fur slowly closed on their own. The cuts stopped bleeding. The burns faded. She hadn’t moved yet, but he could tell she'd be up soon.

In the meantime, Chen Ren searched the chamber with Hong Yi.

The man had only come out after everything was over, squeezing through a narrow crack in the stone. He hadn’t seen a way out before, not while Wang Fu was still alive. Chen Ren didn’t blame him for hiding, Hong Yi had already done his part with the puppets. Hiding and staying alive was smart.

They got to work checking the fallen bodies.

The scout had a good pair of daggers and a pouch full of pills, mostly healing and qi-restoring ones. The big brute, the one who died first, had a spatial ring on his finger. Chen Ren added it to the others he had taken from the earlier fight. His collection was growing quickly.

Wang Fu, though, had nothing left.

The acid had melted through most of his things. His robes were burned, and even his rings were damaged beyond use. Chen Ren stared at the remains for a moment before dragging his body over to the others. He’d burn all of them before they left this place.

With the looting done, Chen Ren finally let himself rest. He sat on a flat piece of stone while Hong Yi crouched over the broken puppets nearby, eyes shining with excitement.

He turned each piece over carefully, muttering to himself, picking apart wires and pieces of core mechanisms. Chen Ren watched him for a while and smiled. For Hong Yi, this trip might’ve been worth it just for the puppets alone.

Earlier, he had been pale with fear, too shaken by Wang Fu’s power to even move. Even after the battle ended, he had wanted to leave right away. But now, surrounded by scrap parts and broken joints, he had completely forgotten all of that.

Chen Ren looked away, just in time to hear soft footsteps coming from the entrance.

He tensed, hand moving toward his belt, but relaxed as he saw who it was.

Anji.

She looked just as tense as he had been. But the moment she spotted him — and the bodies in the corner of the chamber, her whole body eased. She rushed over.

“What happened?” she asked quickly. “I couldn’t hear anything. When Yalan stopped sending messages, I thought something happened to all of you. I was scared…”

Chen Ren raised a hand to calm her. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I should’ve come for you right after the fight. But I was exhausted — we had to loot the bodies, and then I had to sit down for a while.”

He looked over to where Yalan was still resting.

“She passed out after killing Wang Fu,” he said. “Used everything she had left.”

Anji’s expression changed the moment she heard his words, flickers of anger, relief, and joy all rushing across her face in the span of seconds. She gave a single glance to Yalan.

“Is he really dead?” she asked, moving closer.

Chen Ren nodded. “He’s dead. But… there are things you should know.”

He turned and gestured for her to follow. They walked slowly toward the far corner, where the bodies had been laid together. As they neared, Anji’s eyes locked onto one of them, Wang Fu.

Her steps slowed. Her gaze turned sharp, almost burning with hate. But then… confusion crept in.

She stepped closer, brows furrowing. “What’s wrong with his skin?”

Even in death, Wang Fu’s body looked monstrous. His skin was ashen and cracked, with dark, pulsing veins crawling across his arms and neck. His features hadn’t returned to normal. He still looked like something from the depths of hell.

Chen Ren didn’t answer at first. He just stared down at the corpse.

“He was a demonic cultivator,” he finally said.

Anji froze. “What?”

“You didn’t know?” he asked, watching her reaction carefully.

She shook her head, shocked. “No. Never. He was cruel, yes. Arrogant. A bastard I dreamed of ripping apart—but he never showed even a sign of being a demonic cultivator. Not once, during his time in the Void Blade Sect.”

Chen Ren frowned, his thoughts racing. That didn’t make sense.

He had assumed Wang Fu had been hiding it all along—maybe using a special artifact to cover his dantian. But then he remembered: Anji’s father had interrogated Wang Fu himself. A meridian expansion realm expert. No way he’d let someone wear a cover like that during questioning.

So… if he hadn’t been a demonic cultivator then, he must’ve changed after the sect war. His teammates hadn’t known. That much was clear by their behavior.

Why would a man like him willingly become a demonic cultivator? Chen Ren’s jaw tightened. Something about this didn’t add up. It wasn’t a personal decision. It couldn’t be.

He looked back down at the body, the burnt, warped remains, and a cold thought settled in his mind.

Blazing Ember Sect.

Were they hiding demonic cultivators inside their ranks? If they were… how deep did it go? Was it just a few people? Or were the elders involved? The sect leader?

He didn’t know.

But one thing was certain, he didn’t want to be standing around here when those answers came looking for him. He took a breath and turned back to Anji. “We shouldn’t stay here too long. I doubt reinforcements are coming, but I don’t want to take chances.”

Anji nodded. “Did you look at the vault door yet?”

“I did,” Chen Ren said. “But the runes are too complex for me. Even the Blazing Ember Sect cultivators couldn’t figure it out, and one of them had to be trained in arrays. If they couldn’t do it, I knew I had to wait for you.”

He looked at her carefully.

“Can you open that door?”

Anji gave a short nod. “Should we wait for Yalan?”

“I’ll go wake her,” Chen Ren said. “She can rest more in the carriage.”

Anji turned toward the vault door while Chen Ren walked over to Yalan. She was still curled up, breathing slow and even. Her body had healed, and she looked peaceful now—too peaceful for what they’d just been through.

For a second, he hesitated. He didn’t want to disturb her. But they didn’t have time.

He leaned down and gave her a gentle shake. “Yalan,” he said softly. “Time to wake up.”

She stirred, ears twitching, then slowly blinked her eyes open. Alertness returned in an instant, her body tensing.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Chen Ren said, giving a small smile. “We’re just opening the vault. Thought I should wake you. I don’t want to stay here much longer.”

Yalan stared at him for a moment, like she was trying to piece something together. Then it clicked. Her eyes moved past him to the massive door at the back of the chamber. She stood in one smooth motion, giving a quick look around.

“Let’s go,” she said.

They walked over together. Hong Yi was already standing beside Anji near the vault. When he saw them approach, he turned, looking eager.

“We need to dismantle the puppets,” he said quickly. “And any others we find.”

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“They’re made of spirit wood. The inner circuits too. All high-grade craftsmanship. I’ve never seen something like this up close before. I’m still studying it,” Hong Yi said, eyes bright. “We can use the materials. We just can’t carry the whole body back without drawing attention.”

He held up a damaged part, wires exposed and shimmering faintly.

“I can try to make something similar. But we’ll need the parts.”

Chen Ren considered it. They didn’t have spatial rings big enough to carry those things out whole, and if the designs really were rare…

“Alright,” he said. “We won’t waste good materials. Just be quick. I’ll check the library and the rest of the place while you do it.”

Hong Yi nodded at once and ran off toward the nearest puppet remains. Yalan crossed her arms and looked at the vault. “Then you should hurry up with the vault,” she said.

Chen Ren nodded and turned to Anji, who stood quietly in front of the massive vault door, her eyes fixed on the glowing orb etched at its center. He watched her for a moment, unsure. There was no keyhole. No slot. Nothing that looked like it could open a door.

Can she even open this thing?

A small part of him whispered doubt, that maybe pressing the wrong thing would trigger a trap or some self-destruct mechanism. But he pushed the thought aside. He had trusted her this far. He would keep trusting her now.

Then, without a word, Anji pulled a small knife from her belt and sliced a shallow cut across her finger.

Chen Ren immediately straightened. “What are you doing?”

Anji didn’t flinch. She held her bleeding finger over the orb. A single drop of blood fell and touched the surface. The orb pulsed, faint light running through its lines.

“The orb reacts to a special component,” she said with a sigh. “It’s used as a key. The only way to activate it is to mix the component into your blood. It changes it slightly, making your body the key. No side effects, but it’s permanent.”

She glanced at him briefly.

“My father gave me the component when he told me about this place. He made me drink it.”

Chen Ren wanted to ask more. What component? How did it work? But before he could open his mouth, the runes on the vault flared to life. A low hum echoed through the stone walls. Gears shifted deep within.

Then… the door began to open. Stone grinding on stone. It grated. Chen Ren stepped back, watching it rise, the light from the orb reflecting off the chamber walls. He felt his heart tighten. His chest heaved up and down with expectation—and hope.

This was it. Whatever the Void Blade Sect had left behind, this was their final treasure, their secret, their legacy. The door lifted fully with a final thunk.

And the first thing he saw inside… Was a severed head.

Chen Ren widened his eyes and heard Hong Yi’s gasp from behind.

***

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110. Getting head

Chen Ren had expected a lot of things to be in the vault.

With everything he’d read and the boundless greed that pulsed in his soul—his Dao of Money—his imagination had gone wild. He’d imagined and hoped for ancient manuals, floating swords forged in the era of celestial warlords, maybe even a blade once wielded by a nascent stage cultivator with a kill count high enough to earn a seat in hell.

And maybe those things were here. At the back of the vault, among scattered piles of gold coins, there were weapons and scrolls—items that radiated a faint pressure even from a distance. But Chen Ren barely spared them a glance.

Because in the center of the vault, resting on a black stone pedestal, was a severed head. Its eyes were closed. Its hair was long and unmoving. It sat upright.

Chen Ren stopped walking.

His thoughts, his greed, his expectations—everything screeched to a halt as his eyes locked onto that single grotesque object.

“What’s a severed head doing here?” he asked aloud, reading the question everyone had on their faces and breaking the awkward silence. He turned toward Anji. “Is that the inheritance? I didn’t know the Void Blade Sect practiced necromancy… or whatever this is.”

Anji frowned. “No. My father never mentioned anything like this. If I knew, I would’ve warned you.” She stared at the head and grimaced. “It’s gross.”

“At least it’s not bleeding,” Hong Yi offered dryly. “Could it be some sort of final guardian?”

Yalan scoffed and flexed her paws. “I’d love to see a head try to fight me.”

Chen Ren stepped forward, keeping his eyes on the head.

“Careful,” Anji warned.

“I am being careful,” Chen Ren replied. “But we need to figure out what this is. A severed head sitting in the middle of a treasure vault makes no sense unless there’s a reason. I don’t think it’s just a corpse.”

“You think it’s alive?” Hong Yi asked and squinted his eyes, probably seeing if there was any sort of movement.

“Well, I’m guessing. But it’s either alive or an artifact. It looks too fresh to just be a decoration. And honestly, if it's an artifact that shoots energy beams at enemies, I won't complain. But for now, I'm tipping toward it being alive.”

He turned to Yalan. “Can you check if it has a soul?”

Yalan nodded. “Sure, but I doubt a severed head can store—” She stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes widened just slightly, lips parting—but no sound came out.

That was enough of an answer.

Chen Ren instinctively took a step back, a shiver crawling up his spine. First, a demonic cultivator. Now, a living severed head. It was like the heavens themselves were trying to mess with him.

Yalan exhaled slowly. “It’s alive.”

“I was afraid of that,” Chen Ren muttered.

“I don’t know how,” she continued. “I’ve never seen a soul gathered on top of someone’s head instead of their chest. But it’s there. Weak. Broken into pieces. One fragment’s keeping him alive… the rest must be tied into some kind of soul-binding technique. Maybe more than one.”

At her words, the atmosphere inside the vault shifted. Hong Yi looked visibly uncomfortable, like he was ready to bolt for the exit. Anji too seemed on edge, though she clenched her fists, reminding herself of why they were here.

Chen Ren shared their unease, but he forced himself to stay calm. If he wavered, they all would. He was their leader now—by choice and circumstances—and it was his job to make decisions.

“Can he be dangerous?” he asked Yalan, not moving his eyes off the head.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Most cultivation techniques require a full body. He’s missing… well, everything below the neck. At most, he might be able to use a utility technique through his eyes. A glare, maybe, or soul pressure if he’s got something really weird. But I don’t feel any cultivation. No dantian, no flow. He can’t gather qi. So we’re safe.”

Chen Ren nodded, relieved that they weren’t about to start another fight. “Good. One cursed freak per day is enough.”

Then he turned to the others and clapped his hands once. “Alright, the head’s sleeping. Let’s not disturb him. Yalan, Hong Yi—help me loot the vault. There’s a lot at the back, and I’m not leaving empty-handed.”

He pulled out two small spatial rings, tossing one to each of them. “Found these on the Blazing Ember Sect cultivators. They're reset after death, so I’ve already emptied them. Should be good to use.”

Finally, he looked at Anji. “You focus on finding the inheritance while I get everything out, okay?”

Anji nodded, and Chen Ren found himself quietly relieved. Nothing had changed in their agreement. She would get the inheritance, and he would get everything else. He was curious about what exactly that inheritance was, of course, but he knew he’d find out soon enough. Being here meant he would witness it anyway.

They moved deeper into the vault, and for a brief moment, Chen Ren simply stood there—taking it all in. Gold coins. A sea of them.

The empire had stopped using them as official currency generations ago. But the gold market still burned hot among rogue sects, merchants, and traveling cultivators. To them, gold was weight, certainty, and value. And now, he had a treasure trove of it. Enough to buy a city, maybe even a small noble house’s loyalty.

Still, as tempting as it was, his gaze moved on.

His eyes drifted to the rack of weapons lining the wall. Axes, spears, swords, curved blades, glaives—they all radiated faint spiritual pressure. Some were clean and gleaming, others dusted with time. Spirit artifacts, without a doubt. And judging by the craftsmanship, inlaid runes, and reinforced cores, more than a few of them were likely Earth-grade.

He let out a low whistle. Then he looked at the manuals.

Scrolls and books stacked neatly in iron-crate shelves—most bearing the crest of the Void Blade Sect. Technique names jumped out at him as he picked them up: [Void Displacement], [Blade of the Empty Heavens], [Void of a Thousand Nights]. They read like core techniques. Sect secrets, no doubt. He almost felt guilty for taking them. Almost.

But the sect was gone. The legacy was shattered. If no one claimed these, they would rot here in silence. Better to let them breathe through new wielders. Even if his sect didn't have void element cultivators, Yalan might be able to help modify them. Or he could trade them.

Knowledge, after all, was currency too.

To his side, Hong Yi was bent over a container filled with dark metals that shimmered faintly under the vault’s light. They looked like obsidian—but not quite. They had a silvery gleam running beneath the black, like frozen moonlight embedded in stone.

Rare metals. Valuable. Probably rare materials for Earth grade spirit weapons.

Yalan was busy too, crouched beside a shelf of pill pouches and dried herbs. She picked through them with a discerning eye and wary paws. Chen Ren noticed none of them had decayed. Preservation arrays, clearly. Some ancient formations had been working silently for centuries… all in their favor.

He moved to another shelf and kept sorting: dried beast meat—possibly from spiritual beasts, old armor pieces that still shimmered faintly with enchantment, another pile of techniques, and then—Spatial rings.

A full box of them.

His breath caught as he picked through them, and then his fingers paused on one in particular. Simple in design, no ornamentation—but when he probed it with his qi, it felt… endless. Like looking into the sky at night. The space inside was massive, far beyond what the rings he had allowed. A Sky-grade storage ring. Empty. Untouched.

His hands trembled slightly as he slid it on. With care, he filled it with his qi to bind it, then began transferring nearby items into the ring one by one, testing to make sure it held.

Hong Yi and Yalan noticed. They turned, watching him with raised brows, and Chen Ren smiled. He pulled out two more large rings and tossed them their way. “Here. Use these. They’re bigger. Let’s split the haul—better than putting everything in one place.”

Hong Yi caught his ring and stared at it like it was a divine artifact. “By the heavens…” he murmured, eyes wide with childlike glee. “This alone could make me a guest elder in half the empire. It’s Earth grade.”

Yalan gave hers a once-over and nodded approvingly.

And for a moment, despite the eerie presence of the head behind them and the silence of a long-dead sect, the vault felt like a dream come true.

Anji’s voice broke the quiet hum of looting.

“I think I need some help.”

Chen Ren turned immediately, dusting his hands as he walked over to her. “What happened? I thought you were looking for your inheritance.”

“I am,” she said, looking around with a furrowed brow. “That’s the thing. I’ve searched everywhere. It’s not here.”

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean not here? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know,” Anji replied, a hint of frustration creeping into her voice. “But I’ve gone through every section—behind the weapon racks, near the pedestals, even under the coin piles. There’s no sign of it. Nothing remotely like an inheritance.”

That was when Hong Yi approached, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’re supposed to be looking for a glowing stone,” he said. “It’s called an inheritance crystal. Should look like a chunk of soul jade, kind of. When you touch it, all the knowledge and techniques stored inside pour straight into your mind. That’s how I got my puppet master legacy.”

Anji shook her head. “There’s nothing like that here. No glowing stones, no soul jades, no hidden compartments. I checked everything twice.”

Chen Ren frowned, glancing around the room. Despite all the treasure, despite all the artifacts, manuals, and rings—they hadn’t seen anything like a crystal. And in his own thorough search, he would have noticed something that obvious.

“Could it be somewhere else?” he asked, thinking aloud. “Maybe this room’s a decoy? A distraction, meant to make any intruders focus here while the real inheritance is hidden deeper in the vault?”

Anji looked uncertain, but shook her head slowly. “No. It can’t be that. My father was very clear. The inheritance was sealed in the main vault. This is the only chamber that fits the description. If it exists—it should be right here.”

Footsteps echoed softly on the stone as Yalan approached, her tail swaying behind her. She had just finished clearing out an entire section of the vault, and the spatial ring gleamed faintly where she had fitted it to the tip of her tail—It looked cute, Chen Ren had to admit.

“What’s this inheritance about?” she asked, pausing beside them. When no one spoke, she added, “If we know what it is exactly, we might have better luck locating it. Anji, by now you should trust us. We’re bound by oath. None of us are going to steal it from you.”

Anji seemed hesitant at first, her eyes distant, as though weighing the weight of the truth against the silence she’d carried for a long time. Then, slowly, she let out a breath.

“It’s an inheritance related to soul cultivation,” she said quietly. “A way to reach immortality… not through the nine realms of cultivation, but by growing the soul itself. Strengthening it, refining it—until it becomes undying.”

She looked at each of them as she spoke, like she was letting go of a truth held alone forever. Chen Ren had never heard of anything like that before. Cultivation, as he understood it, was rooted in the body. In dantian, meridians, the manipulation of qi, the pursuit of realms like foundation establishment, core formation, domain manifestation—and so on. The soul? It was part of the package, sure, but no one trained it.

He turned to glance at Hong Yi and Yalan, and their reactions told him just how serious this was. Hong Yi was staring at Anji like he had never truly seen her before. His usual aloofness vanished, replaced by something close to awe.

And Yalan—stoic, cynical Yalan—had gone still. Her tail flicked once, the fur along her spine raised. Her eyes were wide. It wasn’t often that something shocked her.

Chen Ren frowned, curiosity piqued. “Okay… but what is soul cultivation? I’ve never even heard of it.”

Before Yalan could answer, Hong Yi spoke up. Even his voice was low, as if something had spooked him. “It’s supposed to be a legend. About a cultivator who couldn’t progress past qi refinement realm. Too untalented. But instead of giving up, he found a way to bypass it. To cultivate his soul directly. Said he entered something called the soul realm. But most people think it’s nonsense—because no one’s ever proven its existence.”

“It’s not a myth,” Anji said, shaking her head. “It’s real. My sect is proof of it. Every Void Blade Sect leader practiced soul cultivation. It amplified their strength far beyond what their realm suggested. They could tear through cultivators in higher stages without breaking a sweat.”

“But that’s impossible,” Hong Yi said, brows furrowed. “If that were real, it would’ve spread—”

“It does exist,” Yalan cut in firmly.

Both men turned to look at her. Hong Yi blinked. “It… does?”

She nodded. “I can see souls. Not naturally—it’s a technique I learned a long time ago. I won’t go into how I got it, but the manual itself said the technique originated from a school of soul cultivation. One of the earliest ever recorded.”

She paused, something like regret passing across her face.

“Unfortunately, I was never able to find more on it. No follow-ups, no lineage, no other manuals… Until today.”

Everyone turned toward Anji again.

She nodded slowly. “The Void Blade Sect was one of the first sects to research soul cultivation after it began spreading in whispers. It started with our founder, centuries ago. But the truth of it—how to use it, what it really meant—was never shared widely. Only the sect leader was allowed to gain the knowledge of it. Even then, not every leader succeeded.”

Chen Ren tilted his head. “Why? What makes it so hard to learn?” Anji met his eyes. “Because you need a very strong soul to cultivate it. If your soul isn’t stable—if there are fractures, or weaknesses—it’ll collapse. You could end up crippled, or worse. Cultivation realms doesn’t matter. A core formation expert could fail just as easily as a foundation establishment one.”

She looked down briefly, her voice softening.

“Even my father… he only managed to learn one or two techniques. And he was the strongest man I’ve ever known.”

As Anji finished speaking, something clicked in Chen Ren’s mind.

He replayed her words, her story—what little she’d told him before. About being chosen as the next heir to the Void Blade Sect. About being adopted by the sect leader despite being a mortal at the time. That wasn’t normal. Not in a world ruled by bloodlines and cultivation potential. There could only be one explanation now.

“I’m guessing,” Chen Ren said slowly, “soul cultivation can be used even by mortals.”

Anji glanced at him, a little surprised. Then she gave a slow nod. “Yes. Everyone has a soul. That’s all it needs. Having cultivation helps—mostly for perception and stability—but in the end, it’s about the soul. Nothing else.”

Chen Ren hummed, thoughts racing. So that’s why. Her father must have seen something. Her soul… it must be strong. Strong enough to risk giving her a legacy that they had hidden for so long.

He looked at her with a new sense of respect. But for now, admiration could wait. They still hadn’t found the inheritance. And yet, now that he knew what they were looking for, where to look became obvious.

His gaze shifted to the middle of the room.

The severed head still sat on its pedestal. But Yalan had sensed it—there was still soul inside. And she was already staring at it again. Their eyes met.

No words were needed. They both turned to Anji.

“We need to try the head,” Chen Ren said.

Anji blinked. “The… head?”

He nodded. “If the inheritance is about soul cultivation—and that thing is still alive, soul intact—then he would know. His soul is fractured, but it’s still bound to the body. There’s a reason he’s still here. A reason he was placed in the vault, surrounded by all this.”

Yalan hummed, tail flicking behind her. “It lines up. The soul isn’t natural—it’s suppressed in the top of his head. Someone left it here for a purpose.”

Anji looked at the head, clearly uncomfortable. “So… you want to wake it up?”

“I don’t think he’s dangerous,” Chen Ren said. “If it was dangerous, we would have realised it. He’s just a head in the end. We’re not trying to fight him, just… speak. Try to find out what he knows.”

Anji took a breath, still clearly uneasy with the idea. “And how do we… wake up a severed head?”

***

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111. How to talk to a head 101

Waking up a severed head wasn’t exactly something that was on Chen Ren’s portfolio.

He’d picked up a lot of strange skills since arriving in this world—talisman, formations, alchemy, the art of dealing with young masters—but "head reanimation" hadn’t made the list. Still, one more skill in his ever-growing portfolio couldn’t hurt.

The only problem was… there was no instruction manual. No hidden switch. No whispered incantation to bring the sleeping thing to life.

Just a silent vault and a waiting head.

For the next ten minutes, they scoured the room again, looking for any clue that might help them. But finally, it was Chen Ren who spotted it. A faint shimmer in the stone. Right beneath the thick shadow of the pedestal.

He crouched and brushed his fingers across the platform’s edge. There—etched in fine, ancient lines—was a small runic array. Barely the size of his palm. It had no glow, no pulsing life. It looked dead, but he was sure it wasn’t broken.

More importantly, it wasn’t drawing on ambient qi. Which meant it needed to be activated manually.

So that’s it, he thought, squinting at it. A dormant trigger array. Push qi in, and it lights up?

He didn’t know if it would wake the head. But with the way it was positioned, and the lack of any other mechanisms in sight—it was the best guess he had.

“I think I found something,” he called out. The others quickly gathered, crowding around the podium. Chen Ren explained his theory, pointing to the array.

They didn’t waste time overthinking it. A quick plan was formed, Yalan would prepare an attack, just in case things went sideways. If the head woke up and started casting curses or screaming in demonic tongues—they'd vaporize it before the situation could escalate. It should work.

Yalan nodded and stepped back. Fire gathered, swirling into a crackling orb—twice the size of a football and burning hotter than any furnace on her tail. It was ready.

Chen Ren crouched once more. “Here goes nothing.”

He placed his hand over the array and let his qi flow.

The rune lines responded slowly—sluggish, like someone waking from a hundred-year nap. But they drank in his qi greedily. Far more than he expected. He narrowed his eyes, adjusting the pressure, feeding more in with careful control.

Behind him, he could feel the temperature rise. It was Yalan’s tail and the flickering ball of fire, pressed against the still air.

Chen Ren ignored the searing heat and focused on pushing more qi.

Should be a little more… he continued until there was a click in the air. It was so faint that he almost missed it. But he knew he activated the array.

He immediately pulled his hand back and watched. His eyes squinted to see any movement. And for a few pregnant seconds, there was nothing. Not even a hum of energy.

Maybe it don't work like—

Before he could finish thinking, the runes flared! It was so sudden and so sharp, that he had to take more steps backwards that his back hit the wall.

His eyes went to the lighting on the base of the pedestal that glowed a dull crimson.

And slowly… the head stirred.

“That’s scary,” Hong Yi muttered under his breath but it was audible to everyone.

“Is it going to be okay?” Anji asked, following up.

Chen Ren didn’t take his eyes off the head. He was already spooked with the head's presence, and he honestly didn’t know the answer to that question.

“We can just hope,” he said quietly.

For a few long moments, nothing happened.

The crimson light pulsed gently under the severed head, but it didn’t move again. No change, no breath, no twitch. He began to wonder if they had only half-awakened it—if the soul within was trapped deeper, buried in a coma, and they needed something more to stir it fully.

Then, just as he leaned forward slightly to check the runes again, he saw it. There was a twitch—barely perceptible—beneath the eye.

And then, slowly, the lids opened.

Golden irises peered up at him.

Chen Ren blinked, startled for just a heartbeat. They all stood in silence, giving the being time to acclimate.

The head’s eyes flicked about the vault, scanning the walls, the chamber behind the vault door… but always returned to their group. And specifically, to the massive fireball swirling just above Yalan’s tail.

Chen Ren briefly debated whether to speak first, but before he could open his mouth, the head beat him to it.

“What’s going on here?” the man rasped, his voice cracked and old—like parchment catching flame. “And who are you sorry lots?”

Chen Ren straightened. “My name is Chen Ren.”

The head stared at him for a moment, then muttered, “A Chen? I only knew one Chen in my life, and he sure as hell didn’t belong to the glorious Void Blade Sect.” His gaze narrowed, scanning them more intently now. “None of you carry void-aspected dantian signatures either. Not a trace. Who are you really?”

He sounded less curious than disturbed. Unsettled by their presence. But to Chen Ren, those words revealed more than intended.

He’s related to Void Blade Sect, Chen Ren realized. And he can sense our cores. That means… he still has some cultivation. Even now. Even like this.

The head scowled. “You’re all grave robbers, aren’t you? Come to take a look at my grave to see if there's any treasures here. Let me tell you, there’s nothing you’ll get out of this. Not a scrap. Not even a sliver of jade!”

Chen Ren tensed slightly, but held his ground.

“And another thing—how the hell did you survive the [Pulverizing Array?] I set that thing to reduce any intruders to molten ash. Even that cat there—” He jerked his gaze toward Yalan, who did not look amused. “—who might be somewhat decent, compared to you, sorry lots. Two weak cultivators… and a mortal slave? Really?”

Anji’s jaw clenched. Yalan’s fireball burned just a shade hotter.

“I’m no slave,” Anji snapped, her voice came out sharp. “And what grave are you even talking about?”

The head blinked, then answered plainly, “My grave.”

His golden eyes swept the room again, slower this time, more searching. Then his brows furrowed.

“…Wait,” he muttered. “This… this isn’t my grave. Where am I?”

Chen Ren let out a breath through his nose. Great. So much for thinking that it was a wise soul here to pass on knowledge. This was turning into something far messier.

He took a step forward. “You’re in the sect vault of the Void Blade Sect. I’m Chen Ren, sect leader of the Divine Coin Sect.”

He gestured behind him. “That’s Hong Yi. Yalan. And this is Anji—daughter of the previous sect leader of Void Blade Sect.”

The head’s gaze snapped back to her. “That can’t be. She’s mortal.”

“I was adopted,” Anji said coolly, chin lifted.

“That still doesn’t make sense,” the head muttered, but didn’t argue further. His eyes narrowed instead. “You said… sect vault? What vault? There was no sect vault when I went to sleep. What the fuck is going on here?”

Chen Ren rubbed his temple, then gestured vaguely. “Hell if I know.”

The head grimaced, muttering something under his breath. Then his voice rose again. “Get me Wang De. He’ll have answers. Tell him to come here immediately. I don’t know what that fool’s doing stepping down from the sect leader position.”

Anji blinked. “That’s… that’s not the name of my father.”

The head turned sharply to her. “It’s not?”

“No,” she said, slower now. “That’s the name of our founder. Wang De established the Void Blade Sect centuries ago. He… he perished two hundred years back.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, at the exact same moment:

“Perished?” the head said.

Another loud silence passed over them. The runes under the pedestal dimmed, but the tension between those present only thickened. And for a long moment that followed, the head didn’t speak.

His eyes no longer darted around—they were distant now. He looked deep in thought. The kind of stunned, hollow silence that only came from the slow collapse of everything you believed.

Chen Ren turned his head slightly, looking at Yalan. She looked back at him, ears drawn slightly down, tail coiled low in uncertainty.

For once, she had no answers either.

“What… are we dealing with?” Chen Ren murmured.

Yalan didn’t reply.

Chen Ren rubbed a hand over his own forehead, a dull throb forming at his temples. This is a mess. Whatever this man had been, whatever he still was, they were never going to understand anything if they didn’t even know who he was.

And there was only one way to understand. He stepped closer. “Can you introduce yourself to us? And… if you remember it, the year in which you put yourself in that grave.”

The head didn’t reply immediately. It was almost as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

“You’re standing before me, seeing my face, hearing my voice… and you don’t know my name.” He gave a dry laugh. “That’s all the confirmation I need that something terrible has gone wrong.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “Very well. I am Wang Jun, cultivator of the domain manifestation realm, one of the founding members of the Void Blade Sect. Keeper of the [Void Marching Scroll], Defender of the Thirteen Peaks, and bearer of the soul-severance technique [Silent Crossing].”

He paused, then added, “There are more titles, obviously. But I think that’s enough for you to recognize me.”

Chen Ren didn’t recognize any of them. Not one. He looked at others, Hong Yi’s brow was furrowed deep, Yalan was still, her lips pressed into a thin line. And Anji… she looked pale.

“I made my grave in the year 772 of the New Era,” the head added. “I went into dormancy voluntarily, with the sect’s blessing.”

Chen Ren felt the confirmation hit like a stone. It was Year 1978 of the New Era right now.

He’s ancient. He was likely older than most cities still standing today. And domain manifestation? That was one step below the legends. One breath away from breaking into the mythic nascent soul realm—something the world had not seen in centuries.

And yet… no one here had ever heard of him.

Before Chen Ren could speak, Hong Yi stepped forward. “I’ve never heard of any of those titles. Or your name. Not in any scroll, sect record, or historical archive.”

Wang Jun blinked. “What?”

Anji nodded slowly. “Same for me. I’ve lived my whole life inside the Void Blade Sect. I’ve studied our history, read every book I could find. We only have one founder. Wang De. Your… brother, if what you said earlier is true. But you? There’s no mention of you. Anywhere.”

The old cultivator’s mouth fell slightly open. Then closed. He stared past them for a long moment. His voice, when it came again, was quiet.

“…They erased me.”

The words came out painful. His voice became low and his eyes went to the ground.

“I was written out.”

Chen Ren felt the weight of it settle in his gut. A cultivator of domain manifestation, one of the founders of a sect, a man who’d created his own grave to preserve himself… gone from history.

And they had no idea why.

Chen Ren gave the old man a final, steady nod. “This is the year 1978 of the New Era. The Kalian Empire rules most of the known world now. Most sects—those that still exist—have been forced into a subordinate relationship with it.”

The head—Wang Jun —stared at him blankly at first. Then his brows creased.

“Kalian… Empire,” he echoed softly. “I’ve heard that name before. Back in my time, it was nothing more than a growing border city. Ambitious, sure, but small. It became an empire?”

Chen Ren nodded. The head didn’t speak again. His golden eyes drifted off, unfocused now, staring at the far wall as if trying to look through it—through stone, time, and memory. Slowly, his lids closed. Then opened. Then closed again.

Chen Ren didn’t interrupt. None of them did.

They all watched in silence as the ancient cultivator processed the truth, the passage of time had not only changed everything—it had erased everything. His titles. His deeds. His name. And still, none of them had the heart to tell him the Void Blade Sect was gone.

That was a truth for later. Chen Ren inhaled quietly, his thoughts drifting again—this time to something else entirely.

How was this man still alive? He was literally speaking, thinking and conscious. That shouldn’t have been possible.

From the way he spoke, it was clear he’d intentionally put himself into this state. A severed head resting on a podium in the middle of a vault. Was it a kind of preservation? A ritual? Or something tied to soul cultivation? But… What was the plan? Would he regrow a body? Could he?

Chen Ren frowned, imagining the man’s flesh twisting and extending, bones snapping into place as a torso reformed from pure soul energy. The image was so grotesque he had to shake his head. And then, his mind drifted elsewhere.

The spectre that followed Gu Tian…

He still didn’t know the full story. But he could guess. That spectre hadn’t been bound—it had chosen to follow Gu Tian. It had watched, taught, and protected. For what? Perhaps for a future promise.

Maybe, Chen Ren thought, the spectre had hoped Gu Tian would one day craft it a body. Restore it. Give it flesh again.

And maybe… He looked at Wang Jun . Maybe the head was no different.

If this was soul cultivation… then how powerful did your soul need to be to survive like this? It was obvious that Wang Jun had no qi. Only sheer will—and some technique Chen Ren couldn't comprehend.

And that… was terrifying.

Just as Chen Ren was lost in thought—half in theory, half in dread—the golden eyes of the severed head suddenly snapped open.

“THAT FUCKING SNAKE-HEARTED PIECE OF ROTTING DOG SHIT!”

The vault echoed.

Everyone jerked in surprise as Wang Jun exploded in a storm of curses. Spittle didn’t fly—Chen Ren didn't know if the head produced saliva—but the force behind his words felt like spiritual pressure all on its own.

“Demon-spawned mole-eyed jelly spined lich! Half-blooded turd maggot! Lying green-gilled pig-hearted wretch!”

Chen Ren blinked. Half of those insults didn’t even make sense, and he was fairly sure one of them might have been a spell incantation disguised as an insult.

Yalan lowered her fireball slowly, brows furrowed. “Is… he okay?”

“No idea,” Chen Ren muttered. “Let’s give him a minute.”

And sure enough, after one final muttered, “toad-eating, scroll-forging charlatan,” the head finally said something coherent.

“That bastard Wang De.”

The name dropped like a stone.

“My brother,” the head growled. “He betrayed me. I knew he was jealous—everyone was—but I never expected that short, gremlin-looking bastard to do this.”

He turned his eyes sharply to Anji. “How did he die?”

She blinked. “What?”

“My brother,” the head snarled. “How did that bastard die?”

Anji glanced nervously at the others, then answered, “According to sect records… he died valiantly. Fighting off dozens of demonic cultivators. He gave his life defending the sect.”

A silence stretched. And then Wang Jun laughed. It wasn’t a happy laugh. It was dry, sharp and bitter. And loud.

He scoffed in the end. “Yeah, sure. The man who wouldn’t even spar me properly without hiding behind his bodyguards took on a dozen demonic cultivators? What next—he flew into the heavens and became a star?” He scoffed. “I’m pretty sure one of his devoted lackeys wrote that tale after his death. Probably to polish the turd and make him look like a legend.”

Anji scowled. “That can’t be true.”

“Propaganda,” the head said firmly. “I’m sure you understand that word. Sect records aren’t holy writ—they’re political tools. No sect ever records its founder dying badly, even if they pissed themselves and ran straight into a pit.”

Chen Ren gave a thoughtful nod. “That… does sound like something a lot of sects would do, honestly.”

And now that the shock was wearing off, he could see the edges of truth in the head’s words. If Wang Jun was right—if he had been erased from history—then maybe Wang De hadn’t died a hero. Maybe he’d just made sure no one would ever know there was someone greater.

Chen Ren didn’t blame the man for being furious. If someone had stolen his work, his achievements, his legacy… he’d be breathing fire too.

But still—

“Look,” Chen Ren said, raising a hand calmly. “I get that you’re angry. Maybe you’re right. Maybe you were betrayed. But I want to understand how. What exactly happened to you and how are you even speaking right now?”

His eyes locked on the head. “Did you… choose this state? Are you alive because of soul cultivation?”

Wang Jun's golden gaze focused on him again, sharper this time. And the ancient soul that had once defied death went silent. But something in his eyes told Chen Ren,

They were finally getting to the truth.

Yalan stepped forward, tail low but alert. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied the head.

“You said this was a grave,” she said. “What exactly did you mean? Did you… cut your own head off and bury it?”

Wang Jun let out a dry chuckle. “Not quite. It’s a long story. But I can see you’re all curious, so I’ll try to explain it—briefly.” He lifted his chin slightly, regal despite his disembodied state. “I was the strongest cultivator of my time. Born into a middling clan, no legacy, no fortune. But I rose. Fast. Hit the domain manifestation realm at a record age—one hundred and sixty-nine years.”

He paused.

“They called me Heaven’s Child.”

Hong Yi made a sound between a cough and a groan. “I don’t think the question required bragging.”

“I’m coming to it,” Wang Jun snapped, annoyed. Then he continued, undeterred. “The point is—I hit the bottleneck early. Too early. There was no path to the nascent soul realm. Not anymore. No manuals, no teachers. The old world was ash, and I was stuck. Worse, I had already mastered everything available to me. Techniques, arts, domains—nothing pushed me forward.” He exhaled softly. “So I turned to soul cultivation.”

That caught everyone’s attention again.

“In one of my expeditions,” he said, “I found fragments of a lost legacy. Manuals. Incomplete, scattered, but enough. I began studying them. Practicing. And what I found… it changed everything.”

He paused.

“Soul cultivation didn’t just work with my void affinity—it enhanced it. Balanced it. I began to see things others couldn’t. Perceive more than spirit and flesh.”

He looked at each of them in turn. “Years turned to decades. Then centuries. Eventually, my brother and I created the Void Blade Sect. I shared what I’d learned with him. I wanted him to rise with me.”

Chen Ren raised a brow. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re just a head.”

Wang Jun went quiet for a beat.

“Because the world was too jealous of me.”

The bitterness in his voice was thick.

“I had both. Soul cultivation and body cultivation. I was already stronger than anyone alive. And that made me a target.”

His eyes gleamed with quiet fury.

“People fear what they can’t match. And so they plot. A group of domain manifestation cultivators—six of them—ambushed me. I killed two. The others… they destroyed most of my body. Nearly ended me.”

Wang Jun paused, the fire in his golden eyes dimming for just a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter—but no less intense.

“That day… I realized I wasn’t immortal after all.”

He breathed out a soundless sigh. “One of the cultivators had a poison-aspected domain. A rare one. It didn’t kill me immediately. It was worse. It rotted me. Day by day, my body began to disintegrate. My flesh… my bones… falling away.”

“So… you cut your head from your body?” Anji asked, putting two and two together.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I poured as much of my soul into it as I could. And then let the rest of my body rot away. There’s an ancient soul cultivation technique—long forbidden, of course—that preserves the soul within the last intact vessel of the body.”

His voice dropped.

“I used it. I lost everything tied to my physical cultivation. But I retained what I could of my soul strength. And I survived.”

He paused, and something softened in his eyes.

“My brother promised to look for flesh puppet techniques. A way to give me a new body. He said it might take decades. Centuries. So I told him to seal me away. Build me a resting place. A tomb. I entered hibernation… and set the deadliest arrays I could to guard me.”

His eyes moved slowly across the chamber.

“But it seems all that’s undone. My brother… he changed it. Turned my grave into a storage vault.”

His face twisted—an expression of profound disappointment. Chen Ren could understand everything now. And he calmly watched the storm of emotions swirl and harden the head's ancient face.

“So you know a good amount of soul cultivation, then. Enough to teach?”

That drew his attention.

“I dare say,” the head said proudly, “I’m one of the best living experts in the art.”

“Good,” Chen Ren said. “Then you can teach Anji.”

The head blinked. “She’s a mortal.”

Chen Ren crossed his arms. “It doesn’t matter. She’s from the Void Blade Sect.”

“Surely,” Wang Jun scoffed. “Surely there’s someone better in the sect to take as a disciple—”

“There isn’t,” Chen Ren cut in. “She’s the best they have.”

There was silence.

Wang Jun stared at them.

“Everyone else—” Chen Ren said quietly, “—alongside your sect… is dead.”

The words struck like thunder. The golden irises dilated slightly. And then—

“SON OF A SNAKE-FANGED MAGGOT-HUGGER!” the head screamed toward the ceiling, launching into another furious storm of curses so vicious the vault itself seemed to vibrate.

“FOUL-BREATHED LIZARD-SPINE! BLOOD-SOAKED TRAITOR-PISSING FUNGUS RAT!”

Chen Ren stood calmly, arms still crossed.

Yalan just sighed and flicked her tail.

Hong Yi murmured, “He’s got a creative vocabulary.”

And Anji… stood silently. Staring at the man with an unreadable expression.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

112. Looting the library

Honestly, Chen Ren had no idea what to do with the head.

Leaving a hidden vault with the severed, still-living head of a former domain manifestation realm cultivator was never on his to-do list. Yet here he was, with the thing staring at him, occasionally muttering, and holding what could very well be the true inheritance of soul cultivation. It was the kind of bizarre twist that would’ve made him laugh if it didn’t feel so damn serious.

He kept asking himself why Anji’s father had never told her about the head. But when the man in question claimed that his own brother, Wang De, the sect’s founder, had rewritten history to make himself the sole creator of the sect’s legacy… it started to make uncomfortable sense. If that was true, then not even Anji’s father had entered the vault. No one had. For centuries, all they’d done was maintain the outer array, checking it every hundred years or so, treating it more like a sacred monument than a treasure trove.

Talking to Anji afterward confirmed most of his guesses. She said the techniques they had were passed down by word of mouth, not scripture. Rumors of soul cultivation had survived, sure—but they were like smoke without fire. If someone with unfathomable soul talent had appeared, the vault would have been opened to them. But no one had. Not in generations. And so the head remained sealed and forgotten, like a locked book no one ever tried to open.

After some basic questions, Chen Ren left the head with Anji. The man didn’t seem dangerous—just confused, bitter, and tired in a way that went beyond physical exhaustion. More like a man who’d waited too long and was still unsure what to feel. He didn’t give off killing intent, that made him believe that Anji was safe. Besides, Chen Ren had other things to do.

He didn’t want to linger in the vault. The place smelled too much like secrets and dust. So he called Yalan, instructed her to burn the bodies—both the dead cultivators and the hound, then store their ashes in a pouch to scatter on their journey.

After that, they moved to the living quarters where the last two dead cultivators had fallen. Yalan burned those too, the flames rising clean and hot under her control.

Only one task remained now, moving to visit the library.

Chen Ren walked alone toward it, following Anji’s directions. He felt a slight giddy feeling in his chest at the fact that the library mattered. Maybe even more so than the treasures they had found in the vault. He just had hoped the books he needed had survived.

Anji had warned him that some of the library’s protective arrays had failed over time. Several bookshelves near the entrance had collapsed, the books upon them rotted beyond recognition. But a decent number still stood tall, untouched by decay, and Chen Ren hoped that they held the manuals he was looking for.

On the way, he peeked into the other chambers lining the corridor. One looked like an old kitchen, complete with dusty jars and long-dry storage pots. Another resembled a storeroom, shelves still stacked with dried herbs turned to powder. A few doors led to rooms so dark even his vision couldn’t pierce them, but Yalan tensed near one and quietly whispered, “Beast guardians. They’re asleep.”

Apparently, these slumbering beasts were only meant to awaken under two conditions: if someone failed to open the vault and triggered the traps—or if someone, like Chen Ren, waltzed into their den and punched them awake like he did with the puppet.

Not in the mood for another fight, he wisely left them alone. The library door creaked as he pushed it open. And what greeted him made his eyes widen.

It was massive. Not as vast as the main vault chamber, but easily half its size, with shelves towering around him. Books stretched from wall to wall, row upon row. It felt like an ocean of forgotten knowledge. A few shelves at the front and back had collapsed, and the books there were too far gone—molded and blackened by time. But most stood intact, their spines still sharp, the array glyphs faintly humming.

“We start with earth-aspected manuals and anything on beast mastery,” Chen Ren said, his voice hushed by instinct. “But we’re taking everything.”

Yalan gave a small nod. “I’d like to read some of these too.”

He raised a brow. “I’ve never seen you read.”

She snorted. “That’s because this world’s current knowledge bores me. But this…” She gestured around. “This is legacy. Established sects sometimes have tomes that can change the way you see cultivation itself.”

Chen Ren only nodded, quietly agreeing, and moved deeper into the library.

In the center, he noticed a strange shelf—different from the others. It looked reinforced and held a strange mechanism embedded into its frame. A few books lay fallen before it, untouched by mold, but he ignored it for now.

Instead, he started scanning each shelf, pulling out books to check their contents. They were well-organized. One entire shelf was a bestiary, filled with sketches and descriptions of spirit beasts—he made a mental note to pass it to Zi Wen. Another held volumes detailing the history of the Void Blade Sect, which he now suspected was at least half false, crafted by the founder’s brother to hide the truth.

Further along, he found odd collections, manuals on herb gathering, ancient recipes written in archaic script, even an entire shelf dedicated to esoteric cultivation theories. One scroll, tucked between thicker books, claimed to teach a method to cultivate while sleeping. He chuckled at that and pocketed it for later reading.

Finally, in a dusty corner of the library, he found what he had truly come for—manuals on elemental cultivation. The shelf was crammed with books bound in different colors, each marked by an element. Fire. Water. Metal. And then—there it was.

An earth cultivation manual titled [Earth Resonance].

He didn't know its grade yet, but the moment he touched it, he knew Luo Feng would lose his mind when he saw it.

There were others too—at least a dozen more on similar techniques.

Without wasting time, he pulled out one of the empty spatial rings he’d found in the vault and swept every book from the shelf inside.

He didn’t just throw all the books into the spatial ring at once. Instead, he paused, letting his fingers brush across the spines, scanning for anything he might want to read during the long carriage ride back.

It didn’t take long to find something interesting.

There was a worn manual discussing the many aspects of qi—not just elemental, but spiritual, conceptual, and emotional. It intrigued him. Then he found a slim, faded book on the nuances of tea-making and cultivation harmony. He tucked it aside, already knowing Qing He would appreciate it. But the one that truly caught his eye was a book with a dragon etched into the cover—not gold like legends often described, but crimson, coiled around the book like it was guarding the words inside.

He picked it up without thinking.

Just as he was preparing to store the rest into the ring, Yalan’s voice cut through the silence.

“What are we going to do about the head?”

Chen Ren didn’t answer right away. He glanced over at her, then let out a sigh.

“Honestly?” he said. “I wanted to just… leave him somewhere. Somewhere no one would find him.”

Yalan tilted her head. “Why?”

“Because he’s a variable,” Chen Ren replied in a whisper. “Old monsters, especially ones who lost everything, can’t be trusted. He knows his sect is gone. We’ve already killed Blazing Ember Sect cultivators, but he might want a whole crusade against them. If word spreads… I don’t want more trouble. He might be weak now—just a head with no body and no power. But variables become problems when you stop watching them.”

He paused, rubbing the back of his neck.

“But thinking more about it… I don’t think we can leave him here. Anji’s inheritance lies with him. Whatever truth about soul cultivation is probably tied to that man. And I know you’re curious too.”

Yalan exhaled. “I am. But I don’t want to risk anything.”

“Neither do I,” he said. “But… it’s like a pet you can’t abandon. Anji needs him. And I—I want to understand soul cultivation better. He might be the only source left. But the only question is…”

He trailed off, looking back toward the direction of the vault.

“…will he be an ally, or an enemy?”

Silence fell between them, broken only by the soft rustling of pages as Chen Ren pulled more books into the spatial ring. For a while, Yalan said nothing. Then, finally, her voice came soft but certain.

“I believe he can be trusted.”

Chen Ren glanced at her, his brows raised just a bit.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, “but I believe it. You’ll make sure he won’t become a threat.”

Chen Ren didn’t reply, but the grip on the dragon-covered book in his hand tightened slightly.

“He needs us,” Chen Ren said after a moment. “To build a body.”

Yalan nodded. “By his own words, he’s one of those cultivators who always wanted more—stronger realms, deeper comprehension, greater heights. He won’t be content staying as just a head. That’s our advantage.”

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed slightly in thought as she continued.

“He’s vulnerable right now. And we need his knowledge. So if we give him what he wants… he’ll give us what we need.”

“Like answers,” Chen Ren murmured. “About the medallion. The golden dragon. Everything Qing He told us. He might have some clue about it.”

“Yes,” Yalan said firmly. “He might even know about the devourers.”

That name lingered in the air for a few more seconds.

“He said he was born centuries ago. If the stories existed back then, he might have heard them before they became myths.”

Chen Ren nodded. He had thought the same thing. Deep down, he’d already accepted it—no matter how much he tried to shape his own fate, there was a larger design unfolding around him. A deeper plan. He had been so focused—building his sect, growing his businesses, training, preparing—but there was a looming shadow beyond it all. Something bigger than just him or even the sect.

The medallion. The vision. The golden dragon. And worst of all—he knew the danger was coming, but he lacked the information to face it. The head might finally fill that gap.

“If he really knows something,” Chen Ren said slowly, “then I might finally understand the threat. And start preparing for it properly.”

He turned to Yalan and let out a long breath. “So we’re taking him back to Meadow.” Then he sighed and touched his forehead. “Let’s just hope none of the kids see him. They’ll toss him around like a ball.”

Yalan chuckled. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Then her expression shifted, becoming a little more serious. “I want you to get closer to him in the carriage. Talk to him. Learn who he is. If we’re going to rebuild his body… we need to prepare.”

Chen Ren gave her a long look, then let out a low, wry laugh. “So more work for me, huh? I can’t even sleep on the carriage now.”

“You can sleep in the village,” Yalan replied smoothly. “Besides, don’t pretend. I know you’re curious. You want to learn more about him.”

Chen Ren didn’t deny it. He simply gave a small nod, looking back at the crimson dragon on the cover of the book in his hand.

“Well… yeah. I am.”

***

Li Xuan walked alone down the dirt path, the wind cold against his back, sharp enough to cut through his robes. The path ahead was empty, but his steps never quickened. His gaze kept drifting over his shoulder.

Something was following him.

It could’ve just been the wind—any normal person would’ve thought so—but Li Xuan trusted his instincts more than his senses. He had honed them too long, too carefully, to mistake the weight of a gaze for a breeze.

Still, he didn’t stop. Whatever followed him would reveal itself in time. And he didn’t have to work for it.

He walked with his spine straight and his aura sealed, but anticipation stirred in his chest—not from fear, but from excitement. Soon, he would meet the one who had unknowingly marked the end of his cultivation journey. Chen Ren.

Ashen City had given him far more than he’d expected. Ever since he saved the Zhu Clan’s young master and they took him in, his days had been full. A blur of training sessions, sparring bouts, and conversations—more than he was used to.

The girls in the clan hadn’t missed a chance to talk to him either. He hadn’t known how to handle that at first. He’d spent most of his life under strict training, sheltered and focused, so when they smiled or lingered near him, he didn't know whether to run or bow. In the end, he let them talk. Let them flirt. A cultivator, after all, was meant to experience all things—battle, spirit, hardship… and women.

But indulgence wasn’t his weakness. He wasn’t like the soft-hearted sons of nobility who fell at the first taste of wine and perfume. He trained every day, no matter the distractions. Sparred without fail. And there was no shortage of opponents in Ashen City.

The Zhu clan had no lack of fighters. Dozens had challenged him, and he’d learned from each one. When they had fallen short of expectations, he had found opponents beyond the clan. And it was Shen Bao who stood out—head of one of the more aggressive hunting groups with ruthless instincts and no hesitation. Sparring with him had left Li Xuan sore, bruised, and better.

Still, as valuable as this time had been, he knew he couldn’t stay. Chen Ren was the reason.

A name he hadn’t expected to remember, let alone pursue. A man who had risen in the chaos, not through luck, but will. There were other factors that backed him up, determination, strength, and strategy. And when Li Xuan looked at him, he didn’t see a rival anymore—he saw everything he had wanted to become.

That was the truth. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but it was clear.

He didn’t need a home, a clan, or even a city. What he needed was that one moment. That final battle. To see who he truly was, when everything was stripped away.

And so, with his sword at his back and his mind set, Li Xuan had taken off toward Meadow Village—the place where Chen Ren had founded his new sect.

He didn’t know what to expect.

A part of him imagined a fledgling sect barely held together with discipline and luck. He had tried one of their products—alcohol called moonshine they brewed and sold, apparently good enough to catch the attention of most cultivators in Ashen City. But surely that wasn’t what the sect was about. Chen Ren didn’t strike him as the kind to waste cultivation potential chasing after liquor.

Would there be powerful cultivators waiting there?

Unlikely. Most sects took decades—centuries, even—to gather real talent. Especially those built from scratch, without ancient backing or long-standing bloodlines.

As he walked, the wind stirred again, curling down his collar like a warning finger. The sense that something was following him returned, this time heavier, almost oppressive. His instincts screamed.

He spun on his heel—and landed in a ready stance just as the creature came down in front of him with a thunderous thud.

Li Xuan’s eyes narrowed.

It was a wolf—but no ordinary one. No, this one looked nothing short of a behemoth.

It stood easily a foot or two taller than any spirit beast wolf he had ever seen, its limbs coiled with lean, corded muscle. Its fur, once perhaps a dusky gray, had darkened into something far more menacing—blacker than obsidian, absorbing the light instead of reflecting it. It radiated an overwhelming pressure, and when it bared its fangs, Li Xuan caught sight of teeth like daggers—far more than a wolf should’ve had.

Every instinct told him to draw his blade. Until his gaze rose just a little higher… and he froze. A man was sitting on the beast’s back.

Li Xuan’s sword slid half out of its sheath before he raised it and pointed directly at the rider, who—judging by the relaxed posture—had no intention of hiding.

The man tilted his head, expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood. “Who are you?”

Li Xuan’s eyes narrowed. “Why should I tell you anything?” he replied coldly. “You’re just a bandit blocking a road.”

The rider laughed. “Bandit? Haven’t been called that in a while.” He leaned forward slightly, patting the beast’s thick neck. “I only asked because you’re heading toward my sect. It’s not every day someone like you strolls in. Strong. Armed. Quiet.” He gestured lazily with one hand. “State your purpose.”

Li Xuan’s grip tightened on his blade. Was this man talking about Chen Ren’s sect? A sect with beast tamers already?

That was… unexpected. Impressive, even. Still, he wasn’t one to be interrogated on the road like a criminal.

“And what if I don’t?” Li Xuan said.

“Then I’ll have to force it out of you,” the man replied, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

Li Xuan’s stance shifted slightly. “You and your pet will lose your lives.”

“Maybe,” the man said, utterly unfazed. “But who said I was alone?”

Li Xuan’s eyes flicked to the trees for a moment, sensing no other presence—but then the man spoke again, calmly.

“And even if I fall, Sect Leader Chen will take revenge. That, I promise.”

At that, Li Xuan lowered his sword. So Chen Ren already had followers willing to die for him? Li Xuan's thoughts turned thoughtful. The sect might be further ahead than he had imagined.

There was no doubt anymore—the man in front of him was one of Chen Ren's people.

Knowing he hadn’t come seeking trouble, only a match that would settle the restless fire in his chest, Li Xuan exhaled slowly and lowered his blade. The gesture made the rider raise a brow, clearly surprised.

“Sect Leader Chen?” Li Xuan asked. “You mean Chen Ren?”

“Yes… Yes, I do. You know him?”

Li Xuan nodded once. “We’ve sparred in the past. I’ve come to find him.” He stepped forward. “I’m here to challenge him to another duel.”

The man atop the beast gave a low whistle, lips quirking in amusement. “You’re the first person I’ve met on this road with a reason like that.” He leaned down slightly, studying Li Xuan more closely. “Well then… I guess you're not lost after all.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

113. Tax concessions

Chen Ren had intended to learn more about Wang Jun—the head—in the carriage, but as soon as he started asking, he realized one thing: the head never shut up.

What began as a simple question, “What was your life like before losing your body?” turned into an endless flood of life history.

From his birth as a farmer’s son, to finding a mysterious treasure hidden in the mountains that propelled him into the path of cultivation, to the chaotic clashes with young masters of more established clans (a phenomenon that seemed eternal no matter the era), Wang Jun rambled on.

He recounted his early breakthroughs, his first loves, grudges, betrayals, duels—nothing was left out.

By the end of day one, Chen Ren and the others trapped in the carriage had long since stopped trying to process the sheer volume of detail. Meanwhile, Wang Jun showed no signs of tiring. After spending so long sealed in sleep, he seemed almost manic for conversation.

Unfortunately, Chen Ren’s group bore the full brunt of that enthusiasm.

The only relief came during rest stops to eat. Amusingly, that was when Chen Ren realized Wang Jun, having no body, didn’t and couldn’t eat. Instead, he explained that his current existence was something unique—he now absorbed qi directly through his soul. It fascinated Chen Ren, though he refrained from probing further. Anything about soul cultivation was tied to Anji’s inheritance, and Chen Ren wasn’t eager to overstep. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if he could gain even a basic lesson or two from Wang Jun. Adding soul techniques to his arsenal could one day be invaluable.

Another thought had been eating at him. How strong was Wang Jun’s soul? Chen Ren’s own soul, originally from Earth, had crossed dimensions and fused with the fragments of this world’s Chen Ren. Did that make him capable of going further in soul cultivation? He was almost impatient to ask Anji if he could join her in training.

Apparently, she had already brought up the idea with Wang Jun, and the head had agreed. Chen Ren didn’t know why, but he also knew how delicate the topic was. To ask for a share in her inheritance without offering something valuable in return would be an insult.

He had already profited greatly from the Void Blade Sect’s vault. His sect might have lacked recognition, but it's treasury had elevated it to the level of ancient sects. With the books, techniques, and weapons he now possessed, Chen Ren could nurture a force of cultivators powerful enough to shake the region.

And yet, he knew such fortune came with a price. Trouble would follow him. That was certain. After all, he had robbed the treasures of another Established sect—one that would surely discover the loss of their expedition team, even if they found no trace of the culprits.

The true danger lay in the fact that they were demonic cultivators in disguise. To what degree, he couldn’t exactly say, but he wasn’t about to take chances or find out. It was only wise to prepare for retaliation, even if he was fairly confident they wouldn’t be able to trace the deed back to the Divine Coin Sect.

As Yalan had once told him, paranoia served cultivators well. Chen Ren intended to put the new treasures he had acquired to good use. If they came knocking, he would be ready. Even with the gap in strength, he believed he could overcome them.

But before that inevitable conflict, increasing his own power was the first step. The moment he returned to the sect, that would be his focus. Not only for the Blazing Ember Sect’s survival, but also to prepare for the coming winter.

What had initially been a plan to test his firearms in the wilds now served a dual purpose. He would test himself as well, hunting beasts and gaining real combat experience. The opportunity to fight cultivators had been plentiful— beasts were a different matter, and he needed that knowledge.

The days passed in a blur of steady travel. They stopped less and pressed harder, cutting down the distance swiftly until finally, the familiar shape of Meadow village came into view.

At that moment, Wang Jun was still droning on about a chapter of his life, recounting his time aboard a ship to a distant island. Hong Yi, seated at the front of the carriage, interrupted sharply.

“I see the village!”

Chen Ren leaned toward the window, catching sight of the wooden walls rising against the horizon. Chief Muyang had clearly taken his suggestion to heart—the palisade was being built. Parts were already standing, sturdy and well-crafted, while other sections remained under construction.

As Chen Ren watched in quiet satisfaction, Anji grabbed Wang Jun by the hair and pushed the head forward so he could see.

“So this is where I’ll be staying until I get a body, huh?” Wang Jun said, in an oddly cheerful tone.

“Yeah,” Chen Ren replied with a faint grin. “This is home—for now.”

“Looks like one of those small villages that used to treat cultivators as gods.”

Chen Ren huffed. “That’s close enough. They're more cautious around us than reverent, though. Times have changed.”

Wang Jun’s head was pulled back inside the carriage, and after a moment of quiet, he spoke again. “Are they good servants? I want two for my needs. One of them can hold me so I can take morning walks.”

Chen Ren frowned immediately. “They aren’t servants. And you’re not getting morning walks. If I let a talking head wander around, there’d be mass panic. I doubt the world has gotten used to disembodied heads strolling about in the centuries you’ve been... napping.”

Wang Jun scowled. “So I’m to sit in a room and be brought out only when you want to extract knowledge from me? Am I some dusty old relic on a shelf?”

By now, Chen Ren knew the head had already figured out their intentions. For all his endless rambling, Wang Jun had once been the founder of a sect that had stood for centuries after him. He was sharp enough to see through them.

“We can talk about your... request when we arrive,” Chen Ren said carefully, not wanting to come off rude. “Of course, I won’t demand your knowledge for free. I’m not your disciple, nor will I act like one. Whatever knowledge I seek, I’ll offer something in return. It’ll be fair. A give and take.”

“Hmph.” Wang Jun sniffed. “Even if you were my disciple, I wouldn’t answer everything. My last disciple tried to steal my lover. They had an affair, then ran away together.”

“Did you kill them?” Chen Ren asked immediately. He couldn’t have imagined anything else happening to the disciple at the cost of his actions.

“No,” Wang Jun replied, sounding almost insulted. “Those idiots hid inside a wyvern’s nest and got eaten. I had to kill the wyvern and slice open its stomach just to confirm they were dead. The whole thing was... complicated. I’ll tell you the full story one day.”

Chen Ren simply nodded, still a bit stunned, as the carriage finally rolled past the gates and into the village. The crude but solid palisade surrounded them as the familiar buildings came into view.

As they neared the sect’s entrance, Chen Ren let out a long, quiet breath of relief.

When Wang Fu had transformed, there had been a time he wondered if he would ever see this place again. But now, here it stood in front of him, solid and real. Home.

There, at the entrance, Xiulan stood waiting for him alongside a few mortal sect members. Chen Ren smiled faintly at the sight of her before leaning toward Anji.

“Get the head out under a cloth once there are fewer eyes around,” he whispered. “I’ll go talk to Xiulan.”

Anji nodded, and Chen Ren sighed inwardly. If only Wang Jun could be tossed into a spatial ring. Unfortunately, living beings—or in this case, something close enough—couldn’t survive in dimensional space without catastrophic consequences. He wasn’t eager to test that theory with a talking head.

He climbed down from the carriage with Yalan following close behind. Xiulan approached with a bright but tired smile.

“You succeeded,” she said, then glanced toward the carriage. “Are the items you found in there?”

Chen Ren shook his head and raised his hand, flashing the spatial ring. “No. Everything is safe inside here. I’ll explain later. There are… complications. We also brought someone back with us.”

Xiulan’s brows lifted. “Another disciple?”

“No,” Chen Ren said with a tired chuckle. “It’s… difficult to explain. You’ll see soon enough. For now, I just want to sleep. A lot happened this week, and I need rest before we talk.”

Xiulan nodded but hesitated. Her eyes darted nervously toward the carriage and back.

“Well–”

Chen Ren caught it instantly. “What is it?”

“There’s someone here for you.”

“Who?”

“Li Xuan.”

The name made Chen Ren sigh and rub at his temple. “Li Xuan?”

“He arrived yesterday asking to spar with you. Zi Wen found him walking near the village and brought him here. He was disappointed you weren’t around, but he’s been waiting for your return.”

Chen Ren groaned inwardly. The last time he’d seen Li Xuan, the man had barely survived Gu Tian’s assault and had been left paralyzed. They had only interacted once since Chen Ren had taken over this body.

Though Li Xuan had always struck him as one of those rigid cultivators who lived and breathed cultivation, he was neither reckless nor impulsive. Still, Chen Ren couldn’t fathom why the man would now seek him out for a spar.

Chen Ren considered refusing outright. He liked to think of himself as more of a strategist, a planner—not someone eager to fight duels. But letting an unknown variable roam his sect unchecked wasn’t an option.

“Take me to him,” he said at last. “The next few weeks are going to be critical. I can’t afford loose ends. Especially not a variable like Li Xuan.”

Xiulan nodded and led the way. They wound through the sect buildings, heading toward the training grounds at the back.

As they approached, Chen Ren spotted Zi Wen in conversation with a tall figure clad in plain robes—Li Xuan.

At their feet, Little Yuze lay sprawled comfortably on the ground, rolling lazily like a large pup under the afternoon sun.

Chen Ren hadn’t seen Li Xuan in some time, but he noticed the change immediately. The man’s aura had shifted. His long, flowing hair was now cut shorter, and there was a calmer, more disciplined air about him. The rigid arrogance Chen Ren remembered had been softened. A small, relaxed smile lingered on Li Xuan’s face as he conversed with Zi Wen, the two standing under the gentle warmth of the afternoon sun.

As soon as they heard footsteps, both men turned. Their focus pointed toward Chen Ren almost instantly.

“Chen Ren,” Li Xuan called, stepping forward. “It’s good to see you’re already here. I was prepared to stay here for weeks just to have the chance to challenge you to a spar.”

Well, wouldn’t that be convenient for you? Chen Ren thought, noticing how the man looked simply happy seeing him here. He stopped a few steps away, hands loosely at his sides.

“It’s been a while, but I have some questions,” he said, not wasting any time. “Did I offend you by winning the city tournament instead of you?”

“No. You deserved that victory. After I lost consciousness, I was told everything. I heard how you defeated Gu Tian. I’ll admit it—you were my better in that tournament. I fell for his underhanded methods. You prevailed.”

Chen Ren raised a brow. “Then why are you here now, asking me for a spar if you hold no grudge?”

That was the only question he had in mind. He knew cultivators were egoistic men who’d do anything to get back on someone if they lost, but if that wasn’t the case, why was he here?

“Well,” Li Xuan straightened his shoulders. “To know if I'm better than you. I never imagined I’d say this, but I've come to see you as a wall I must overcome. You succeeded where I failed, and since that day, I've trained tirelessly to surpass you. I’m confident now. So, here I am, I want to climb over that wall.”

Chen Ren inwardly groaned. Wall? He had never seen himself as one.

On raw cultivation strength, Li Xuan almost certainly surpassed him now. The man’s qi was denser and more stable than before, clear proof of his progress. The only reason Chen Ren had survived against Gu Tian was because a literal dragon had intervened. But knowing the cultivation society, spirit manifestations were just a part of a cultivator’s strength.

Li Xuan’s eyes gleamed with unspoken challenge, practically begging to fight here and now. Chen Ren hesitated. Should he just accept and lose? No—that might only insult and antagonize Li Xuan further if he saw through the ploy. Could he refuse altogether?

Testing the waters, he replied. “I don’t want to fight you.”

Li Xuan’s brows furrowed. “Why not?”

“I have no interest in sparring. I think you’re stronger than me.”

Li Xuan frowned deeply. “We won’t know that until we spar. It doesn’t have to be life or death. I know you have your sect to think about.”

Chen Ren sighed. The man was adamant.

“Even so, I don’t see any benefit. You see me as a wall, but I’m not even fond of fights, and this is one I can avoid. So my answer is no.”

Li Xuan stared at him for a long moment, clearly weighing his next words. For a moment, he thought Li Xuan would say okay, accept his ‘no’ and be on his way.

But instead, he offered, “If you win, I’ll teach you a sword technique that has been passed down through my family for generations. I believe that would make it… interesting enough for you.”

Chen Ren might have been tempted under other circumstances. But after looting an entire sect library, he was certain he already possessed countless sword techniques. Even if Li Xuan’s style was superior, Chen Ren didn’t use a sword to begin with. None of his disciples were sword cultivators either.

“I don’t use a sword,” Chen Ren said flatly.

Li Xuan’s brow creased, but he quickly recovered. “Then I can offer a spear technique. Or a movement technique. Or even a body refinement method—”

Each offer was met with the same quiet shake of Chen Ren’s head.

“No.”

“No.”

“No.”

With every rejection, Li Xuan’s expression darkened, frustration creeping steadily onto his face. He tugged his hair in the end. The silence that followed stretched uncomfortably between them.

Chen Ren let out a slow breath, convinced the man had finally given up.

“I believe I’ve rejected it enough. I’ll be taking my leave now to get some rest—”

“If you win,” Li Xuan interrupted, his voice suddenly sharp with purpose, “I’ll speak to my father to secure tax concessions for your business in Cloud Mist City. I’ll also help you obtain permits and better connections in other nearby cities.”

Chen Ren froze mid-step.

“You know my family has held lordship over the region for generations,” Li Xuan continued calmly. “I have ties with many nobles. I can open doors that would otherwise take you years to unlock.”

For a moment, Chen Ren simply stared, his mind racing. This is too good to be true. Greed tugged at him insistently. It was an offer no merchant could ignore. But still…

“If I lose?” Chen Ren asked warily.

“Nothing,” Li Xuan said at once. “I only want to prove to myself that I’m stronger. That’s all.”

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes. “No tricks? No hidden conditions?”

“I don’t like scheming. I’m not trying to trap you. I just want a clean answer to a single question, am I better than you?”

Chen Ren fell silent, gaze flicking between Zi Wen, Xiulan, and Yalan, all of whom were quietly watching the exchange. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he nodded.

“Fine. I’ll spar with you.”

***

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114. Lightning duel

With everything that was going on, a duel with Li Xuan was the least important thing on his mind. But he agreed. He wasn't about to pass up an easy opportunity to expand his business and tax concessions, especially not one handed to him so neatly. Besides, the man had been persistent. It left him with little choice. If there was one thing he knew, it was that Li Xuan would’ve found a way to challenge him eventually.

It wasn’t just rivalry either. He could tell. The path of cultivation was as much mental as it was physical. If Li Xuan truly saw Chen Ren as a wall in his path, then sooner or later his cultivation would stagnate under that belief. Overcoming Chen Ren might be the key to unlocking his next breakthrough—or so Li Xuan believed.

But with the added offer of business connections, Chen Ren wasn’t about to make it easy for him. Li Xuan wasn’t his enemy. Stubborn, sure. Arrogant, perhaps. But not malicious. He struck Chen Ren as someone who lived by his word, and that was all he really needed.

Once he accepted, Li Xuan insisted they fight immediately. Chen Ren, despite the fatigue of the long journey home, agreed. Better to get it over with quickly than let it hang over him. Besides, preparation would be useless.

From what he could sense, Li Xuan’s qi hovered somewhere at the fifth or sixth star of the qi refinement realm. Chen Ren had seen his fighting style during the tournament, but time had passed and training changed people. The Li Xuan standing in front of him now might fight in a completely different way. Any plan Chen Ren made in advance would likely fall apart the moment the battle began.

Then again, he wasn’t the same person from back then either. He would face him as he came.

On the other hand, word of the duel spread faster than Chen Ren thought possible. Most likely, some wandering mortal disciple had overheard him agreeing and rushed to tell everyone. Soon, a small crowd had gathered at the sparring grounds.

Most were mortals, curious and whispering amongst themselves, but a handful of familiar faces stood out. Anji watched from the side, looking at Li Xuan warily. Luo Feng leaned casually against a tree, arms crossed. Zi Wen stood nearby, with Little Yuze curled at his feet and Whiskey perched quietly on his shoulder. Feiyu stood right next to Xiulan. Even Qing He had made the effort to come and observe.

The only one missing was Hong Yi, but Chen Ren had a good guess where he had gone—no doubt locked away in his workshop, already tinkering excitedly with the puppet parts they’d had brought back from their journey.

His eyes briefly met Anji’s across the crowd. She gave a small nod, a subtle signal that she had secured Wang Jun’s head out of sight. Chen Ren allowed himself a silent breath of relief.

Just then, Yalan’s voice echoed calmly in his mind. “How are you going to win?”

Chen Ren smiled faintly. “Old tricks and new ones.”

“Will it be enough?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, flexing his fingers lightly. “But I think I can catch him by surprise. After that, it’ll come down to who can last longer.”

As the crowd quieted, Xiulan stepped confidently between them. She raised her hand and gestured for both to approach. The audience instinctively pulled back to form a wide circle around the two fighters.

“This will be a duel between Chen Ren of the Divine Coin Sect and Li Xuan of the Soaring Sword Sect,” Xiulan announced clearly. “There will be no deaths. Any lethal injuries will end the fight. Weapons, pills, arrays, and talismans are permitted. Use of any forbidden technique will result in immediate disqualification. Are you both ready?”

Chen Ren gave a silent nod.

Li Xuan smirked. “I’ve been ready for months.”

With a single sweep of Xiulan’s arm, the duel began. Lightning crackled in Li Xuan's blade as he shot forward with a terrifying speed. He looked like he wanted to end the battle in one swift blow.

Chen Ren had anticipated it. He shifted sharply to the side, narrowly dodging the arcing strike. As his feet touched the ground, Chen Ren retaliated instantly, launching his [Lightning Frenzy] in a wave of crackling energy.

Bolts lanced toward Li Xuan, but a shimmering shield of lightning qi flared to life around him, absorbing the strikes.

Li Xuan laughed sharply. “Too weak!” He charged again, calling out, “[Stormpiercer Lightning Blade!]”

Chen Ren activated his defense technique. A faint blue radiance enveloped his form as he braced and met the blow head-on for a single heartbeat. Then, with barely a ripple of motion, he vanished from that spot using his movement technique and reappeared behind Li Xuan.

His palm lashed out, striking squarely against Li Xuan’s shield. The barrier held, but that wasn’t his true aim.

Flames erupted beneath Li Xuan’s feet as Chen Ren burned one of his talismans he had left there. Li Xuan reacted immediately, leaping high into the air, but not before the searing flames licked through the cracks of his shield and scorched the edges of his robes.

Li Xuan landed lightly. “Always crafty.”

“In a real fight, you don’t expect your opponent to play fair,” Chen Ren replied with a shrug.

“Very well then,” Li Xuan cracked his neck and looked at him. “But I’m a cultivator of the dao of sword. I will not be outwitted so easily.”

Qi gathered rapidly along his sword, the air itself humming ominously. As Chen Ren prepared to evade, his sense screamed danger—seven spectral blades materialised around him in an instant, converging toward his position from every direction.

For a split second, Chen Ren froze.

And that hesitation was enough for Li Xuan.

The latter’s primary blade crashed down. The blow struck Chen Ren’s armor with a loud noise. But he reacted in the same instant, thrusting his palm against the blade and surging his own lightning qi into the steel.

The clash sent both fighters skidding backward. Chen Ren used the momentum to leap away and widen the distance between them, breathing hard, muscles tensed.

Li Xuan spun sharply, eyes blazing as he locked onto Chen Ren’s position. Without hesitation, he surged forward once again, lightning crackling along his form, boosting his speed to near-blinding levels. His blade flashed over and over.

At his speed, Chen Ren could barely keep up. His eyes struggled to track the blur of movement, and he quickly stopped relying on sight altogether. Instead, he focused on the minute fluctuations of qi in the air—the faint ripples that marked where Li Xuan’s presence shifted. It was the only reason he avoided a direct hit.

Fortunately, Li Xuan didn’t seem to have caught onto that method, continuing to rely on pure speed and force to corner Chen Ren.

Chen Ren adapted fast, retreating to maintain distance, laying down burning talismans along Li Xuan’s path. Every burst of flame forced Li Xuan to adjust or slow just enough to avoid getting caught. The field of battle soon erupted into chaos, arcs of lightning, pillars of flame, and sudden gusts of wind surged across the grounds.

The spectators, already wary, kept moving farther and farther back to avoid being caught in the crossfire. But not one of them looked away. The duel was becoming something far more brutal and spectacular than they’d expected.

Both of them bore the marks of the ongoing clash.

Their defenses had held, but only barely. As lightning cultivators, they had managed to evade the worst of each other’s strikes, but there was no doubt the fight was taking its toll.

Chen Ren got caught in several strikes and even if his armour held, bolts of lightning did shock him. He had to take pills to keep going without his focus getting distracted. Minutes dragged by in a blur of motion. When the seven illusionary swords once again materialized and shot toward him, Chen Ren instinctively dodged and, in that moment, realized something profound, he was holding his own.

He was using talismans freely and popping pills to recover when the pain became too sharp, yet he stood toe-to-toe with Li Xuan. The same Li Xuan who, in the sect entrance examinations, had effortlessly crushed the former soul of this body.

Chen Ren wondered for a fleeting second if the stubborn will to win was a remnant of the soul that came before him, but deep down, he felt it clearly—this desire to beat Li Xuan was his own. Not for the reward, but for the satisfaction of proving himself.

Spurred by that realization, his counterattacks became sharper, faster, and more aggressive.

Li Xuan laughed, exhilarated. “You’re finally taking this seriously!” he called out, his blade weaving between Chen Ren’s attacks.

Instead of retreating as before, Chen Ren advanced. He layered the armour made from his [Starlight Defence] around his arms and fists, stacking it thick enough that his reinforced hands became weapons in themselves.

Without drawing a blade of his own, Chen Ren met Li Xuan head-on. Fist met sword in a savage, close-quarters exchange that sent sparks and ripples of qi bursting outward with every impact.

Li Xuan gritted his teeth and pressed forward.

Chen Ren matched him blow for blow, surging his own [Lightning Frenzy] technique at point-blank range to disrupt Li Xuan’s rhythm. Sparks burst wildly between them. The strain was evident; Li Xuan’s thunder armour, already weakened by the constant barrage, flickered and failed to absorb the full brunt of the assault. The lightning danced painfully along his body, yet Li Xuan only clenched his jaw tighter and kept going.

“You should give up,” Chen Ren said evenly between breaths, side-stepping another vicious swing and using his momentum to launch a punch. “You’re too exhausted.”

“Never.” Li Xuan’s eyes blazed with raw determination as he dodged.

He suddenly halted and drew his blade back in both hands, the qi around him violently compressing into a singular, focused point. The oppressive killing intent that erupted in the next heartbeat sent cold prickles down Chen Ren’s spine.

Li Xuan roared, calling the name of his technique, “[One Slash Strike!]”

Chen Ren’s instincts screamed at him. Even if this wouldn’t kill him outright, it would cripple him badly. All of Li Xuan’s remaining qi was pouring into this final, desperate blow.

Without hesitation, Chen Ren vaulted backward, hastily flinging out a handful of talismans. Thick earth walls surged up between them with loud rumbling cracks.

But the moment Li Xuan swung, the air itself split. A blinding, crescent-shaped sword aura blasted forth from the blade, a sharp beam of energy that effortlessly carved through the stone walls like paper.

Chen Ren barely twisted out of the way, the edge of the attack slicing past him and detonating against a nearby tree. The thick trunk exploded into splinters , the upper half toppling to the ground with a heavy crash.

Chen Ren stared for half a second, throat dry. If that had hit me…

More sword auras followed, each like a scythe of pure destruction arcing across the battlefield. Chen Ren immediately went full defensive, dodging and weaving with every ounce of speed his movement technique could offer, leaping over the attacks, sliding under them, barely staying ahead of the slicing beams hunting him down.

The battle had reached its deadliest phase—and Chen Ren knew he could no longer afford a single mistake.

“You can’t run forever!” Li Xuan shouted, his voice crackling with the same intensity as the sword auras he kept launching across the battlefield.

“And you can’t keep throwing them for long,” Chen Ren shot back, breathless but still moving.

Even as he spoke, Chen Ren frowned inwardly. Li Xuan showed no sign of stopping. Either his qi reserves were far greater than expected, or—more concerning—he was recklessly burning his life force to fuel the attacks. It was insane for a simple spar, but Chen Ren knew the man’s obsession with breaking through his imaginary wall could push him this far.

At this rate, he realised, I’ll lose if I keep running.

So he decided to gamble.

In a sudden blur of motion, Chen Ren sprinted straight at Li Xuan. The unexpected charge caught Li Xuan off-guard, but instinct kicked in as he swung out another lethal arc of sword aura. Chen Ren twisted his body at the last possible second, narrowly evading the beam, and closed the distance between them to barely ten steps.

With a smooth, practiced motion, Chen Ren channeled his qi into his spatial ring—and drew the weapon he had kept hidden for emergencies.

The gun gleamed dully in the flickering light of the battlefield.

Li Xuan’s eyes widened in disbelief at the strange, foreign object aimed at him.

Chen Ren gave him no time to react. With a sharp click, the first bullet roared from the barrel.

The sharp report of the shot tore through the air like a thunderclap, causing Li Xuan’s concentration to falter. His sword aura flickered wildly. He hastily deflected the first bullet with the flat of his sword, but Chen Ren had already fired again. And again. Click. Click. Click.

The relentless barrage left Li Xuan scrambling defensively. The sword was a poor match for the strange speed and trajectory of the small projectiles.

Finally, two bullets struck home—one in each shoulder. The rounds didn’t pierce skin, merely slamming into him with bruising force, but the pain and shock staggered him.

Chen Ren didn’t hesitate. He surged forward like a predator closing in on wounded prey. Li Xuan swung reflexively through the haze of pain, but the former ducked under the blade, stepped inside his guard, and drove a heavy punch into his chest that knocked the air from his lungs.

With a twist of momentum, Chen Ren forced Li Xuan to the ground, straddling him. Cold metal pressed against Li Xuan’s neck as Chen Ren leveled the gun just beneath his jaw.

The crowd gasped.

Li Xuan stared, stunned, his sword falling from his numb fingers with a dull clatter onto the dirt.

Chen Ren stared down at the defeated cultivator, the cold barrel of the gun still pressed lightly against Li Xuan’s throat.

“Even with your toughened body, this close, the next shot will pierce your skin,” Chen Ren said calmly. “Surrender.”

In truth, he had already used every bullet. The musket was empty, but Li Xuan had no way of knowing that. His eyes flicked between Chen Ren’s expression and the strange weapon for several tense heartbeats before he finally closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

“I surrender.”

Chen Ren immediately stood and stepped back, slipping the gun back into his spatial ring with a faint, satisfied smile. He then extended a hand toward Li Xuan.

“It was a good fight.”

Li Xuan stared at the offered hand, surprised, then grasped it and let Chen Ren pull him to his feet. His expression shifted to a frown. “You won.”

“I almost lost,” Chen Ren replied, shaking his head. “You should have used a healing pill.”

Li Xuan straightened, brushing the dust off his robes. “It’s against the ideals of my sect’s duels. No healing pills are allowed once the fight begins.”

Chen Ren chuckled softly. “I’m glad you have such strong ideals.”

The tension dissolved as others hurried forward. Xiulan reached him first, eyes sharp as she looked him over.

“Are you alright?”

“I took a healing pill midway through the fight,” Chen Ren reassured her. “My injuries aren’t too bad. We might need to let Li Xuan rest, though.”

Li Xuan, who had been standing stiffly with a somewhat distant look in his eyes, shook his head quickly. “I’m fine. My injuries aren’t severe.”

Chen Ren gave him a knowing glance. “I’d still prefer you stay at the sect until you’ve fully recovered. It’s the least we can offer.”

Li Xuan hesitated, visibly conflicted, then inclined his head slightly. Chen Ren expected for the man to say no. But surprisingly, he accepted easily.

“Thank you for your generosity.” After a pause, he added, “I will keep my word. Your sect will have no difficulties entering many cities in the empire. I’ll personally ensure you receive the connections and tax concessions I promised.”

Chen Ren smiled and clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Thank you.”

As he glanced around, he noticed the expressions of wonder and excitement on the faces of the crowd. Most of them were mortals who had never witnessed a duel of such scale before. They whispered animatedly, pointing at the now calm battlefield and replaying the moments of the fight in hushed awe.

Chen Ren let out a light laugh. “Alright, everyone, I hope you enjoyed the show,” he called out. “Now, back to work!”

No one argued with Chen Ren’s dismissal. The crowd reluctantly dispersed, though the energy of excitement lingered in the air. Chen Ren had no doubt the story of the duel would ripple through the entire village by nightfall, likely growing more exaggerated with each telling.

Still, he didn’t mind. A bit of added reputation never hurt, and right now, he had more pressing matters to handle.

He turned back to Li Xuan. “We’ll discuss how you’ll help us over dinner tonight?”

Li Xuan, still catching his breath but recovering quickly, gave a short nod. “That would be good.”

Chen Ren gestured toward Zi Wen. “Go with Zi Wen. He’ll show you to a room. Make yourself comfortable.”

Zi Wen gave a respectful nod and led Li Xuan away from the training grounds.

Chen Ren then glanced at Anji, Yalan, and Xiulan as they approached him. He gave them a wry, almost tired grin. “Help me out a bit.”

Xiulan tilted her head curiously. “With what?”

Chen Ren’s smile widened slightly as he turned toward the main hall. “We need to sort and catalogue all the treasures we brought back. I hope you’ve got a few empty storage rooms ready, because we’re going to need them.”

***

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115. Key and books

The perks of being a sect leader were simple: people always listened to you. The downside? You never got time to rest.

As soon as the duel ended, Chen Ren wasted no time. Alongside Yalan, he emptied the contents of his spatial rings. The flood of treasures, weapons, scrolls, herbs, and artifacts filled not just one, but two entire rooms—and spilled over into a large portion of his workshop.

The look on Xiulan’s face was something Chen Ren doubted he would ever forget. She stared, frozen in wide-eyed horror, already exhausted at the sheer thought of organizing so much… only for Chen Ren to casually pull out yet another pile and add it to the growing mountain. It was funny in its own way, but he knew the work ahead was no joke.

For the sect’s safety, they couldn’t allow mortal servants to help. It wasn’t that Chen Ren distrusted them, but loose talk bred unwanted attention, and secrecy was essential. He had no doubt the Blazing Ember Sect was going to be on high alert, especially after discovering their prized sect vault had been stripped clean and their members dead.

Discretion was survival.

Worse, the sheer scale of the haul brought fresh complications. The artifacts needed to to be sorted—Dangerous ones separated, fragile ones sealed in preserving arrays, and the rest organized into secondary storage rings. He was already resigned to the fact that this task might take a week, perhaps even longer.

Yet despite the looming workload, Chen Ren was quietly thrilled. Ever since he’d glimpsed the Soaring Sword Sect’s treasury, he had longed for the chance to examine such a collection himself. Now, standing amidst the piles of rare cultivation artifacts, that dream was finally his reality.

But that could wait. First, he had to settle matters he’d left unfinished. He had taken in disciples, yet beyond nudging them toward their dao paths, he hadn’t done nearly enough for them.

Now, it was time to change that.

After spending an entire day sorting manuals and cultivation books—and finally managing a few hours of real sleep—Chen Ren sat cross-legged in his chamber. Before him stood Feiyu, Zi Wen, and Luo Feng, all wearing expressions of curiosity and confusion. The pile of books beside Chen Ren only deepened their curiosity.

Hong Yi was absent, having already secured anything remotely related to puppet refinement in his own spatial ring and quietly excused himself.

Chen Ren’s gaze settled first on Feiyu, who, despite trying to hide it, looked utterly drained. His eyes had sunken, lips were dry and even his posture was shrunk. Long nights at the forge and constant tinkering with firearms had left him worn thin.

“Thank you for coming,” Chen Ren began. “I know I helped you escape your old life. But I’ve done little to push you further in your cultivation and smithing—”

Feiyu shook his head firmly. “You’ve done more than enough, Sect Leader Chen. I’ve already progressed far.”

Chen Ren gave a small, knowing smile. He was grateful. He’d always been grateful. “Not far enough. I want you to be the best. The best blacksmith in the entire empire.”

With that, he picked up a neat stack of thick, aged tomes and placed them into Feiyu’s arms. The sunken man staggered slightly under the weight, eyes widening as he read the titles.

“These are ancient smithing techniques and forging manuals. There’s also a book on rare and spiritual metals that might aid your craft.”

Feiyu flipped through the first few pages, a mix of excitement and worry flickering across his face. “This is… too much.”

“It’s exactly as much as it needs to be,” Chen Ren said with a warm smile. “If you want to meet my expectations.”

Feiyu bowed low, clutching the books with renewed resolve. “I won’t disappoint you.”

Chen Ren then turned to Zi Wen, who straightened under his gaze. “As for you, I gathered these.” He motioned to another small stack and handed it over. “Bestiaries.”

Zi Wen blinked. “Bestiaries?”

Chen Ren nodded. “I don’t have any books on the dao of taming, but these hold detailed information on spirit beasts. Habitats, traits, weaknesses. It will help you in your training. I heard you’ve been struggling with avian beasts.”

Zi Wen flushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yes… They always fly away before I can form a bond. If I try to force them down, their wings get damaged. They’re useless after that.”

“Then use knowledge, not brute strength,” Chen Ren advised. “Read, learn, and adapt. That’s how you’ll master the dao of taming.”

Zi Wen bowed deeply. “Understood, Sect Leader.”

He lastly turned to Luo Feng.

The young man sat with perfect posture, back straight, shoulders tense, and nervous energy radiating off him. His hands tightened slightly in his lap as Chen Ren pushed another small stack forward.

“These are earth-aspected cultivation manuals,” Chen Ren explained. “They’ll help you take your first steps on the path of cultivation.”

Luo Feng’s eyes widened slightly as Chen Ren continued. “I’ve also included two books on spiritual herbs and farming techniques. They’re low-grade and the information is very basic, but I thought they might still be of help.”

Luo Feng picked up the book on top, carefully flipping through the pages as if it were made of gold. His expression softened, and without hesitation, he slid off his cushion into a full kowtow. “Thank you, Sect Leader Chen.”

Chen Ren smiled faintly. “Study them all and choose the one that feels most compatible with you and your dao. Some are mortal-grade, but there are also a few earth-grade manuals mixed in.”

At that, all three disciples stiffened. Chen Ren didn’t miss the rapid flicker of shock passing across their faces. They had clearly assumed the books he’d handed out were nothing more than ordinary manuals. And now looked at them in a different light yet none of them dared to ask where such rare texts had come from. It was an unspoken understanding. They likely guessed the answer wouldn’t come even if they did ask.

Looting the treasury of another sect was not something that was ever going to leave my mouth, Chen Ren thought dryly.

“I’m also planning to establish a formal merit system soon,” Chen Ren continued, shifting the conversation forward. “And a proper library for the sect, where you’ll be able to access other techniques as you earn the right to study them. The collection will be… substantial.”

Zi Wen raised a hand hesitantly. “How will the merit system work, Sect Leader Chen?”

According to what Chen Ren knew, nearly every sect in the empire ran on a merit system. Disciples were expected to take on tasks or quests to earn points, which could then be exchanged for items, artifacts, or privileges. No one was rewarded simply for sitting around and cultivating. Even entry to higher floors of a sect’s library came with a cost. It was an effective system, and one Chen Ren had learned a great deal of from his memories and talks with Qing He.

But his own system would be different. It would be better.

He glanced at the trio of disciples, who waited quietly, their curiosity barely contained.

“The sect will grant every member a fixed number of points each month,” Chen Ren said. “Mortals only need to fulfill their daily responsibilities to earn them. Cultivators will receive theirs through consistent work on their dao and contributing to the sect.” He paused to let that sink in before continuing. “These points can be exchanged for coins, items made by our sect like alcohol or even perfumes, services from other cultivators, spirit stones, or even unique resources.”

Feiyu raised a hand. “Will these points be used to gain access to the library as well?”

Chen Ren shook his head. “No. The library will remain open to all, even mortals. Mortals, however, will be limited to books that expand general knowledge—history, geography, basic theory—but not cultivation manuals or techniques.”

He locked eyes with each of them in turn. “Cultivators may study any available technique, but they must first seek my permission. That way, I can track your progress and ensure you’re not practicing anything dangerous or defective. Beyond that, I’ll also be introducing regular classes.”

“What kind of classes, Sect Leader?” Luo Feng asked.

Chen Ren smiled in return. “Like the introductory lessons you received when you joined the sect, but much broader and more frequent. Topics will cover everything from the daos to the things you’ve likely never even imagined.”

“I will personally conduct some of them,” he continued, “and when I cannot, I’ll prepare notes and appoint someone capable to take over. I’m aiming to make them weekly, at the very least.”

Zi Wen shifted uneasily. “Won’t that be dangerous, Sect Leader? Giving out knowledge so freely?”

Chen Ren’s eyes sharpened. “No. Locking knowledge behind barriers is what’s dangerous. Most sects treat learning as something you must claw your way toward, and I understand the caution—some techniques can harm the user. But the knowledge I intend to offer will be different. It will broaden your understanding of the world, not endanger your life.… It’s something that needs to spread as far as possible.”

The three disciples looked at each other, uncertain, until Zi Wen finally voiced the question lingering in all their minds. “What kind of knowledge, Sect Leader?”

Chen Ren gave a small, almost amused smile. “Have any of you heard the term science?”

All three shook their heads.

“It’s the study of the world around us,” Chen Ren explained patiently. “The understanding of things you interact with every day, even if you don’t know why they work. It covers everything—from the forging of metals, to the workings of the human body, to the mysteries of alchemy. It’s science. I’ll be teaching you what I can of it. There will even be classes on farming.”

At the mention of farming, Luo Feng visibly straightened, eyes brightening with interest. Chen Ren had passed him a few simple farming techniques in the past, and the man had applied them with surprising success. Even Feiyu and Zi Wen, normally more focused on cultivation and taming, leaned in with curiosity. By now, Chen Ren’s reputation as a man with knowledge far beyond his years was solid among them.

This had always been part of his plan.

He wanted more than just a sect. He wanted a foundation—one that would make both his mortal and cultivator followers stand above their peers. Where they lacked in cultivation manuals, he had already compensated. Now it was time to elevate their understanding, to push them closer to the standards of people from his original world.

If nurtured properly, especially in areas like finance and business, they could become a power of their own. A self-sustaining force. One day, they could run the sect without him, leaving Chen Ren to simply sit back and watch the profits flow. That had been the true, long-term reason for building a sect, not only for the resources and protection it brought, but to cultivate talent.

For over an hour, they continued to discuss. The merit system, how the lectures would be organized, who would supervise in Chen Ren’s absence, and how he planned to balance it all with his ever-growing network of businesses. The energy in the room shifted from confusion to excitement. They could sense that something very different, and very grand, was about to take shape.

But once the meeting finally ended and the disciples left, Chen Ren’s thoughts drifted to something far heavier.

The severed head.

Ever since they had obtained it, Chen Ren had debated whether to ask him the questions that bothered him. He had discussed it with Yalan just the night before. She had agreed with his caution—this kind of trust, with something so potentially dangerous, could easily become fatal. But so far, the head had proven itself neither deceitful nor unreasonable.

Still, Chen Ren had grown tired of walking in the dark ever since the fight with Gu Tian. The unanswered questions clawed at him; the medallion, the devourers, the ancient dragon locked in his star space. Was the medallion truly something of importance? Or had Gu Tian hunting for it been nothing more than a false alarm?

He needed answers.

With firm determination, Chen Ren rose and walked through the silent halls of the sect toward the private chamber he had assigned to the head. The time had come to confront the biggest mystery of his current life.

To finally lay bare the truth, or at least the next piece of it.

***

Chen Ren stared at Wang Jun resting calmly atop the pedestal before him. For a long moment, neither spoke.

Finally, Chen Ren broke the silence. “Does she need to be here?” he asked, glancing at Anji, who stood quietly by the wall.

The head’s ancient voice rasped out. “Yes. If you want my assistance, that mortal must remain. She is my disciple now, until I pass on what I know of soul cultivation. The last member of my sect.”

Anji blinked in surprise. “I can leave if it’s something private,” she offered respectfully.

“No,” Wang Jun replied firmly. “You will stay. If I tell you to remain, you will remain.”

Chen Ren exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why is he suddenly so possessive of Anji? he wondered. But there was little point arguing; he could only adapt.

He shifted his gaze to Yalan, who nodded slightly before turning to Anji. “I would appreciate it if you kept whatever is said here to yourself.”

Anji bowed her head. “You have my word.”

“Well.” With the tension slightly eased, Chen Ren stepped forward and looked the head squarely in the eye. “What I’m going to show you is something passed down in my family. For most of my life, I believed it was just an ordinary inheritance item. But recently, I’ve come to suspect it’s far more than that and since it's at least hundreds of years old, I can't find anyone who knows it's purpose.”

The head’s tone grew more curious. “And you want me to see if I recognize it?”

Chen Ren nodded. “Yes. I want to know what it truly is. Its purpose… if any.”

Wang Jun chuckled dryly. “Is it a sword? Then its purpose is to kill.”

“No.” Chen Ren shook his head. “It’s a medallion.”

“A medallion?” the head mused aloud. “Then it may be a key to something. Go home and ask your family.”

“I can’t,” Chen Ren said simply. “I’m banished.”

At that, Wang Jun’s brow lifted ever so slightly, the faintest flicker of interest flashing across his expression. Clearly, he was interested in his past. But Chen Ren pressed on without giving him the chance to ask. “Either way, I doubt they know what it is. I will show you.”

Without another word, Chen Ren reached into his robes and carefully pulled out the medallion. Its surface caught the faint glow of the lanterns in the chamber, glinting in the dim light. He stepped forward and set it gently before the head.

The head stared at it intently, his aged features tightening as he squinted, studying every curve and marking with unsettling focus. The room felt unnaturally still as the seconds dragged on.

As the head examined it, Chen Ren spoke quietly, “Someone mentioned it might be connected to something called the Gate of Immortals.”

The effect was immediate.

The head froze. Slowly, impossibly, his golden eyes lifted to meet Chen Ren’s. A storm of emotions flickered through them—shock, disbelief, fear, and something close to awe. A subtle, crushing pressure radiated outward for the briefest heartbeat, enough that Chen Ren felt the air itself grow heavier.

Then the head spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, yet sharp enough that it could harm someone.

“You… you have a key to the Gate of Immortals?!”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

116. Carp sees the dragon

Wang Jun looked at the medallion as if it were the secret of immortality itself. And by the way he had called it the key to the Gate of Immortals, that might just be the case.

Questions burned through Chen Ren’s mind as he waited in silence, watching Wang Jun examine the object with an intensity that made even the air feel heavier. He glanced at Anji and Yalan—both of them equally absorbed, their eyes fixed on the medallion. Whatever this thing truly was, they all wanted answers.

He’d heard of the Gate of Immortals before back from Gu Tian and the spectre. But no one ever explained what it actually did. Was it a gate to the heavens? A trial that only immortals could pass through? Or was it something more?

Chen Ren’s curiosity itched at him, made him want to urge Wang Jun to speak—but he forced himself to wait still, swirling his qi in his dantian to keep his mind calm. Finally, the head let out a dry, rattling laugh, his golden eyes strangely gleeful. He nearly toppled from his perch with the force of it.

“Ah, the heavens have their own games. I never would have thought I’d wake to find myself face-to-face with an inheritor of the key to the Gate of Immortals.”

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed. “So… it really is a key to it?”

Wang Jun sobered slightly, glancing up at him. “I can’t say for sure. I don’t understand the writing on the back.”

Yalan frowned, her whiskers twitching. “Then why say it’s the key if you can’t even read it?”

“Because,” Wang Jun said, voice tinged with a grim certainty. “Even if I can’t read it, I recognize the script. And the metal it’s made of. That’s more than enough to confirm it.”

Chen Ren leaned forward. “What kind of metal?”

Wang Jun lowered his gaze again, staring at the medallion as if seeing something ancient and long buried. “Soulsteel. A metal forged by infusing parts of the dantian of domain manifestation cultivators into an alloy.” He lifted his gaze again, hollow eyes gleaming. “Don’t ask me how it’s made. It was an ancient practice… a dangerous one. But I’ve only ever heard of one thing that used this script and soulsteel together.”

Chen Ren glanced at the medallion again.

Made from a dantian? The thought made his stomach twist. He had been carrying that thing around for months—tucked in pockets, hung around his neck at times—never realizing it might’ve once been part of someone’s core.

Still, he pushed the image aside and turned his attention back to Wang Jun, who, as always, had more to say.

“Since you all look both curious and disgusted,” Wang Jun drawled, eyes glinting, “let me explain. It’s not as bad as you think.” His eyes shifted slightly, the faintest rattle in his voice as he continued. “Back then, there was a battle called the War of the Immortals. A catastrophic era where countless cultivators perished. In the face of such destruction, some chose to offer up their bodies after death—to have their remains forged into weapons or tools. It was a way to continue protecting their sects even after death.”

He paused, letting the weight of that sink in before adding, “As you should know, cultivators at higher realms—especially those who’ve stepped into domain manifestation—are unique. Their blood, their bones, their very dantian… all of it holds tremendous value. And so, metals like soulsteel came to be.”

Anji wrinkled her nose. “That still sounds like something demonic cultivators would do.”

Wang Jun gave a creaky laugh, his eyes cold and clear. “In war, there’s no righteous path. No taboos. Only what leads to victory. If you want to make a name for yourself in the wider world—no matter how weak it’s become from what I’ve heard—you’d better understand that.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly. As distasteful as it sounded, there was logic in it. It reminded him of the war Qing He had once mentioned—the one against the Devourers, a conflict so devastating that it reshaped the world entirely. Was that the same war? he wondered. The War of the Immortals?

He filed the thought away for later and brought his focus back to the medallion.

“What about the script?” he asked. “And how can you be so sure it’s a key just from that and the metal?”

Wang Jun snorted, as if insulted. “Heaven’s Script isn’t used for anything mundane. That writing is reserved for the divine—gates, seals, trials, inheritances, things crafted by cultivators who stood at the edge of godhood.”

His voice lowered. “You don’t write in Heaven’s Script unless you want the heavens to notice.”

Wang Jun didn’t stop there. His tone grew sharper, more intense, as if he was lecturing a group of stubborn disciples. “It’s not just a script. Do not even think of it as such,” he said. “It’s a language of the heavens. Every word carries power—so much so that even inscribing it can leave the writer vulnerable. And the metal it’s carved into—Soulsteel—isn’t something used for everyday trinkets.”

He gestured toward the medallion with a slight tilt of his head. “When you combine Heaven’s Script with soulsteel, there are only a few possibilities. And more than that—this wasn’t just legend. During my formative years, tales of the keys to the Gate of Immortals were common. Spoken like myth, yes, but known well enough that the powerful coveted them. If people are coming after you, calling it that... then it likely is that. And you just can bind it to you to confirm it.”

Chen Ren leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing. “So there’s a way to confirm it?”

“There is,” Wang Jun said with a crooked grin. “And it’s fairly simple.”

Yalan folded her paws and cleared her throat loudly. They all turned to her and she asked one question: “How?”

Wang Jun turned to her. “From what I remember, each of these medallions was meant to be bound to a guardian. Someone chosen to protect it until the time came to use it. The binding was done by blood.”

Chen Ren stilled.

Wang Jun continued. “Since you inherited it, I’d wager someone in your bloodline was that guardian. Or—” His tone turned sly— “your ancestor took it from whoever it was bound to and ended up binding it to himself.”

Chen Ren's gaze flicked to Yalan for a heartbeat before returning to the medallion. His mind spun. Could someone in Chen Ren”s family have fought in the War of Immortals? It seemed possible. This thing had been passed down for generations. But if it was truly so important… Why had his family let him take it when he was exiled? Had they forgotten what it was? Or had the truth been deliberately hidden—to prevent future descendants from ever trying to use it?

The more he thought about it, the more plausible that sounded. Not forgotten… erased.

Still, he hesitated. The idea of binding it by blood unsettled him. It felt like stepping deeper into something far larger than he could yet grasp. But at the same time, knowing more might save him later. If this really was what Wang Jun claimed it to be, then others—especially demonic cultivators like Gu Tian—would certainly come for it.

And even if the medallion’s purpose remained unclear, the value of soulsteel alone—refined from the dantian of a domain manifestation cultivator—seemed staggering. Chen Ren stared at the medallion, a quiet weight pressing on his chest.

To bind… or not?

But the longer he thought about it, the more he realized something vital—binding the medallion to himself would mean little if he didn’t even understand what the Gate of Immortals truly was. Without that knowledge, it was just an ominous relic wrapped in mystery and danger.

He opened his mouth to ask—but Yalan beat him to it.

“What is the Gate of Immortals anyway?” she asked. “In all my hundreds of years, I’ve never heard of it until recently.”

Wang Jun scoffed, as if she’d asked whether the sky was real.

“Obviously you haven’t,” he said. “This thing is thousands of years old. Even in my time, few had ever heard of it. And only after I reached the pinnacle of cultivation did I find the first real evidence of it. It's very likely that whatever knowledge once existed was either erased—forcefully—or sealed away using some kind of technique. Only scraps of records remained.”

He paused, letting the weight of that settle in.

“Either way, to answer your question…” He looked at them sheepishly. “I don’t actually know.”

Chen Ren stared at him. Hard.

For a long moment, he genuinely considered punting Wang Jun across the room. But the man only met his glare with a raised brow.

“Don’t give me that look,” Wang Jun said flatly. “It’s not like I’ve seen the Gate myself. I only know fragments. And I wasn’t even sure what they referred to until you showed me that medallion.”

Chen Ren exhaled, annoyed but not surprised. “Then tell me the fragments. Any knowledge is better than none.”

For once, Wang Jun went quiet. His gaze drifted downward, like he was searching through his memories as the seconds dragged. Chen Ren folded his arms, impatience growing.This man babbled endlessly in the carriage about minor things like the type of spirit grass used in an emperor’s burial incense, but now, when it was something that actually mattered, he was silent?

And the silence continued for a little longer. He was about to butt in when Wang Jun stirred.

“Ah. Yeah. I remembered,” he said, voice a bit lighter now. “Took some time—I was just filtering out all the nonsense. When I found the records, I found a lot of theories. Wild speculation. Lies. Guesswork.”

He looked back up, eyes gleaming. “But what I focused on was what exactly the Gate of Immortals is a gate to.”

Wang Jun let out a breath and settled into his usual lecturing tone. “Like its name suggests, many believe it’s a gate to the heavens. A place where cultivators who reached the peak of immortality dwell. Open it, and you get to join them.” He snorted. “Bullshit.”

Anji blinked. “Why?”

“Obviously,” Wang Jun said, rolling his eyes as much as a severed head could, “the heavens aren’t handing out immortality passes through some door. That goes against everything we know. If immortality was just one gate away, half the continent would be camped outside it by now.”

Chen Ren couldn’t argue with that.

“The second theory,” Wang Jun continued, “is more grounded. Some believe the gate isn’t a gate to heaven, but a lock—one that guards the secret inheritance of a cultivator who reached the transcendent realm. A realm that’s known to be the peak of immortality.”

That made Yalan and even Anji pause.

“But again,” Wang Jun said with a shrug, “that theory has holes. If there was truly an inheritance behind it, why didn’t the people who held the key take it for themselves? Why pass it down? Why hide it?”

There was a brief silence. And then the floodgates opened. Wang Jun launched into theory after theory—some mystical, others absurd, a few disturbing. One involved a portal to another plane. Another insisted the gate was a prison, holding in something terrible. There was even a theory that the gate didn’t lead anywhere—that it was a test by the heavens to see who was foolish enough to seek it.

By the end of it, Chen Ren felt like his brain had been turned into soup.

He slumped back, rubbing his temples as Wang Jun finally fell silent. Despite how exhausting it was, he could tell that Wang Jun had spent years, maybe even centuries, thinking about this. Obsessing over it.

And yet, for all the wild speculation, none of the theories sat right with Chen Ren. Not one of them mentioned the Devourers.

His instincts whispered that it had to be connected. After all, the golden dragon that lived within him—one that had been injured fighting the Devourers—had only recently stirred. And now, at the same time, a demonic cultivator had come for the medallion… the same medallion tied to the Gate of Immortals.

Coincidence? He didn’t think so. He leaned forward again, eyes narrowing and decided to ask the question he had to.

“Do you know anything about the Devourers?”

At Chen Ren’s question, Wang Jun tilted slightly, his brow furrowing as if he hadn’t understood.

“Devourers?” he echoed. “Is that some kind of beast?”

Chen Ren leaned forward, his expression sharpening. “You’ve never heard of them? Nothing at all? I thought they fought in this war you talked about.”

Wang Jun gave a jerky shake, which looked more like his body trying to twitch rather than an actual nod. “No. The records of the War of the Immortals are nearly nonexistent. Most theories say it was just cultivators fighting each other—sect wars on a divine scale. But there's no proof, no names, no enemy known by that title. If the Devourers were part of it… I wouldn’t know.” He paused, then added, “The only reason I even know about soulsteel is because I saw it once. In a ruined clan estate long abandoned and buried under ash. That’s how I recognized the metal in your medallion.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly, trying to suppress the disappointment curling in his chest. He’d hoped for at least a hint, anything to tell him what those beings were. But this led to nothing.

And then Yalan, frowning, said what he had been thinking all along.

“Even with everything you’ve told us… it doesn’t explain who made the Gate of Immortals. Or its keys. It’s clearly manmade. Someone forged it.”

Wang Jun growled, his face twisting. “How should I know? It’s not like I was there watching them hammer the damn thing.” He let out a sharp breath before continuing, voice lower but more focused. “But what I do know is this. There are keys. Plural. Many of them. Each one is necessary. They must be brought together to unlock the gate. That much I’m certain of.”

He pointed—well, looked—at the medallion. “And the existence of that proves it.”

Chen Ren and Yalan exchanged a look.

That opened a flood of questions—questions they couldn’t hold back anymore. Where was the gate? Has anyone ever tried to gather the keys? What would happen if they were all brought together? How many were there? Did any sects or empires still hold them?

But by the time they ran out of breath, it became obvious.

Wang Jun’s knowledge was limited—frustratingly so.

And the more Chen Ren looked at him, the more he wondered if that knowledge had once been whole. Maybe Wang Jun had known more. Maybe, over time, through whatever rituals or madness had kept him alive, pieces of his memory had faded.

It was entirely plausible. After all, surviving for centuries as a disembodied head couldn’t have come without a cost.

In the end, Wang Jun just sighed, his voice rasping with impatience. “If you really want to know more… why don’t you just bind the damn medallion to yourself?”

His eyes locked onto Chen Ren as he spoke, as if daring him to back down.

Chen Ren raised a brow. “How?”

Wang Jun grumbled. “I would love to meet your clan’s patriarch. Sitting on a treasure like that and not knowing how to use it—what a waste.”

He shook his head, or tried to. “It’s simple. Cut your finger and drop some blood onto it. If it’s what I think it is, your qi will flow into it and bind it to you. At least, that’s how it should go. Some artifacts are soul-bound. But I doubt you want to cleave off a piece of your soul. We can try that if this doesn’t work.”

Chen Ren gave a dry laugh. “Let’s… hope it works with just blood.”

He glanced at Yalan, who gave him a firm nod. Her eyes, always sharp, held the same thought he’d been pushing down—It’s time. No more running from it.

With a slow breath, he pulled a small knife from his spatial ring and held it against his thumb.

And hesitated. Sigh.

He already had too much on his plate. From getting his pill production system stabilized so he could finally enter the immortal market, to testing his firearms against the winter beasts, to strengthening his sect before the Blazing Ember Sect inevitably came knocking for revenge—every path ahead of him was already lined with thorns.

Binding this medallion would only add to it all.

But that wasn’t the real reason he hesitated.

The real reason… was hope.

A sliver of him still hoped he wasn’t involved in something so much bigger. That maybe Gu Tian was wrong. That maybe the medallion wasn’t a key, and he was just some unlucky bystander caught in someone else’s war. But if the gate truly needed all the keys—then Chen Ren wasn’t a bystander.

He was one of them.

And Gu Tian hadn’t come for him by chance.

With a quiet breath, he pushed the knife forward, slicing a shallow line across his thumb. Blood welled up, bright and hot, and he let a drop fall onto the surface of the medallion.

For a long moment, nothing happened and hope built up that it was really just an ordinary medallion.Then—

A strange, almost electric sensation pulsed through his body. Not painful… but deep. As if something unseen had just threaded itself through his very core. Chen Ren’s eyes widened as he felt it.

Like a distant hum awakening inside of him. Like he was suddenly part of a whole. Chen Ren’s breath caught as the pulse of qi intensified—then, without warning, his vision swam.

The chamber vanished.

The walls, Wang Jun, Yalan and Anji—all dissolved into light, and in the next heartbeat, he was floating. Suspended in a sky that didn’t belong to any world he knew. Vast and endless, painted in shades of gold and gray, qi surged through the air like rivers of light, flowing around him in tidal waves of pressure and raw power.

It should’ve crushed him. It almost did. His spiritual sea buckled under the weight, his dantian screaming with the strain—but somehow, he held on and watched.

Before him floated a gate.

The Gate of Immortals.

Massive and ancient, towering higher than any mountain he had ever seen. Its surface shimmered with divine metal, runes glowing faintly along its outer frame. Qi curled around it in spirals, reverent and endless, as though the heavens themselves circled it in worship.

And then he saw them.

Engraved across the top of the gate were four majestic beasts.

A phoenix, wings half-spread in eternal flame.

A white tiger, muscles coiled, fangs bared in defiance.

A black turtle, calm and unmoving, its shell etched with mountains and rivers.

And at the center—looming, regal, unchallenged—The golden dragon.

Its body curled around the arch of the gate, coiled in celestial might, and as Chen Ren stared, breathless—Its eyes opened. Not a glow. Not an illusion. The dragon looked at him. Right at him, as if it was peeking into his soul.

And at that moment, Chen Ren understood.

Everything he had experienced so far—every conversation, every fight, every clue about the devourers, the medallion, the dragon inside him—Had only been the beginning.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

Volume 2 Epilogue 1

Shen Linao's face folded into slow wrinkles as he listened, the report scratching at his ears like chalk on a board. The sect reagent of the Blazing Ember Sect had grown accustomed to silence, to reports filled with praise, submission, and the occasional minor dispute—nothing that stirred the flame in his chest beyond a flicker.

But this… This brought a bitter taste to his tongue. Not unlike that affair, months ago. One of his favored concubines had shared her bed with a lowly outer disciple. A moment of amusement, perhaps. A lapse in desire. He had incinerated her personally, leaving no bones behind—only the scent of jasmine and ash.

And yet, despite the punishment, the bitterness never left. It sat like char on his soul.

Now it has returned again.

He took a slow sip of tea, his qi swirling around the cup to hold the temperature perfectly—a small act of control in a world tilting toward chaos.

"Are you certain Wang Fu has betrayed the sect?"

The disciple, Tu Wei across from him knelt, eyes low. "It’s either that, or he was killed. I found no trace of him in the Void Blade Sect vault. Not even bones."

"By whom?" Shen Linao asked softly. Fire coiled beneath the words.

"No clear signs. I searched thoroughly—traps, escape paths, even spiritual residue. Nothing useful remained. Whoever did it was careful. Or strong."

Shen Linao’s fingers tapped once against the lacquered wood. The silence between them crackled.

"Did you find anything from the nearby town?" he asked next, already suspecting the answer would not please him.

Tu Wei nodded. "There was an altercation. Our group clashed with a young master from a minor clan. They denied everything, even after I killed one of their top cultivators. Still—"

"Still?" Shen Linao’s voice cooled, like embers before a coming wind.

"Still… I don’t believe they’re lying. Their highest cultivator is a single foundation establishment realm one, and he belongs to a sect barely a hundred years old. An Emerging Sect, master. Their background isn't strong enough to threaten ours."

Shen Linao stared into his tea and nodded slowly, eyes narrowing like slits of molten iron. “So… not strong enough to do anything,” he murmured.

Tu Wei, still kneeling, took it as a cue to press on. “Hence, I believe it must be betrayal. When I reached the vault, the main chamber had been opened. Everything was gone. Even the library—picked clean. Only the minor sections were left untouched, mostly where the beast guardians were hibernating. Perhaps Wang Fu didn’t find them worth the risk.”

A long breath escaped Shen Linao’s lips. It wasn’t quite a sigh. Not yet. His gaze didn’t leave the tea cup, still rippling faintly from the heat of his qi. He listened—truly listened—not just to the words, but the weight behind them.

What he was hearing… it wasn’t a lie. But it was being shaped into one.

It could be subtle or intentional. He knew this tone. Knew this disciple. The hunger behind the words wasn’t for justice or truth—it was the desire to see a rival fall. Wang Fu, the most backed among the inner disciples, the one who had grown fastest, given the most techniques, survived the harshest of trials. Tu Wei had always hated him.

Shen Linao closed his eyes for a breath. And then opened them.

His aura flared—silent, formless, but heavier than a mountain. It crushed the air around them and fell upon his kneeling disciple like the sky itself. The man froze mid-sentence, blood draining from his face as his limbs trembled under the pressure. His breath hitched. He dared not look up.

“Do you have definite proof?” Shen Linao asked, voice like a slow-burning flame. “That he ran away? That he betrayed the sect?”

When no answer came, Shen Linao's voice dropped to a growl. “Answer me!”

Tu Wei collapsed into a kneeling position, his forehead touching the floor. “I—I’m sorry, Master! I have no proof. It’s only what I assumed… based on what I know of Wang Fu—”

“You know nothing,” Shen Linao snapped. “He wasn’t alone. I placed others beside him for a reason. You think I gave him resources without securing his leash? All of them had family bound to the sect by oaths. They wouldn’t dare turn traitor.”

Tu Wei hesitated, swallowing hard. “What if… What if Wang Fu killed them?”

Shen Linao’s gaze didn’t waver.

“That can’t be,” he said. Cold certainty laced every word. “Wang Fu is strong. But more than that—he knows our sect. He clawed his way up from the outer ranks. Spent blood and years just to earn a seat at the inner sect. He wouldn't betray us. Not unless his mind was shattered.”

He looked past the kneeling disciple, into the distant flicker of the lanterns behind.
“Even if the vault held the secret to reaching the nascent soul stage… he wouldn’t risk turning on us. And we both know it doesn’t. That cursed Void Blade Sect never had a cultivator break through beyond core formation in hundreds of years. Only the founder did. Their inheritance was always second-rate.”

Tu Wei remained silent, shoulders tight.

“The most plausible explanation,” Shen Linao muttered, “is that he was killed. Alongside the others. Then burned cleanly—so thoroughly not even the bones remained. No qi traces. No marks of technique. Just silence.”

He paused, then asked sharply, “Did you see any signs of battle?”

Tu Wei blinked, clearly sifting through memory. “There were… cracked tiles in the vault chamber. And claw marks on the stone near the main vault doors. I assumed it was from a scuffle with one of the beast guardians. Maybe it awakened, or resisted him during the raid—”

“Can it be more?” Shen Linao cut in.

Tu Wei flinched. “...Yes, Master. It can.”

Shen Linao leaned back slightly, his hand absently brushing over the runes etched into the armrest of his chair. His eyes stayed locked on the man in front of him.

“Then tell me everything. Which rooms did you check? What was intact, and what wasn’t?”

As the disciple began listing chambers—inner storage, pill vaults, scroll sanctums, talisman archives—Shen Linao listened in silence. Every word a hammer forging certainty in his mind. Most of the chambers had nothing inside of them, age crumbling the valuables, but the main vault and the library did.

They hadn’t been simply looted. It had been systematically erased. Not haphazardly, but professionally. And worst of all, when the disciple finally mentioned the last detail—

“There were no footsteps in the secondary passageways. At first, I thought it odd, but I assumed… the paths had naturally cleared. Or perhaps the qi flow had scattered the traces.”

Shen Linao’s face darkened.

“No,” he said flatly. “That was deliberate. It means whoever attacked them covered their tracks. Perfectly. If Wang Fu’s group and the enemy clashed inside, then their footsteps would’ve overlapped. A simple earth-aspected technique could blend the stone surface, reset it. Make it unreadable.”

He clenched his fist.

“It was no accident. No beast rampage. This was a surgical strike. Someone knew the vault’s location. They knew when it would be vulnerable. And they had the skill to wipe out an entire team of elite inner disciples without leaving behind a single corpse.”

The tea in his cup boiled suddenly, his qi flaring uncontrolled.

“All my investment in Wang Fu… wasted,” Shen Linao muttered, more to himself than to the disciple. “A vessel I prepared for years, broken and scattered like ash in the wind.”

His knuckles whitened.

“And someone… someone thinks they can do that to me.”

Although Wang Fu had still done much—especially infiltrating the the Void Blade Sect—Shen Linao knew his potential was far from spent. The boy had promise, fierce instincts, and enough cruelty to survive this sect’s path of fire and ambition.

Shen Linao had plans. So many plans. Wang Fu was to serve their Lord when the time came—one of the chosen vessels to carry his will into the next century. His death didn’t just remove a talented disciple. It disrupted a carefully laid future.

And now, another force had clearly inserted themselves into the game.

But how? How did they know about the vault’s location?

His thoughts churned like smoldering coals before he asked calmly, “Was the vault gate damaged?”

Tu Wei shook his head. “No, Master. I saw no marks on it. No burn, no cracking. Though… I did find parts of the guardian puppets Broken. Strewn across the hallway and the outer perimeter.”

Shen Linao's gaze lowered, shadow falling across his face. “…That’s bad.”

He said it quietly.

“We let someone go. Someone from the Void Blade Sect who knew how to open the vault. There’s no other way in. The door requires a specific method to enter—one lost even to most of their elders. And even I have no idea on it.”

Tu Wei hesitated, brow furrowing. “Are you sure, Master?”

Shen Linao lifted his head and stared straight into the man’s eyes.

“Obviously, I’m sure.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you think I learned nothing of the vault after torturing every captured Void Blade elder for months?”

Tu Wei flinched.

“You don’t even realize the weight of what we’re facing.” Shen Linao exhaled slowly, expression unreadable.

From the man’s blank stare, it was obvious. He didn’t get it.

Of course he didn’t. This disciple—Tu Wei—was the kind who crushed problems with fists, not thoughts. If it weren’t for the others being tied up in searching for the medallion, Shen Linao would never have sent someone like him to investigate Wang Fu’s disappearance.

So he explained it plainly.

“What this means, Tu Wei,” he said in a cold tone, “is that at least one elder of the Void Blade Sect escaped the purge. Someone important. Someone who knew the vault’s access methods. And worse…”

He stood, robe flowing behind him as the warmth in the room dropped several degrees.

“…They’ve allied with an Established sect. One that has, at the very least, a meridian expansion realm cultivator among them. No one beneath that level could have killed Wang Fu—not with everything I gave him. Not unless he was ambushed. Surrounded.”

Tu Wei stayed kneeling, mind slowly catching up.

“A sect strong enough to hide their strength,” Shen Linao continued. “Smart enough to erase all traces. And ruthless enough to kill everyone.” A dark chuckle escaped him, humorless and hollow.

“Whoever they are… they are dangerous.”

Shen Linao paused, then let out a long, weary sigh.

“Moreover,” he said quietly, “if I’m right… Wang Fu isn’t the type to go down without using every trick he had. No true cultivator is. Which means... something slipped.” He looked away. “Our secret might already be out—loosened and floating somewhere in the folds of fate. Another power now knows what we’ve been hiding. What we’ve pledged ourselves to.”

He turned back toward Tu Wei, gaze sharp enough to cut bone. “Do you understand how much risk we’re in now?”

Tu Wei’s lips parted, but no words came.

“They’ll go to the Emperor,” Shen Linao continued, voice rising a fraction. “If they haven’t already. A Royal Inquisition will follow. And if even a whisper leaks—just a whisper—about who we serve…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

Tu Wei’s face drained of all color. “A-Are any of the inquisitors… really that strong, Master?”

Shen Linao’s expression turned grim. “They have domain holders among them. That is strength above anything in this realm. Strength that could flatten this entire sect without lifting a finger. So yes. They’re strong enough to kill every last one of us.”

Tu Wei’s shoulders trembled as he lowered his head again. “Then what… what should we do, Master?”

Shen Linao didn’t respond immediately.

His mind whirred. If the Great Lord caught wind of this failure, he’d be deemed a liability. Burned away without hesitation—just like every other pawn who overstayed their usefulness. And if the Emperor caught wind?

The result would be no different. His choices narrowed. The cost would be immense—but the path to immortality was paved in blood and buried truths.

At last, he spoke.

“I’ll reach out to my contacts in the royal palace. We’ll monitor every whisper, every scroll, every tavern drunk who mutters ‘Blazing Ember’ into a cup. If talk begins to spread, we’ll hear of it.”

Tu Wei nodded stiffly, still pale.

“As for the sect—whoever has taken our rightful reward—they must be found. And when they are…”

His voice dropped, seething. “…we’ll crush them.”

“But… but we don’t know who they are,” Tu Wei said helplessly.

Shen Linao stood tall, power thrumming beneath his robes like a volcano waiting to erupt.

“Then we’ll find out.”

He turned toward the window, where dusk had begun to descend like ink spilled across the sky.

“We’ll activate the [Grand Divination Array]. A full-scale scrying. We’ll find out what happened in that vault… and which sect dares to raise their hand against us.”

His voice echoed with the weight of flame and judgment.

“And once we know…” His fingers curled into a fist. “…we’ll make sure they are burned to the ground, all of them.”

Tu Wei opened his mouth… then closed it again.

He understood. Even with his brute instincts, even with his limited grasp of subtler arts—he understood the price.

Divination wasn’t just some ritual. It was a discipline of cultivation in itself—one that bled qi and burnt lifespan. It meant opening a window through the veil of time and fate, peering into threads that were never meant to be touched.

“We’ll… we’ll need to halve all cultivators in our sect that know any form of divination,” Tu Wei finally said, voice dry in his throat.

“A small price,” Shen Linao replied without hesitation, “to avoid death.”

He turned his back to the disciple, gaze sweeping over the shadowed chamber as if already seeing the flames of war licking at their doorstep.

“They will agree… if I offer them what they all desire—concessions for their families, open access to our inner treasury, and a fast-track to inner sect discipleship for their children. If they refuse…”

He paused. His voice, when it came again, was sharp as glass.

“…then I’ll make them agree.”

There was no outrage. No pause for ethics. The situation was far past that.

“But,” he continued slowly, “at the same time…” His gaze turned, pinning Tu Wei with a spear-sharp intensity. “…you will join the others in searching for the medallion.”

Tu Wei blinked. “The medallion, Master?”

“If we have it,” Shen Linao said, “then we can call upon the Great Lord’s favor. And if he supports us directly… then even if the Empire comes, even if the Heavens descend—we will not fall.”

Tu Wei’s eyes widened. He bowed so low his head scraped the floor. “I will do my best to bring it to you, Master.”

Shen Linao gave a single nod of dismissal. Tu Wei turned and left in hurried steps. The chamber was silent again.

Shen Linao moved toward the window and stood still. Outside, the sky had darkened further—clouds rolling overhead like bruises painted across the heavens.

Was this fate’s punishment? Was it Heaven itself, condemning him for choosing the easy path to immortality? For pledging his soul to something other than the Heavenly Dao?

His lips curled slightly.

Let Heaven try. Let them throw their lightning, their righteous cultivators, their domain-wielding heroes. He would break them all.

Because he was not Wang Fu—destined to die a dog’s death in a stolen vault. He was not another pawn discarded by fate.

He was Shen Linao. Infernal Spear of the Empire. And a future immortal, rising not through virtue—but through fire. And when he stood at the peak, looking down at the righteous path shattered beneath him, he would laugh.

Because in the end… the Heavens never chained those born of flame.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

Volume 2 Epilogue 2.

Li Qingfeng ran like his life depended on it—because it did.

Behind him, thousands of zombies thundered across the dead, cracked soil of the Corpse Land. Wind tore through his clothes and lashed at his face, pushing him forward with every step. He was desperate to get to safety. But the horde was relentless. From time to time, the rotting mass would hurl one of its own like a projectile, hoping to strike him down with the weight of the dead.

Zombies were supposed to be mindless husks, driven only by hunger. But after centuries in the Corpse Land, some had… changed. Developed the barest hint of cunning. Just enough to make them terrifying.

Beside him, his twin sister Li Qingxue panted hard, her black braid whipping in the wind. She kept twisting around, her bow flashing with pale light as qi-condensed arrows exploded into the horde. Each shot took down clusters of undead, but the swarm only grew, pulling more corpses into its tide with every passing breath.

Ten years. They had scavenged in the Corpse Land for ten years. They had hunted, fought and survived. But never—not once—had they drawn the attention of something this large.

Li Qingfeng’s legs were starting to fail him. His chest ached. His qi pulsed faintly, like the final flicker of a lantern in a storm. Maybe… maybe this was it. Maybe his dao had run its course.

But before that thought could take root, Qingxue’s voice cut through the chaos.

“Don’t you dare give up!” she shouted. “We’re almost there! Just keep running! The wall’s close—I know it is!”

“I’ve been running for six hours!” Li Qingfeng gasped. “My qi’s nearly drained!”

Qingxue scoffed and unleashed another barrage of arrows. One of them exploded near him, shoving him forward with the force. Fifty zombies crumpled to the ground behind him.

“Maybe don’t go deeper into the Corpse Land next time,” she snapped. “You heard the reports—these mindless fucks have been acting weird lately.”

“And you still followed me!” he shot back.

“I only followed you,” she said, “because you’d already be dead without me.”

Above them, the sky was stained with drifting ash, casting a sickly pallor over the world. The air reeked of decay and dried blood. But up ahead, half-shrouded by dust and distance, a silhouette rose from the horizon.

The Wall. Their sanctuary. They just had to make it a few more steps.

Li Qingfeng leapt over a jagged rock, barely clearing it as another zombie lunged at his heels. “But why the hell would I know they’d start chasing us out of nowhere? I’m no diviner!” he shouted over the wind. “You were the one meant to scout!”

Li Qingxue groaned. Her bow snapped another glowing arrow into place. “And I did tell you a horde was moving this way. Or we’d be flat under their feet by now.”

He frowned but didn’t answer. The banter died between them out of necessity. The wall was close now. He could feel it in his bones. If they could just reach it, the defensive arrays would handle the rest.

The absence of other scavengers told him enough—everyone else must’ve heard the rumble and fled earlier. If not, someone might’ve shown up to help. Or maybe they were just smart enough to live them on their own, not wanting to fight against a horde.

His instincts suddenly flared like a struck match. Danger. Immediate. Too close.

He whipped his head around—and saw a zombie nearly on him, its rotten hand outstretched, inches from his back. Without thinking, he yanked a talisman from his belt and tore it in half.

A flash of light erupted, followed by a roaring wave of flame. The fire surged outward, swallowing the zombies in a burst of heat and smoke. The pressure pushed them back, buying him precious seconds. He sucked in a breath and pushed forward, his legs screaming.

From ahead, Li Qingxue’s voice rang out. “That was a Tier 3 talisman! That was a month’s worth of income!”

“Money’s no use if we’re dead,” he snapped. “That thing nearly grabbed me.”

“We’ll argue after we survive,” she muttered, and he could hear the strain in her voice too now.

No more words passed between them. All their energy went into running. Dodging. Surviving. And then—he saw it up close. The Wall.

It rose like a sleeping giant from the cracked earth. The surface was carved from black stone and had glowing gold arrays embedded. It was fifty meters tall. To Li Qingfeng, it looked like a salvation incarnate.

Figures moved along the top—scavengers and guards in patchwork armor, some already leaning over the edge in surprise. They hadn’t expected survivors from that direction, and certainly not ones this close to the jaws of the horde.

Ropes dropped from the top, thudding onto the cracked soil. Li Qingxue grabbed one and swung herself upward without hesitation. Li Qingfeng followed, every muscle in his body screaming in protest as he climbed.

Below, the fire from his talisman had died down. But the horde hadn’t. If he had to take a guess, he’d say the wall would stand against them. It would be confirmed soon. One look at the ground made him internally shudder.

The horde had finally reached the wall and they were only halfway up.

The first wave slammed into the base with a sickening crush. For a moment, his soul left his body. The sound of flesh and bone collapse against the stone echoed upto them.

But both of them gritted their teeth and climbed faster. Li Qingfeng’s hands burnt from the rope friction and he felt his limbs tremble from exertion.

Fuck… A little more. Please, Heavens!

Just as a few corpses began clawing at the stone below, the ropes jerked upward.

Li Qingfeng’s boot cleared the edge, and strong hands pulled him in. He rolled onto the stone floor, chest heaving, just as Li Qingxue scrambled up beside him.

The ropes were yanked back, and for a moment, they both lay there—staring down.

Below them, the horde roared. They pressed against the wall, piling on top of one another in a frenzy to climb, but the wall was too tall, too smooth. Even the most determined didn’t make it more than a quarter of the way before slipping, tumbling, or getting crushed under others.

Then it came.

A shift in the air. A thrum of power that made the very stones hum beneath their backs. It was a sudden burst of qi in the air, flooding the arrays that were carved into the wall. They lit up in waves, activating one after another until the entire surface glowed like a sunrise.

Then came the fire.

Blazing torrents of flame poured from the runes, sweeping over the horde with merciless force. Screams filled the air—dry, cracked howls of things long dead. Hundreds burned every second, their bodies charred into ash or blackened husks.

What moments ago had been a threat large enough to consume them was now being turned to cinders. A few zombies at the back turned and fled, but it didn’t matter.

The Wall had done what it always did. It stood. And it destroyed.

Li Qingfeng collapsed fully onto the stone, arm over his eyes, lungs still begging for air. Beside him, Qingxue was in no better shape, both hands on her chest, trying to slow her heartbeat.

They had been seconds away from dying. A single slip, a single hesitation, and they would’ve been gone.

Just another pair of corpses in the cursed land, shuffling endlessly with no memory of who they were. No purpose. No name.

Li Qingfeng turned to his sister, still catching his breath.

“Let’s take a break,” he muttered. “Head back home. Tell our parents we’re not dead yet. Just... stay the fuck away from this cursed place for a while.”

Li Qingxue nodded, sweat still trailing down her brow. “That sounds good. I doubt I’ll step beyond this wall again anytime soon. We’ve earned enough. We can live easy in the mortal cities for a while.”

Before either could say more, a new voice cut in. It was calm, deep and held a certain awe in it. “That’s a wise decision.”

They both looked up.

An older man stood nearby, arms crossed, a long blade sheathed across his back. Beady eyes, bushy brows, long beard, tall frame. His metal armor gleamed even in the dim light, clearly inscribed with spiritual runes and reinforced with qi-etched plating. A cultivator, no doubt powerful—and wealthy enough to make them look like fledglings.

He looked at them with calm eyes and said, “There are rumours... that a corpse lord is rising.”

Li Qingxue sat up straighter, frowning. “A corpse lord? That’s impossible. Isn’t it?”

The man’s eyes shifted to the scorched remains below. Smoke rose in curling tendrils from the corpses, and the stink of burning rot hung heavy in the air.

“The undead are restless these days,” he said quietly. “And that’s the main theory. A corpse lord—something strong enough to influence the mindless. Something sending them here, toward the walls, with a purpose.”

Li Qingfeng’s brows drew tight. “You’re saying… they were commanded?”

The man nodded once. “It’s the popular theory among the sects and the stronger scavengers around here. Some say the horde patterns are too coordinated lately. There’s word of a group being formed—an investigation team. They’re pulling cultivators from several factions to go deep into the Corpse Land and confirm whether the rumors are true.”

Li Qingxue’s expression darkened. “If it is a corpse lord, then…”

“Then we’re all in trouble,” the man finished for her. “The Empire will have to intervene. It won’t stay a scavenger problem anymore.”

They both nodded grimly. A corpse lord wasn’t a myth. It was a nightmare with history.

At peak meridian expansion realm, such an existence was nearly unstoppable on its own. But worse, it could control the undead—raise them, command them, gather them into legions. It was said that when the Corpse Lands were first born from the great calamity, one such being had risen from the graves. It had taken dozens of Established sects in the leadership of the Guardian ones and an entire battalion from the Empire to destroy it. Since then, it had been a myth to scare off fresh scavengers.

Li Qingfeng exchanged a glance with his sister. Neither of them had to say it. Their decision to leave—at least for a while—had never felt more justified. He turned back toward the cultivator. “Are they going to shut down all scavenging, then?”

The man gave a tired shrug. “Probably. But not yet. Not enough have died. The sects—hell, even the Empire—they’re all waiting for confirmation. Right now, it’s just a theory. A disturbing one, sure, but unless they find proof...”

He trailed off.

“...people will keep dying,” Li Qingxue finished for him.

The man gave a slow, quiet nod.

For a moment, no one said anything. The three of them just stood at the edge of the wall, watching the blackened field of corpses below. The flames had died, but the dread had only just begun to rise.

The man was still speaking when the ground began to tremble beneath their feet. The rest of his words fell into deaf ears as a deep, guttural rumble rose from the depths of the earth.

Then the quake hit.

The stone beneath them lurched, and Li Qingfeng had to grab the nearest railing to avoid being thrown off balance. Beside him, Li Qingxue staggered, falling into his side.

“What the hell is going on?!” he shouted, barely able to hear himself over the rising roar.

“Another horde?!” she yelled back, eyes darting toward the horizon.

Around them, chaos erupted. Cries of panic echoed across the walltop as guards and scavengers scrambled to stay upright. Cracks spiderwebbed across the stone. Several cultivators flared their qi, anchoring themselves to their weapons or bracing their stance with glowing spiritual energy.

But something felt… off.

“No,” the older cultivator muttered, and his voice, though quiet, cut through the panic. “Look over there. Something’s rising... deep from the Corpse Lands.”

Li Qingfeng’s eyes snapped to the horizon and froze.

Far in the distance—beyond the ashen dunes and the broken hills—something was pushing its way out of the ground. A black structure. Vast. Monolithic. It rose slowly but unstoppably, sending tremors through the earth with every meter it climbed. The blackened trees around it cracked and crumbled, giving way to its emergence.

The siblings stared, breathless. Their mouths opened, closed, then opened again—no words forming, only disbelief.

It was built like a pagoda. A massive one, tiered and elegant in shape, but wrong in color. Pitch black, absorbing the light rather than reflecting it.

As it climbed toward the heavens, the tremors lessened. The ground stilled, but no one moved. No one even breathed. What is… happening? Li Qingfeng narrowed his eyes.

He and Li Qingxue pulled themselves to their feet, barely registering the soreness in their bodies. They couldn’t tear their eyes away.

Now fully visible, the tower stretched high into the sky, its top shrouded in clouds. Even from this far, they could make out the carvings—inscriptions, ancient and luminous, glowing with silvery light as they caught the rays of the sun. Symbols of power—they looked like array runes.

The tremors died down and they took it all in.

It was beautiful. And terrifying…. Mostly terrifying.

“Is that… is that the Pagoda of…” the man standing next to them was cut off by his own thoughts as he continued to stare at it.

“Pagoda of what…? Tell me!”

“The… Pagoda of Eternity.”

Li Qingfeng blinked. “What?”

The man swallowed hard. “That… that is the tower said to hold the inheritance of the last nascent soul realm cultivator that was the sect leader of the sect whose remains became the Corpse Lands. A true monster. The kind that shook kingdoms. They say it was buried long ago—sealed away beneath the Corpse Lands to stop others from finding it.”

He turned to them, and for the first time, there was fear in his eyes. “I thought it was just a story. A myth. But… it’s real.”

And that changed everything.

Silence fell again.

Li Qingfeng and Li Qingxue looked at each other, the same thought rising in both their minds. Were they really going to go home now? Because whatever they had seen before—hordes, talismans, walls—it all felt small now.

And deep down, both of them already knew the answer for the question. If it was actually the Pagoda of Eternity, they weren’t ready to leave. Not yet.

***

The world flowed on.

Seasons changed. Small sects rose and fell. Stars shifted in the skies.

And the golden dragon slept.

It drifted through the spirit realm like a fading ember, its vast, serpentine body coiled in a sea of mist and forgotten dreams. Time passed like breathless eternity, and still it did not stir—could not. Its strength was broken, shattered in the moment it had chosen to intervene.

It had no regrets.

It had acted when it must—when the demonic cultivator and the spectral parasite had threatened to snuff out the life of the one it had chosen. A reckless soul, yes. A foolish one, often. But with something far rarer than raw strength, potential.

The dragon had revealed itself in that moment, spent the last of its might, not only to destroy those enemies, but to rebuild the boy's broken body—one too fragile to contain even a sliver of the dragon’s essence. Had it not intervened, the boy’s body and soul would have burned to ash, leaving behind nothing but regrets and lost fate.

And so, the dragon had fallen into hibernation.

It could no longer whisper guidance. Could no longer shape qi into visions. Could no longer teach.

But it could still see.

Even in sleep, the dragon watched. Its gaze stretched across rivers of energy, peering into the mortal world from beyond the veil.

It saw its chosen.

Saw how the boy struggled to rise, step by bloody step. How he gathered people around him—people with weak potential, average cultivation, or no strength at all. But they followed him. Believed in him.

Potential. That was all it took sometimes. And the boy—it's chosen—knew it too.

He believed wealth could bring power, so he chased it with feverish hunger. The dragon would have laughed, if it had lungs to do so. So wrong… and yet so right.

The world ran on cycles. Even those who knew fragments of destiny rarely understood the whole. But the dragon had seen more. It had once stood at the edge of immortal gates. It had guarded them.

And now, so too had its chosen begun to learn of his eventual path. The key to the Gate of Immortals. A relic no man held and was alive for long … and yet the boy had begun to connect to it. Slowly. Blindly.

It was not enough.

The dragon knew the moment would come when teaching would be necessary—when strength alone could not guide him through what was to come.

And that moment was near.

It could feel its body beginning to reform in the void. Could feel its power stitching itself together, scale by shining scale. Soon, it would awaken fully. Soon, it would once again enter the star space of its chosen and speak.

But not yet. For now, it rested. In silence. In waiting. Floating above the spirit seas, ever-watchful. It was protecting, healing and guarding.

Because it could feel it now. A tremor in the strands of fate. Something was coming. Something worse, way worse than what they’d gone through.

And when it arrived, the boy would need more than luck, strength, or money. He would need the dragon.

The fight for the Gate of Immortals had begun.

Of course, not openly. Not yet. But the signs were there—subtle ripples in the fabric of fate, echoed across realms both high and low. Forces long buried were stirring. Hidden sects reemerging. Ancient cultivators breaking their silence.

And in the center of it all—his progeny.

The dragon felt it with absolute certainty. The one it had chosen, the soul it had saved and rebuilt, would be drawn into the storm. Was already being drawn into it. Such was fate.

But the dragon did not intend to let him be swallowed by it. No.

When the gates opened, when the final trial came, it intended for him to stand among the worthy. To rise not as a pawn—but as a force.

Strong enough to challenge what came from beyond, strong enough to survive and strong enough to save this realm. Because if he failed—if the enemy succeeded—then nothing would remain. Forget about the sects, empires or even the stars. Everything would be devoured.

The dragon had seen such endings in other worlds. It had lived through calamities where no gods answered, where no heroes rose, where hope was just a story whispered by the dead. It would not let this world follow that path.

Not while it still had breath. Not while its chosen still had strength left to rise.

And so it waited—one eye open in the vast spirit realm, soul coiling with slowly rebuilding might.

The time was coming. The enemy was coming. And the dragon would be ready to support his chosen.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

117. Beast rising

Just a mortal.

That’s all he was, and all he’d ever be.

Gao Shun peered down across the village perimeter, standing on top of the newly erected ramparts of Meadow Village. The wood beneath his boots still smelled of fresh bark that was uneven and splintered in places. It was crude work—lashed logs and hammered stakes—and it would barely hold against a real beast rising. But it wasn’t meant to. Not really.

He knew that. After all, this would be the twenty-fifth beast rising of his life.

The real purpose of the wall, he understood, was to give men like him something to believe in. A line to stand behind. A symbol that maybe this time, things would be different.

Usually, he wouldn’t be so sure.

He’d passed most risings on the road—moving deeper into the Empire when he could, sheltering in rat-cold bunkers when he couldn’t. He’d seen towns hold. He’d seen towns fall. One time, he’d watched a city burn for three days while the nobles fled in sky carriages and left the rest of them behind.

He never had the coin to go where the sects were. And even if he did, the gates of those cities never opened for refugees like him. It was saddening, but it was his reality. Not just his, but the reality for many mortals.

A city could only take so much.

But here, in this muddy village where the main road still turned to soup when it rained, something felt… different. He didn’t want to say it aloud, but the thought lingered anyway—maybe they’ll survive this one.

Because for the first time in his life, Gao Shun was standing beside cultivators. Real ones.

He’d doubted it at first, of course. Some new sect setting up themselves in Meadow Village? It sounded like a joke. It reminded him too much of that time in a western village when a scam artist painted his skin gold and paraded as an immortal. They built him a shrine. Worshipped him for a year until the beast rising started.

That day, the village had been annihilated. Everyone there had pinned their hopes on the so-called cultivator who blessed their wells and claimed to command the heavens. When the beasts came, he vanished. Vanished like smoke in the wind. Gao Shun remembered the screaming. The silence after.

That’s why he didn’t trust easily. Not the heavens. Not sects. And definitely not men with power.

But this time… this time was different. It felt different.

A massive pitch-black wolf sat next to him on the rampart, lazily licking its paws like it didn’t have a care in the world. It had the bulk of a cart horse and the muscle of a predator. No mortal could tame such a thing. And yet, the villagers walked past it like it was a well-fed farm dog.

Gao Shun kept glancing at it, more curious than scared now. Something about its round belly and half-lidded eyes made him think of the mutts back in his childhood home—the ones that slept by the hearth and begged for scraps. Honestly, the beast looked less like a wolf and more like a dog that had eaten too well for too long and simply kept growing.

Still, the urge to pet it stayed locked behind his ribs. He liked living.

He didn’t want to disturb a peaceful looking beast. As he looked at it, something happened. His eyes widened when the wolf’s ears twitched suddenly.

In an instant, its body tensed. Its nails extended from its paws and it growled. It was a low and a deep growl that felt like thunder in its throat.

Gao Shun froze, taking a cautious step back. Had it sensed his thoughts? Did it somehow know he’d imagined rubbing its stupid fluffy head?

Maybe he should move from where he was—

He immediately noticed where the wolf’s gaze was fixated. It was not on him. But beyond the wall, into the forest. Others began to notice too. The entire crowd looked beyond the wall.

That was when a figure moved through the gathering of guards and villagers atop the rampart, parting the crowd with silent authority. Zi Wen, one of the cultivators. The man was lean but carried himself like steel wrapped in skin, and the wolf—Little Yuze, the villagers called him—perked up at his approach.

“What is it, Little Yuze?” Zi Wen asked.

The beast raised its head and pointed its snout toward the trees.

A beat passed.

Then the man turned and shouted. “Everyone! Bows and guns ready! Beasts incoming!”

That was all they needed.

Gao Shun's fingers tightened instinctively. His body moved without thought, reaching for the worn bow slung across his back. He wasn't a soldier, but he'd hunted his whole life during his travels. Rabbit, deer, even the odd wild boar when he was lucky. Archery had kept him alive longer than luck ever did.

He pulled the string, testing the tension. It was old but dependable—like him. Nothing moved. The forest was still.

Maybe it was a false alarm.

Then the ground trembled beneath his feet. Once. Twice. Like distant drum beats getting closer.

A roar erupted through the trees. It wasn’t one beast. It wasn’t even two.

It was a whole damn herd, he could tell.

From the edge of the forest, trees cracked and splintered as hulking shapes burst through. Bull-like creatures—snorting steam, eyes glowing with fury—charged across the open earth like an avalanche of muscle and hate.

Gao Shun swallowed.

The twenty-fifth beast rising of his life had begun.

And seeing the beast, he wasn’t sure if the ramparts—or hope—would hold. Gao Shun’s breath caught in his throat. Those things—those beasts—were going to smash through the ramparts in a single blow. He could feel it. The crude walls would crumble like straw huts before a storm.

He didn’t wait.

He nocked an arrow, drawing the string back until it creaked with strain. His fingers held steady. All he could do now was wait.

Then, the voice came.

“Attack!” Cultivator Zi Wen’s command cut through the air.

Dozens of bows twanged in unison. Arrows flew like a swarm of wasps, raining down on the oncoming monsters. Most simply bounced off—useless against the thick, armor-like hide of the bulls.

But some, like his, found purchase. One of Gao Shun’s arrows sank into a soft spot near the beast’s throat. A spurt of blood followed.

It didn’t stop.

None of them did.

The creatures charged forward. Their tongues were out, salivating to take a taste of their blood. It was sickening in the stomach, and Gao Shun felt death was coming. Every time an arrow hit the bulls, they didn’t care. Didn’t stop for a second and continued pouncing forward.

Fuck! This is not working!

One of the bulls leapt high, its massive frame blotting out the sun for a moment as it came crashing down toward the wall.

He couldn’t run. Couldn’t breathe.

Bang.

A sound came from behind, tore through the air and hit the beast. Gao Shun blinked in both awe and shock.

What is that? Another sound came. Something long and metal, fast as lightning—shot through the air and slammed into the beast mid-flight. Its body jerked back, limbs twitching as blood erupted from fresh, precise wounds.

More followed.

Each shot drove another beast backward. Flesh tore, blood sprayed, and for the first time… the monsters fell.

Loud shouts escaped their mouths when they were about to die.

The beasts, once unstoppable, now writhed on the ground, howling in agony. Their charge had faltered—stopped cold.

Before Gao Shun could even process what had happened, Little Yuze leapt from the ramparts with terrifying grace. Its form blurred, and suddenly its claws gleamed with a strange, iridescent energy. No longer a lazy, oversized dog—now it moved like death given shape.

It tore into the fallen beasts with visible fury. One slash—dead. Another leap—another cry silenced.

With every kill, the villagers screamed in triumph. Cheering, shouting, their voices filled with disbelief and hope.

Gao Shun found himself yelling with them, his throat raw, his heart pounding. He was cheering Little Yuze. But even as the euphoria built, a question gnawed at him.

What just happened? What had hit the beasts?

Zi Wen hadn’t moved. He was right there—ten paces away, watching like the rest of them.

And Gao Shun knew there were no other cultivators on the rampart right now.

So what was it?

But before Gao Shun could think further, another growl ripped from Little Yuze’s throat.

Still crouched beside a mangled corpse, the wolf’s fur bristled again—and then the forest howled. This time, it wasn’t the bulls.

They came in dozens—smaller, sleeker beasts, their red fur like embers under the sun. Fox-like things with too many tails and eyes that glowed gold. Gao Shun’s blood ran cold.

He knew those. Ember foxes.

Tier one beasts—swift, agile, and worst of all, climbers.

He’d seen them scale stone walls like spiders, biting through tendons and vanishing into the chaos. These things didn’t knock gates down. They climbed over them and tore people apart from the inside.

Gao Shun’s fingers moved fast, pulling another arrow from his quiver, cursing under his breath. They had to stop them before they reached the ramparts.

He nocked it, lifted his bow, took aim—

The same loud sound interrupted him. Then another followed. And another.

Before his arrow ever flew, the foxes were already tumbling backward through the air, bodies twisted, blood spraying in wild arcs. Dozens fell in seconds.

He lowered his bow, eyes wide.

Little Yuze didn’t even move this time.

He scanned the battlefield, then looked at the rampart, following the direction of the thunderous blasts. That’s when he saw them.

Men and women—mortals, just like him—stationed behind crates and barricades at different points along the wall. They held strange metal weapons in their hands, short and stubby, gleaming with polished barrels. Gao Shun’s breath caught in his throat. What is that?

He looked at the people. One of them he recognized.

A young man who wore the gold-stitched robes of the Divine Coin Sect.

Just as he watched, the man lifted the weapon, adjusted his stance, and curled his finger—

Bang.

A flash occurred and a projectile followed. One of the fox-beasts dropped mid-leap, skull shattered. More followed—one after another. Without a break, the beasts fell to the ground, dying on the spot, all killed by that one young man.

The mortals killed them… all.

Gao Shun’s mouth fell open.

The man hadn't used any cultivation technique. No glowing runes or hand signs, meaning he was really mortal. Just a twitch of the finger—and a beast died. He looked at his own bow. Then back at the strange weapons.

Those foxes… they weren’t weaklings. They were spirit beasts. Things that would take five men and still leave with a leg in its jaw. And these mortals were butchering them like livestock.

His eyes darted across the rampart, and realization dawned.

Every single person wielding one of those weapons wore the robes of the Divine Coin Sect. The pieces slid together in his mind.

Gao Shun gripped the railing tightly.

The Divine Coin Sect had brought something new to Meadow Village. A weapon that could let mortals kill beasts.

A spirit artifact, probably—but not like any he’d ever seen. Not a flying sword, nor a glowing talisman, nor a jade ring that summoned fire. Just a metal tool in a mortal’s hand. One that could kill beasts.

And the man who used it? Just a mortal like him.

Gao Shun's heart thudded with something he hadn’t felt in years. Not just awe—possibility.

Was it really just the weapon that made the difference? Could he… use it too?

With the ramparts quiet now, and no more beasts spilling from the trees, he looked toward Zi Wen. The young cultivator stood at the edge of the wall, his robes slightly blowing in the wind, expression distant.

Gao Shun took a breath, swallowed his hesitation, and walked forward.

When he reached him, he gave a deep bow. “Lord Zi Wen, I have something I wish to ask… about the spirit artifacts that let mortals kill the fox-beasts.”

Zi Wen turned to him, brows raised. “You mean the guns?”

Gao blinked. Guns? So that was what they were called. Strange word. But he nodded quickly. “Yes, those, Lord Cultivator.”

He hesitated then pushed forward.

“Can I use one? To help fend off the beasts?”

Zi Wen’s gaze sharpened immediately.

Gao Shun raised his hands in alarm. “I would never dare run away with it. I only wish to defend the village. Truly.”

Zi Wen was quiet for a beat. Then he sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want you to fight. We need every hand we can get.” His eyes turned serious. “But the guns are only given to sect members. I can’t give one to you unless you’re part of the Divine Coin Sect.”

Gao’s brow rose at that. The door hadn’t shut—only narrowed.

He licked his lips, then said carefully, “Then… may I become one?”

Zi Wen stared at him. “You want to join the sect? What do you do?”

“I—I’m a merchant, my lord. I’ve traveled to most of the Eastern provinces. I know trade routes, supplier names, tax rates, ore prices and even if that's useless, I have hunted a lot—” he stopped, realizing he was rambling.

Zi Wen, surprisingly, chuckled.

“A merchant, huh?” He seemed thoughtful. “Then Sect Leader Chen might be interested. He likes merchants.”

Hope flared in Gao’s chest.

Zi Wen added, “If he agrees to take you in, then yes—you’d be allowed to carry a gun.”

Gao Shun’s eyes lit up. A mortal in a sect. That alone would make him higher ranked in standing than most mortals in the Empire.

“Where can I find Sect Leader Chen?” he asked quickly, afraid the offer would vanish if he didn’t act fast.

Zi Wen’s smile turned wry. “You can’t. He’s in closed-door cultivation right now.”

Gao’s face fell.

“But,” Zi Wen added, “he’ll be out soon. Likely when the next wave of beasts comes—he’ll show up.”

Gao Shun stared at him. And then, slowly, a smile tugged at his lips. He hadn't seen Sect Leader Chen, only heard about him, but if he could really accept him as a member and let him use these guns, then it would change everything. Hence, for the first time in his life, Gao Shun felt the urge to meet a cultivator and hoped that he would be out of his closed door cultivation soon.

***

Chen Ren had heard a saying before. Cultivators need a calm mind to begin their path.

It always sounded like something sect elders said to keep disciples from running off after every impulse—a pretty excuse to make meditation feel more important than it was.

He used to think that, anyway.

But now, sitting cross-legged in the quiet of his chambers, staring blankly at the flickering lamp on the table, he knew it was true.

He couldn’t enter his star space.

No matter how long he sat there, no matter how many breathing techniques he cycled through, his consciousness remained scattered—like a jar of water filled with ash. It felt clouded and chaotic for no reason.

Even his account books, once a comfort, lay untouched. The columns of numbers blurred when he looked at them, his focus fraying before it even began.

The reason was simple.

The medallion. Or more accurately—what he had seen when he bound it. He felt like he was in the middle of a game of immortal chess. Not as a player, but… a pawn. A small, insignificant pawn that had been picked up, moved, and now stood in a position he didn’t understand. He didn’t know who was playing the game, or why, or even what the rules were.

But he understood this much, pawns die early.

If he wanted to survive—no, if he wanted to change the outcome—he couldn’t remain a pawn. He had to evolve. Upgrade himself. Maybe even… become a player.

But he wasn’t there yet. Not even close. And that truth weighed on him like a millstone around his neck.

Even Yalan, for all her knowledge and faith in him, had stepped back. She’d said this wasn’t something she could help with.

“Calming your mind isn't a magic trick, Chen Ren. You have to find the stillness on your own.”

He’d thought about using herbs—something to still his thoughts, open the doors to cultivation. But that felt like cheating. Worse—it felt like a crutch. And once you needed a crutch, you couldn’t run without it.

No. He needed to win this battle in his own head. He inhaled deeply and decided to take a different approach.

Rather than dwell on the bad—the things that hadn’t happened yet—he chose to focus on the good that had. In the past year, he had won a cultivation tournament, launched new businesses, and expanded the ones he already had. They were no longer just sources of coin—they now gave him a steady income and small but consistent flows of qi.

With so much of it accumulating, he knew that reaching the foundation establishment realm was only a matter of months. That kind of speed was nearly unheard of. Even once-in-a-generation geniuses, nurtured by powerful clans and blessed with heavenly roots, rarely advanced so fast.

And him? He had low spirit roots—the kind most sects wouldn’t even bother to take in.

As he thought through each achievement, his breathing grew calmer. He knew the road ahead would be hard—filled with schemes, enemies, and involve the Gate of Immortals he’d glimpsed during the medallion binding. But he had come so far, so fast.

Sometimes he forgot that.

And forgetting was a quick way to spiral into the illusion that he wasn’t doing enough. That he wasn’t enough.

There was always room to grow—but today, he had to acknowledge what he'd already built.

And he had friends. Real ones.

Yalan was first in that list. He knew she would stand with him when trouble came. Whether it was because of the pact that bound them, or their friendship… he couldn’t be sure. But he hoped it was the latter.

Then there was Xiulan, Yuqiu, Qing He, Zi Wen, Feiyu, Luo Feng, and others—each one now a thread in the fabric of his life. A sect, even if not all of them were cultivators.

But with the guns they now wielded, they had become something more. A force. Especially with Feiyu and Qing He constantly developing newer designs.

Thinking of these things, Chen Ren slowly felt the weight lift from his chest.

Sometimes, focusing on the positive instead of the endless unknowns was enough to reset the mind. To let the chaos settle.

And as he held onto that quiet fulfillment, he felt it. His connection to his star space returned, gentle but firm—welcoming him.

Chen Ren smiled. It was finally time to accumulate his gains.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

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118. Gains and dragon

Chen Ren breathed.

He found himself sitting in the center of his star space, and felt qi fill his surroundings. There was a stillness here, the kind that clung to your skin and hummed in your bones, gentle and all-encompassing like warm water in a bath.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just sat there with his legs crossed, eyes half-closed, and embraced the silence that wrapped around him.

The air shimmered with his qi. It danced around him lazily and every breath he took seemed to draw more of it toward him. He had no idea how such a place could exist—this entire astral world suspended inside his dantian, invisible to all, yet as real and solid to him.

It was absurd. Fascinating. Impossible. And yet, here he was, again.

He exhaled slowly, letting his thoughts drift up like mist, and tilted his head back to gaze at the stars overhead—his stars. There were three now, suspended in that swirling void like miniature suns, each pulsing softly with life. The moment his eyes landed on them, a spark of pride warmed his chest.

Three stars. Three successes.

The first one was gentle, denoting his noodle stall. He inhaled again, although not physically—he could smell the broth and the sizzle of oil. It was deeply etched to his memory. The way kids came to eat with their parents, laughing amongst the crowd, the customers who complimented the dish every now and then, the clatter of bowls. It was all a fond memory when he had first started.

And though he hadn’t pushed it as aggressively as the others, he knew it stood strong.

The second star, though… that one had changed.

Chen Ren didn’t need a manual to understand why. His perfume business had shifted, grown, evolved. It was no longer just scented oils and bottles arranged in a tidy little shop. It had become a mall.

A smile crept to his lips. A mall. In a cultivation world.

Perfumes, clothes, accessories. Clothes that refined the sense of fashion in the current world that attracted clients one after another. It had become a space that people could walk into and transform. And at the center of it all, Yuqiu was pushing further every day. The ideas had been his, but she had run with them, made them real.

It was no wonder this star was outshining the others. He could feel it even now—qi trickling from it in steady waves, more than he’d ever refined from it before. If it kept growing at this pace, it would become his strongest income of cultivation for a long while— at least until his pill business bloomed.

The noodle and chips business was still small, but he had started laying foundations in two new cities. Ice cream had been phased out with the seasons, but next year, when summer returned, he’d come back with new flavours, new carts, and a better plan to keep it cold for longer journeys. He wanted it to be more than a street-side treat. He wanted it to be a sensation.

And as for the alcohol business, it was steady—suprisingly so. It was also a slow burn, like the brews they were perfecting in their modest brewery in the village. They hadn’t pushed past Ashen City borders yet—there simply wasn’t enough production capacity to meet the demand a larger region would bring. But within Ashen City, especially among the local cultivators, their product had become something people praised in delight, higher than he’d expected and his stocks in the Zhu Clan had just risen.

His eyes lingered on the stars for a long moment, his mind drifting back to everything that had brought him here. Every challenge, every twist of fate flashed in front of his eyes. All of it had led to this—to the stars overhead, to the qi swirling around him like a lazy river finally beginning to rush.

He exhaled softly, a breath deeper than the rest, and leaned into it. How big of a leap am I going to make this time?

He was at the peak of the fourth star qi refinement realm. The middle of a realm where most would slow. But Chen Ren knew today wasn’t just another step forward—it was a leap. The signs were all around him—the fullness of the stars, the way his meridians tingled in anticipation, the calm focus within his own mind.

He could feel it. Maybe not one star, or two—possibly three. But he was sure of two. That surge would carry him to the seventh star. Maybe even eight.

He wasn’t arrogant enough to believe he’d reach the peak of the realm—not yet. But if he did, if he touched the very edge of it, then everything would change. His ability to protect himself and his ventures. His power to defend those who had begun to rely on him. And he would get the strength to stand against stronger enemies for just a bit longer.

No more running.

No more hiding strength behind half-smiles and cheap robes.

With that thought anchoring him, Chen Ren inhaled deeply, muting his thoughts—and the world turned quiet.

He reached out first to the golden warmth of the first star—his food stall. The qi it released was familiar, gentle, almost comforting. Like the steady rhythm of chopping vegetables or the heat of a pot just beginning to boil. It wrapped around him like a seasoned companion, a friend who had walked with him through the dust and mud of the early days.

He let it wash over him, soaking into his dantian, then coursing outward. In an instant, his limbs hummed. His breath deepened. The qi wasn’t aggressive; it settled. Fortified. Expanded. He could feel the gentle stretching of his meridians as his body accepted more and more of it.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as the last of that qi was drawn in. It wasn’t enough to push him through—but it laid the path.

He opened his senses to the third star next. The alcohol business. The brews. The cultivators.

From the moment the qi touched him, he knew something was different.

It was potent. Not merely denser—but alive. Energetic. Almost unruly. It didn’t slide into his dantian like the first—it charged in, forcing his body to adapt to it on the spot. His skin prickled. His core tightened.

His breath caught—then released in a quiet laugh.

“Cultivators,” he muttered.

That had to be it. The qi wasn’t just from mortals drinking to forget their worries. It came from fellow cultivators, those with their own spiritual essence. Their own refinement. And somehow, some part of that qi had found its way back to him—refined once, now refined again.

And it was perfect for stabilization.

He let it ground him, focusing on firming his foundation. His inner sea of qi no longer sloshed around like water in a jar—it gained shape, weight. Density. And it all happened slowly. Painfully so.

The very air around him shifted, as if the star space itself was acknowledging the change. He didn’t rush. Didn’t force the next step.

Only when the third star’s qi had fully settled—leaving a radiant, molten feeling in his limbs—did he finally turn his attention to the second star.

The largest. The brightest.

He smiled again, almost unable to help it.

The moment Chen Ren opened himself to the final star—the brightest, most bloated with power—it surged through him like a flood that had been waiting for too long behind a brittle dam.

Qi slammed into his body with the weight of a falling mountain.

His back arched involuntarily, every muscle seizing for a heartbeat before relaxing again in slow shudders. His bones creaked—actually creaked—as the energy rushed into marrow and muscle, trying to make space where there was none. His dantian expanded like a bloated waterskin, qi swirling with enough intensity to leave him breathless.

Too much. Too fast.

But Chen Ren didn’t stop. He couldn’t afford to.

He could feel his strength rising in real time—flesh, bone, dantian—every part of him stretched taut under the weight of transformation. His veins burned, his breath came in ragged pulls, but he gritted his teeth and leaned into it, feeling his heart pound in his ears.

No, he would not stop here.

His limbs trembled, sweat beading along his brow—even in the quiet of his star space, the illusion of pain could not be muted.

“Arghhh!” He screamed but kept his eyes tight shut.

What his Dao demanded was never easy. It was progress. And sometimes, to move forward meant bearing the unbearable. This was one of those times.

He slowed his pace. Instead of gulping down entire mouthfuls of qi at once, he began to sip—bit by bit, thread by thread. He let the smaller strands coil into his dantian, where they could unfold and settle more cleanly. The pressure didn’t go away—but it lessened. And the flow became manageable, even if barely.

He felt his body scream and spirit ache, but somewhere beneath it all—he decided he’d adapt.

After all, that was what cultivators did. They were thrown into oceans, they learned to breathe underwater, dropped into flames and they learned how to walk through them.

And as the qi poured into him—filling, flooding, fortifying—he learned.

Soon, as he expected, the foreignness dulled. The pain became a pattern. His breathing steadied again, and even as tremors rolled through his limbs, they no longer rattled his control.

Then it came—the shift.

His qi flared at the suddenness, catching him off guard. Like a mountain rising from the sea, his qi began to change. It changed even in depth. With that, he felt the threshold crumble.

One star. Two. Three.

His cultivation surged, each leap like thunder behind his ribs. The fifth. The sixth. The seventh star flared to life, and for a brief moment, he thought that was the end.

He grunted in pain but he knew it wasn’t the end. The pressure didn’t recede. If anything, it pulled taut again—qi still pouring in—and Chen Ren held himself steady as he crossed into the eight.

A place most people never reached in their entire lives. But he had. In hours.

Fuck… it hurts!

The last trickle of qi faded, and his breathing calmed. For a moment, he let go.

He didn’t rush to test his new strength. He didn’t smile. Didn’t even stand up. Instead, he sat still, eyes closed, feeling the echo of everything that had happened. The minor fractures in his meridians. The stretching of his dantian astral walls. The subtle misalignments that, left unchecked, could cause instability later.

So he corrected them.

Bit by bit, pulse by pulse, he moved qi—repairing, smoothing, reinforcing. For a moment, he knew he was someone who had bent a realm to his will. And with that power came responsibility—especially to himself.

Only when every vein, every channel, every whisper of his qi sang in perfect harmony did he finally open his eyes.

His star space greeted him in silence.

The three stars still shone overhead—but fainter now, their brilliant bodies dimmed by the offering they had given. Chen Ren looked at them quietly, and acknowledged.

They had grown. And so had he.

A smile formed in his lips, it was tired, soft, barely more than a twitch of the lips—-but genuine all the same.

Even the stars above him were dimmer now, as if resting. He knew they would recover.

Yet, even as that warmth lingered in his chest, it didn’t erase the other feeling curling in the back of his mind.

The golden dragon still hadn’t returned.

It had been so long since he last saw it—since the tournament, since that moment when it had shattered the skies to defend him, burning its own essence to do so. Since then… silence. And now, with the Gate of Immortals revealed and more questions clawing at his thoughts than ever before, the absence stung sharper than he expected.

He had hoped that his breakthroughs would stir it awake. That the echo of progress would draw it forth.

But it came out to be nothing.

He let out a slow breath, attempting to ground himself further—only for the air to catch in his throat halfway.

The star space began to shift.

The once-still sky began to ripple, the stars themselves stirring as if pulled by some ancient tide. One by one, they drifted from their positions, glowing with new light—golden, silver, deep crimson—until they formed a vast, twisting shape in the void above him.

His eyes widened. He knew this shape.

The serpentine body. The long, tapering horns. The aura that spread like curtains of light. The dragon. The same one he had seen when it first saved him.

But it was different now.

Weaker.

Its form shimmered, translucent, and every line of its body looked less defined than before—as if struggling to hold itself together. And still—it appeared.

And Chen Ren… forgot how to speak.

His mouth parted slightly, eyes locked on the great beast floating above him. His knees, even in the endless calm of his star space, felt weak beneath him. Something tightened in his chest—not fear, not reverence, but something deeper.

A connection when he looked at him.

Eyes the color of gold met his. Tired. Wise. Proud.

“I—” Chen Ren stuttered.

The golden dragon groaned, sending vibrations through his body.

“I have questions,” he muttered. The words felt brittle on his tongue. He hated how small his voice sounded—but they were the only words he could muster.

Heavens, why do I feel weak?

The dragon’s head tilted slightly, as if it was smiling without moving its mouth.

“You have time to ask them,” it said finally, the voice frail and echoing like wind through crumbling stone. “For now… stay alive.”

“Wait—what do you mean?” Chen Ren asked, the sharpness in his tone surprising even him. “Why are you—?”

But before he could finish, he saw it. The golden shimmer began to fade.

The body of the dragon started unraveling, piece by piece, light unweaving like threads from silk. The tail scattered first, dissolving into particles. Then the limbs. The horns. Even the eyes began to dim.

“No, wait—!” he reached upward instinctively, even though there was no ground, no sky, no way to hold onto light.

But it was already gone.

And with it, the stars broke apart.

“No!”

His entire star space cracked like glass under pressure, reality folding inward as qi scattered like dust. He couldn’t hold it together. Couldn’t do anything. It crumbled.

And with it, he succumbed to darkness.

***

Chen Ren gasped awake, the cold air of his room hitting his skin like a slap. He was sprawled on the floorboards, drenched in sweat, his robes clinging to his skin. His heart thundered in his chest, every beat loud and frantic, as if his body was still caught in the moment of collapse.

The world was still. The stars were gone.

His cultivation had risen—he could feel it. His qi was sharper, heavier, stronger. But his mind wasn’t on that. Not even close.

There was only one thing echoing through his thoughts, wrapping around his lungs like a vice.

Stay alive?

Why had the dragon said that? Why now?

And what was coming that made even a celestial being speak such words?

He stared at the ceiling, his breath slowly evening out—but his eyes did not blink.

Because now, more than ever, he needed answers.

And the questions only increased when he remembered the fading form. He knew the Golden Dragon was a being of immense power and even greater mystery, and yet… it looked weak. Like something only barely holding on.

He let himself lay in the bitterness of it all.

After a few long minutes, he finally exhaled and moved to sit upright.

His limbs still trembled faintly, his back slick with cold sweat. He reached into his robe pocket and withdrew the one thing that always seemed to anchor him these days when his thoughts began to spiral.

The medallion.

He held it carefully in his palm, and felt the cold metal. It looked the same as always—an old, slightly tarnished disc no larger than his palm, carved with overlapping symbols and inscriptions that even now he hadn’t fully deciphered.

But now… now he could feel it.

There were trickles of qi running through its surface. He’d felt it before when he had bonded with it, but it had been faint. Easy to dismiss. Lately, though, in the quiet moments when he clutched it during meditation or thought, the sensation had grown stronger.

He had grown used to holding it. It had become something of a habit—something he reached for not studying, but when he felt unsettled, as he did now. A totem of calm. A weight in the hand that said, you’re still here.

Chen Ren closed his eyes briefly and focused.

And the medallion responded.

It vibrated lightly—just once—and then light spilled from the carvings, growing outward in lines. Right in front of him, he felt the air move.

A holographic map unfolded, made from pale gold and thin threads of qi, forming a three-dimensional display. Mountains rose in ghostly peaks. A long, winding river shimmered its way through the middle, flanked by scattered cities and marked routes.

Chen Ren leaned forward, attempting to scan every detail.

He had seen this map before—but every time, it left him with the same quiet awe.

It was the medallion’s doing. A function he had only discovered after that first strange vision of the Gate of Immortals—a vision that had not returned since.

According to Wang Jun, this holographic display was not the final destination where the gate was, but a guide—a clue left behind by the creator of the medallion. It pointed to the location of the next piece.

A piece he would need, if he hoped to uncover the truth behind it all.

Chen Ren reached out with a finger and slowly traced the river, eyes narrowing on a valley nestled between two mountains. There were no names written here, no clear markers—just the terrain itself.

He had studied this map enough times to memorize its flow.

And he finally understood something.

This is how Gu Tian found the first piece in Cloud Mist City.

The realization settled like stone in his gut. Gu Tian must have held a similar medallion—must have stood in a similar room, watching a similar hologram flicker to life. And then, like Chen Ren, he had followed the trail. Piece by piece. Until fate had led him right into Chen Ren’s path.

Their meeting hadn’t been an accident. He clenched the medallion tighter, feeling the faint buzz of qi still humming from within.

Though he hadn’t found anything else on Gu Tian’s person, not even a trace of the medallion piece, the implications gnawed at him.

Had Gu Tian hidden it before they fought? Or worse—had someone else given him the information? That thought unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. Because if someone had guided Gu Tian, that meant there were others—people with knowledge of the medallion’s secrets.

His eyes drifted back to the glowing map, the projection still hovering silently in front of him like a suspended memory. Despite the unease coiling in his gut, the sight soothed him.

There was a pull to it.

A sensation that tugged lightly at his spirit, not painful, not overwhelming—but persistent. Like something beneath those mountains, hidden along the river’s path, was waiting for him. Whispering his name. Telling him to come.

He knew it was the medallion. Ever since he had bound it to his qi, the connection had only deepened.

But right now, he welcomed the feeling. Because it was easier to focus on this pull—on the mystery in the distance—than the dragon’s brittle voice and the ominous words it had left behind.

Chen Ren took a slow breath and let his thoughts settle. Slowly, he gathered the scattered pieces of his mind and focused. He wasn’t one to lose himself in fear.

He had come too far for that.

Just as he was beginning to trace a path along the edge of the holographic river, a knock rang against the door.

He blew out a breath, then snapped his fingers lightly, cutting off the qi flow to the medallion. The projection rippled once before dissolving into the air, leaving only silence in its place. He tucked the medallion back into his robe and moved to the door, brushing sweat from his brow.

When he opened it, a young man stood outside. One of the mortals. Dressed in plain brown robes, the man bowed deeply the moment the door opened.

“Sect Leader Chen,” he said breathlessly, eyes wide with worry. “Forgive the disturbance, but we need your assistance on the wall. Cultivator Zi Wen sent me personally.”

“What happened?”

The man swallowed. “A Tier 2 pair of bloodback wolves have appeared outside the city. We—we had no idea such beasts were living nearby. They’re... coordinated. And the spiritual artifacts aren’t doing enough. Our cultivators are holding them back for now, but—”

“You need strength. Understood.”

The man nodded, clearly relieved. Chen Ren didn’t waste another breath.

Even as fatigue coiled in his limbs from the earlier breakthrough, he pushed it down. There was a tightness in his arms, a thrum of overdrawn qi in his core, but it didn’t matter. His mind was clear now. The weight of the dragon’s warning, the medallion’s mysteries, all of it folded neatly behind the reality in front of him.

“Let’s go,” he said, voice sharp as steel. “I’ll see for myself what this monster is.”

***

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Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

119. Wolves of fur

Chen Ren walked through the stairs to the rampart with the mortal sect member. The young man followed him silently, but their shared silence was loud with what was going on up ahead.

Even from here, he could hear the chaotic medley rising above the walls—crackling gunfire, beastly howls, and, through it all, the unexpected cheers of mortals standing their ground.

The sound didn’t reassure him. If anything, it made him wary.

Had the guns really performed that well? He doubted it. He remembered the power of the beasts too vividly from the first day of the rising. The beasts had torn through the defenses, their blood-drenched hides almost impervious to anything short of higher realmed cultivator attacks. On the first day, their rifles had worked well enough to wound, maybe kill a few weaker monsters, but certainly not something that ranked tier two.

Still, something had changed. The cheering. The occasional pauses of the fire. The lack of panic. That all meant the guns were working, at least more than he had expected.

And the entire thing was no small feat. His sect’s power had risen in the last few weeks because of these weapons. Production was limited now—every musket, every bullet, took time, effort, and materials they could scarcely afford to waste—but the framework was in place. Sooner or later, Chen Ren knew they’d produce enough to arm every mortal in the sect.

That thought alone sent a good-kind-of-shiver through him.

He reached the top of the rampart and paused, one hand resting on the parapet as he took in the battlefield below and understood the reason for the cheering. His brows lifted.

Below him, a line of mortals in sect robes crouched behind makeshift cover, smoke curling from the barrels of their muskets. They were firing at a pack of mid-sized wolves—red and black-furred pups. Each time a bullet struck true, the impact sent a pup sprawling with a yelp that was cut short mid-air. Blood pooled in the dirt where they fell.

But not every shot struck home.

Chen Ren’s gaze followed a young disciple who fired with a tremble in his shoulders. The musket kicked back, but the shot flew wide—a clean miss. The wolf pup lunged, only to be brought down by another shot from further down the line.

Chen Ren winced. Too many wasted bullets.

They were learning, yes, but most hadn’t drilled enough. Only a handful had spent real time in the training range, refining their stance and aim. The others still flinched when they pulled the trigger, blinking smoke out of their eyes, shocked by the sound and recoil.

They'd get better. They had to. Bullets weren't cheap. Every miss cost more than just a coin—it cost time and sweat.

He pulled his gaze away from the firing line, turning it beyond the mass of pups—past the blood, past the makeshift barricades—and finally saw what had truly set the battlefield in motion.

Two towering wolves stood at the rear—Bloodback alphas, their stance looked like shadows drenched in rusted crimson. Thick tufts of black-streaked fur bristled as they growled, eyes burning with feral rage.

They were here to hunt the humans and two men stood in their way.

Claws scraped against stone as one leapt forward, aiming for a figure darting across the wall’s edge—Li Xuan, blade flashing as he barely avoided being torn in half. At his flank, Little Yuze twisted in the air while perched on his back was Zi Wen, musket in hand, steady despite the bucking movement.

Zi Wen aimed low and fired. A crack rang out. The wolf reeled with anger. Blood splattered its snout, but it didn’t slow.

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes. At a glance, he could tell.

The two wolves weren’t random tier twos. They were a pair. Mated. And the pups being slaughtered on the battlefield were their children. And each time a pup was gunned down, the alphas howled. Their low howl echoed through the hills like mourning turned to fury, and they lunged harder.

Both Li Xuan and Zi Wen fought as if they were about to face death. Lightning crackled along Li Xuan’s blade as he clashed head-on with the larger of the two bloodback alphas. The beast’s claw came down, but the man lifted his sword and swung it, sending sparks arcing into the air as the force rattled through his arm. He slid back a pace, and Chen Ren saw how his boots dug into the dirt, but the man held.

Across from him, the she-wolf lunged at Little Yuze, only to meet resistance. Zi Wen from behind gritted his teeth, fired another shot, and hit the she-wolf square in the snout. The beast reeled but didn’t fall. Blood dripped from its muzzle, but its fury only deepened.

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t expected Li Xuan to be defending them. Last he’d heard, the man had stayed behind after losing his duel, retreating into solitude. He had holed himself up in a room cultivating as if trying to drown his defeat in qi.

And yet here he is, Chen Ren thought, watching him deflect another claw strike. Holding the line. It was a good thing too. Without him, the rampart would’ve already been torn apart.

He folded his arms, thoughts shifting. He didn’t want to call on Yalan, Qing He, or even Hong Yi and his puppets—not yet.

From the edge of the rampart, a voice broke his thoughts.

“You’re late,” Yalan said.

He turned toward it and saw her perched on the rampart. He hadn’t noticed when she arrived—but then again, he rarely did when it came to Yalan.

“But I suppose it was worth it. You’ve reached the eight-star qi refinement realm, haven’t you?”

Chen Ren exhaled, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah. It almost felt like my body was breaking.”

“It might just. You're pushing too hard. Even a cup breaks if you pour a waterfall into it.”

Her words hit home. Chen Ren’s gaze drifted down the battleground again, his expression tightening.

That was one of his worries these days. After the Gate of Immortals had revealed itself, he’d spoken more with the head—more than he ever had before—especially about the Dao of Money.

Unfortunately, the head hadn’t even heard of such a Dao.

The conversation had shifted instead—to legends about the golden dragon, to whispers passed down through scrolls and dreams. And, eventually, to Chen Ren himself.

The head had warned him. "Progression like yours is rare. Unnatural. One day, your body might not keep up."

He knew it could be true. But for now, he hadn’t felt anything wrong—not yet. But the words struck with him, growing louder each time he broke through. Especially with the amount of pain that followed.

And the only one who might truly understand was the dragon itself. Which was why he had so many questions that he wanted to ask.

He glanced at Yalan. “I saw it today.”

Yalan purred, licking her lips and stared back at Chen Ren. “Did you talk?”

“No. It looked… weak. Faded. And so, so tired—”

Before she could press further and he could tell whole, a deep, snarling howl ripped through the air, louder than any before. Chen Ren’s head snapped toward the front lines just in time to see Little Yuze cry out, blood flaring as a claw slashed across his face, forcing him backward. Zi Wen tumbled from his shoulder, musket clattering against the stone as he hit the ground with a grunt and didn’t rise.

On the left flank, Li Xuan’s stance faltered, the weight of the male alpha’s strikes growing heavier with each blow. It wasn’t that he was growing weaker. It was the wolves that had changed.

Chen Ren’s eyes swept over the field—and saw it.

The pups were gone. Every last one of them—slain, broken, still. The bloodback alphas were no longer just fighting.

They were mourning. And they were enraged.

Fuck. This is bad.

He turned toward Yalan. “I’ll tell you later.”

Without another word, he leapt from the wall.

Lightning flared at his heels and the wind roared in his ears as he descended. His eyes were fixed on the she-wolf-mid-charge. Its crimson-streaked claws arced forward, aimed to finish Little Yuze once and for all.

But Chen Ren struck first.

He dipped low, momentum surging through him like a crashing tide, and slid beneath the beast's strike, palm surging upward with precision. His lightning-clad hand slammed into its ribcage, a dull crack echoing out as the force knocked the wolf sideways, claws tearing grooves in the earth as it skidded to a stop several steps away.

Dust rose around them.

Chen Ren straightened, eyes cold, and glanced back toward Zi Wen as he reached Little Yuze’s side. “Get him treated. I'll handle it.”

Zi Wen didn’t need to be told twice. He nodded and dragged himself toward Yuze, beginning to apply basic healing powder from his pouch even as the bonded beast protested faintly.

Chen Ren didn’t look again. His attention returned to the she-wolf who was now staggering to its feet. And up-close, it was easier to see—the red and black, matted fur, now thick with blood, snow and soot, the hardened muscle that was twitching beneath torn skin. One of its eyes was bloodshot, and there was a wound just below it from a glancing shot. It was obvious that the injuries weren’t fatal, but they had been carved lethally. But it still looked ready to take on a hundred men.

Was it rage? The need for revenge? Or was it because they were naturally resistant?

Chen Ren exhaled at the thought and the qi within him surged.

His breakthrough to eight-star had brought with it a new clarity, a tautness to his meridians, a density in his qi. And now, he would test it.

Without hesitation, he moved.

Lightning coiled tighter around him, not wild but refined—condensed. It arced across his chest and shoulders as he charged.

“Grrrrr!”

The she-wolf reacted. Its hind legs tensed and she sprang to the side, narrowly avoiding the downward punch Chen Ren had aimed at her spine. Her claws lashed out in retaliation, a streak of motion too quick for most mortals to follow.

But not for him.

He pivoted mid-strike. Starlight burst across his skin, a shimmering pale-blue glow wrapping his forearm just as the claws connected. Claws scraped against qi-forged resistance.

He gritted his teeth, caught the beast’s paw mid-swipe, and with a growl of his own, heaved it over his shoulder, sending it careening through the air.

Its body collided with a tree at the base of the slope, the wood groaning before splintering from the impact. The wolf let out a choked whimper, rolling onto its side as it struggled to stand.

Behind him, a sharp, aching howl broke through the haze.

Chen Ren didn’t turn. That’ll be the male, he thought. Li Xuan… I’ll leave that one to you.

He surged forward again.

The female had barely pushed its upright, thick ropes of muscle along its limbs twitching as she faced him once more. Her mouth opened wide, fangs bared—she lunged.

Chen Ren stepped into her charge, planted his feet, and caught the beast by its jaws.

Teeth inches from his throat.

His hands locked onto either side of the she-wolf’s gaping maw, and before it could clamp shut, lightning erupted from his dantian—wild, unrelenting, a pure storm crashing outward in all directions.

[Lightning Frenzy!]

The blast created a white flash in the battlefield. The wolf’s body convulsed in his grip, its limbs jerking violently as the current tore through the muscles, down the spine, and into the ground. It made no sound, only a broken gasp before its body collapsed at his feet, steam rising from the fur. The belly contracted deeply, showing off its ribcage.

Chen Ren stood over it, chest rising and falling, fingers still sparking faintly. He didn’t celebrate. Didn’t speak.

He simply turned, eyes narrowing, as the next howl rose in the air—this one deeper, louder, closer.

The male. It was still coming. And this time, it wasn’t howling in grief. It was howling for blood.

The she-wolf twitched.

Its body lay broken, smoldering where lightning had torn through muscle and bone, but even now, it struggled. Claws scraped faintly at the earth, legs trembling as it tried to rise.

Chen Ren watched in silence.

There was no glory in this. No pride in seeing a once-fierce creature reduced to this fragile motion, barely clinging to life. For a breath, he felt something shift in his chest—a weight, not of pity, but something quieter—guilt.

But it passed.

He had fought too many battles in the last year. He had bled and endured and steeled his heart enough to know that mercy had no place here. Not anymore.

Without another word, he raised his hand.

A single strike—quick and clean.

Lightning pulsed through his palm, and the she-wolf’s head burst in a flash of force and light. No more twitching. No more suffering. Just stillness. He knew that was the best gift he could give—a quiet death.

Behind him, a hoarse roar came.

Chen Ren turned just in time to see the male bloodback wolf charging forward, red eyes locked onto him like burning coals. Its body, larger than its mate’s, moved like a boulder in a landslide, claws outstretched and jaws wide.

Behind it, Li Xuan followed, panting but unyielding, sword flashing as he tried to close the gap. But the beast reached Chen Ren first. Its claw came down fast.

There wasn’t enough time to dodge. But there didn’t need to be.

A thin shimmer sparked to life around Chen Ren’s body—the faint outline of his defensive technique, like a second skin. The claw struck, and energy flared, absorbing the brunt of the impact.

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed. In the next instant, lightning surged down his legs.

He crouched low, planted his foot, and then launched himself upward, driving his heel directly into the wolf’s chest with all the force. The impact sent the beast flying backward through the air, its massive form spinning above Li Xuan’s head. The cultivator ducked, barely avoiding the flailing limbs, and rolled to the side as the beast crashed into the earth with a pained snarl.

Chen Ren didn’t wait.

Before it could recover, he was already moving—lightning crackling, qi condensed and singing through his blood as he descended on the wounded alpha.

The beast twisted on the ground, desperate, half-curled in pain. Its forearm swept out, claws aiming wildly in an attempt to catch him—But Chen Ren was faster.

He dipped beneath the swipe, fists coiling with power. His knuckles struck just below the creature’s jaw, a clean, sharp punch to the throat.

The beast let out a strangled sound as the force of the blow sank in, and then lightning burst outward from Chen Ren’s fist—driving deep, tearing through bone and tissue.

The wolf convulsed once. Then went still.

For a moment, only the low crackle of spent energy remained. Smoke drifted from the wound. His arm still tingled from the release of force.

Chen Ren straightened, slowly breathing through the adrenaline.

He looked down at the beast’s corpse. Both wolves—now lifeless at his feet—had been stronger than most. Even the male, who had withstood Li Xuan for far longer than Chen Ren expected, had only barely pushed him.

He exhaled through his nose, letting the last embers of lightning fade across his skin. Mid-tier two, at the very least. The male... perhaps just shy of the peak. And yet, he thought, flexing his fingers, it hadn’t felt like a real fight. No strain. No real pressure.

Power still surged in his veins, thrumming beneath his skin like a river waiting to burst. This had only been a warm-up.

A single breakthrough could shift the scales of battle. He had just proven that.

Before he could drift too far into thought, a ripple of noise drew him back.

Cheers.

It started softly—a few voices from the wall, scattered like distant bells—but it grew. Soon, it became a tide of voices, rising over the rampart as his sect members raised their muskets in the air, some pounding fists against the stone. Even the villagers who had clung to cover minutes ago now leaned forward, their faces flushed with awe and adrenaline.

They were cheering for him.

Chen Ren blinked, pulled out of himself.

His gaze swept across the rampart until it landed on Yalan perched low. She didn’t clap. Didn’t smile.

Instead, her amber eyes were focused on him. Whatever was going through her mind was not good, Chen Ren just knew.

Before he could read more into it, another voice cut through the noise.

“How…?”

Chen Ren turned.

Li Xuan stood a few paces behind, sword still in hand, breath visible in the cold air. His brow was furrowed, but more than that—his eyes were wide, face flushed red, mouth slightly parted as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle that refused to fit.

“How did you get so much stronger in such a short time? Were you hiding your strength?” he asked again.

For a moment, Chen Ren felt a pang.

Had he just widened Li Xuan’s wall?

“I made progress in my Dao,” he said.

Li Xuan stared at him. "You got enlightenment... just sitting around?"

His voice had an edge now—half disbelief, half the brittle weight of someone questioning their own path.

Chen Ren offered a wry smile. “My Dao’s a bit... special. It’s more abstract than most. Hard to explain.”

That, at least, was half-true.

His Dao wasn’t truly abstract. If anything, it was the most grounded concept imaginable. But it was powerful—deceptively so—and even now, he didn’t fully understand it himself. Some parts still slipped through his grasp like water through fingers.

But Li Xuan didn’t need to know that.

Neither did the others.

Let them think it was something vague and mysterious. Let them underestimate it. That was safer—for everyone.

Li Xuan didn’t respond. Not immediately. His eyes drifted toward the bodies of the wolves, then down at his sword. The expression on his face shifted—like someone standing on the edge of something vast, unsure if they should step forward or retreat.

Before the moment could stretch too long, another voice broke in.

“Hey.”

Zi Wen approached, limping slightly but steady, with Little Yuze leaning against his side. Its eyes were dim, and tongue out panting.

Zi Wen glanced at the corpses, then at Chen Ren, then whistled low. “You didn’t leave much for us.”

Chen Ren’s gaze dropped to Little Yuze.

“He’s okay?”

Zi Wen nodded. “Yeah. he’ll be fine. Recovery’s already sped up a lot.” He smiled faintly, patting him on the back. “Just needs some rest and a bit of salve. No bones broken.”

Yuze sank to the ground with a whimper.

Chen Ren let out a quiet breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Chen Ren gave Zi Wen a small nod, but his eyes weren’t on him anymore.

They had drifted toward the ground, where the bodies of the wolf pups lay scattered—small, fragile things compared to the adult beasts. Their red-and-black fur still shimmered faintly in the dim light, and for a brief moment, it was hard to look at them as monsters.

They hadn’t howled like their parents. They hadn’t really fought. Most had run. A few had lunged on instinct, maybe out of fear, maybe in confusion.

And now, they were still.

Killed by bullets.

He felt something twist in his chest. A quiet sadness that pulsed like a bruise beneath the ribs. They were just following their parents. They never got the chance to grow.

He hated that part of this world. Of any world.

The moment hung between them until Zi Wen’s voice broke the silence.

“You don’t have to feel bad, Sect Leader Chen,” he said, stepping closer and following his gaze. “These are bloodback wolves. Nasty ones. They’re not like other beasts.”

Chen Ren glanced at him, and Zi Wen continued.

“They suck blood from anything they catch—humans, animals, even other monsters. That’s how they grow stronger. We’ve lost hunters to them before, deeper in the forest. They don’t just kill—they feed. And they enjoy it.”

He jerked his thumb toward Little Yuze.

“Even he doesn’t like them.”

Chen Ren’s gaze softened as it flicked briefly toward Yuze, who snorted faintly and looked away.

He nodded. Slowly. “I know.”

But the weight in his chest didn’t vanish. It never did, not completely. Still, he understood. This was the way of the world.

Power ruled. Mercy came second. Sometimes last. And no matter how he felt about it, the wolf pups would’ve grown into killers, just like their parents. There was nothing he could change now.

With that thought pressed down, he turned, and they began walking.

Together, the four of them—Chen Ren, Li Xuan, Zi Wen, and Yuze—made their way back up to the rampart. As they crested the steps, the scene above had already shifted.

Villagers lined the stone path.

Some injured, others dirty and soot-covered, but all standing. And as the group stepped into view, the people bowed. Quietly at first, then more openly as they passed.

Chen Ren felt their gazes at his back.

Then, as if appearing from the crowd itself, Chief Muyang moved towards them.

He bowed low, deeper than the others, and straightened only when he spoke.

“Thank you for your service, Sect Leader Chen,” he said. His voice was rough but sincere. “If not for you… we wouldn’t have been able to hold against those bloodbacks. Our hunters have feared them for generations.”

Chen Ren met his gaze and shook his head lightly.

“It’s alright, Chief. This is our duty. We live in this village too.”

Li Xuan, standing just behind, gave a faint nod and added, “A righteous cultivator always helps those in need. They were only beasts.”

But Chief Muyang didn’t move. His hands remained clasped, and his eyes shone with quiet intensity.

“Still,” he said, “for someone to fight for our lives… It is not a small thing. Everyone will remember this.”

Chen Ren said nothing to that. Just offered a faint, awkward smile. Praise had never sat well with him. He’d done what needed to be done. That was all. But then the chief’s gaze flicked past him, toward the rampart’s edge—to the corpses of the fallen wolves.

His brow furrowed. “By the way… what are you planning to do with the bloodback bodies?”

Chen Ren followed Chief Muyang’s gaze toward the corpses of the bloodback wolves.

“Harvest,” he said simply. “Some of their organs might be useful in alchemy. Beasts store qi in strange ways—there’s value in that.”

Chief Muyang gave a thoughtful nod but didn’t stop there.

“What about the fur?” he asked. “This winter’s been cruel. Too cruel. A few of the wealthier families in the village have already come to me asking for ways to keep warm—some of them said they’re willing to pay good coin if they can get their hands on wolf-fur coats.”

Chen Ren blinked at that.

“Fur coats?” he echoed, half to himself.

He glanced back at the bloodback’s body—its thick, rugged hide still mostly intact despite the battle. The coarse fur, dense and sharp, shimmered faintly red in places where qi had warped the color. It wasn’t beautiful, exactly. But it was striking. Memorable. And more importantly—durable.

And just like that, an idea sparked. Not just a one-time harvest. Not just pelts for profit. A business.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

120. Winter business

Every season brought its own kind of business, and Chen Ren had come to understand that truth more intimately than most. He had learned, slowly and sometimes painfully, that the world moved in cycles—not just of cultivation and qi, but of need, opportunity, and coin. Summer demanded ice cream and light robes; winter demanded warmth and protection. Monsoon rains? That was a time to sell umbrellas by the dozen.

He had seized the summer with cold treats that children and adults clamored for. Now, with frost crawling into the bones of the mornings, there had to be something, some niche he could carve out to survive the lean months ahead.

His first thoughts had not been small ones.

He had envisioned a kind of rune heater—something small, portable, and self-sustaining, drawing ambient qi from the air and gently releasing heat into a room.

But the complexity of such a device far exceeded his current capabilities. The few prototype inscriptions he etched sputtered and smoked, the qi diffusing too quickly to maintain warmth for more than a few breaths. Worse, he lacked the time and manpower to refine the design. And even if he was able to, he had no men for large scale production. The skilled hands at the brewery were already stretched thin, bottling up the autumn’s batch of moonshine.

Then came the more practical idea—simple heat arrays. Basic warming formations etched onto stone, installed in each home for a fee. But even that had its issues. The villagers could barely afford spirit salt, let alone luxury comforts like warmth-on-command. Besides, he wasn’t about to exhaust himself trudging door to door, casting the same formation over and over. The sheer energy it would take wasn’t worth the handful of silver coins he’d earn back.

Qing He could probably anchor a large-scale warming array over the entire village if she wanted to. But she had refused, saying it was beneath her to do so and cold was something mortals should get used to. And Chen Ren had no interest in playing the knight when there was a coin to be made.

That was when the idea finally arrived, nudged by Chief Muyang. It came in the form of a corpse.

The wolves black and red fur glistened even in death. He’d felt a pang of regret for the pups—their lives snuffed out before they could even grow—but he was no fool. In this world, you either used the opportunity, or someone else did.

Fur. That was it.

But ideas were only as strong as the knowledge behind them. Before he could build a business on beast pelts, he needed to know which creatures had the most valuable furs, if he could expect them in the rising, how dangerous they were, and—most importantly—how many could be hunted without tipping the balance of the local ecology.

Only one man could help him with that.

Zi Wen.

Once a hunter, now a member of his sect who patrolled the area often, Zi Wen knew the surrounding forests better than the back of his own hand. He had walked its every trail, tracked every pawprint and claw mark. If there was a beast to be found, Zi Wen knew.

Lately, Chen Ren had heard whispers—Zi Wen poring over the bestiary he’d borrowed, and then asking for more. That alone was enough for him to consult him.

So, after the cleanup from the wolf attack was over and the air smelled less of blood and smoke, Chen Ren made his way toward the sect grounds. The wolf corpses had been brought there, stacked near the old shed where sect members stored unused weapons and half-broken training dummies. Some of the villagers worked under the watch of mortal members, dragging bodies with hooked spears or tying them down with ropes soaked in cleansing salt.

Zi Wen was there, sleeves rolled up, sweat glistening along his brow despite the chill. He was crouched beside one of the bloodbacks, examining its hind legs, murmuring something to himself.

Chen Ren didn’t call out immediately. Instead, he watched.

The way his fingers pressed into muscle, noting the density. The way he examined the fur from root to tip, comparing length and softness. He wasn’t just looking. He was cataloging.

Good.

Chen Ren finally stepped closer. His boots crunched lightly on the frosted grass, and Zi Wen glanced up, eyes alert before softening with recognition.

He immediately gestured toward the three largest bodies in the pile.

“We can feed the sect for a month or so with good meat from these,” he said matter-of-factly. “I believe Sect Leader Chen, you should create an ice chamber. Etch some frost arrays on the walls and line them with crystal salts—keep the meat from rotting. We can distribute the wolf pups’ meat to the villagers. It won’t taste as rich as the adults, but they’re spiritual beasts in the end. Might help the old ones with their joints... and the children grow up a little sturdier.”

Chen Ren folded his arms, letting him speak without interruption. Zi Wen always thought of the village.

“I actually didn’t come here to talk about the meat,” Chen Ren said after a beat. “Other than maybe getting a decent meal out of it, I’m not all that interested.”

Zi Wen finally looked at him, brushing his hands on his pants. “Then what?” he asked, brows furrowed. “The furs? Thinking about Chief Muyang’s offer?”

“Something similar,” Chen Ren replied. He stepped closer, his eyes drifting over the glinting pelts. “Bloodback wolf furs are too luxurious for this village. Even the nearby towns won’t be able to pay what they’re worth. At best, they'll barter small items or offer a couple gold. But I know what these are truly worth in the cities.”

He tapped his knuckle lightly against the beast’s stiff shoulder. “And winter’s going to be around for a while. So I’m thinking something different.”

Zi Wen tilted his head. “What kind of different?”

“By the end of the rising—how many furs do you think we can get our hands on?”

Zi Wen scratched his chin, then glanced upwards towards the hill that hemmed the village like a slumbering beast of its own. “Hard to say exactly. But hundreds, definitely. Lots of furred beasts emerge or migrate in winter. Some rare ones come out from underground too, hunting or looking for mates.”

A smile crept to Chen Ren’s face.

“Are you planning to collect them all?” Zi Wen asked.

“Yes,” Chen Ren said simply. “And I’m going to start an interior heat insulation business with them.”

Zi Wen blinked. “A what?”

Chen Ren chuckled. “I figured that would throw you off. Let me explain. We take the furs, stretch them over wooden wall panels. Stuff the insides with straw, dried moss, even coarse linen—whatever insulates well. Then we hang those against the inside of walls in houses. Simple. Effective.”

“That’s...” Zi Wen paused, brow tightening. “I have heard some tribes in harsher regions do that?”

“Yes. Nomadic clans up north use that method all the time to keep the cold from seeping into their buildings. But here’s the kicker—our version will use spiritual beast fur. That means it won’t just insulate better, it’ll be able to use the qi in the air to heat the insides. Beast bodies have unique properties that don't end with the beast’s death. It only lessens with time. And do you know who will give us good money for it?”

Zi Wen waited for an answer and Chen Ren soon gave it to him.

“Rich households,” he answered. “Clans. Emerging sects with wide halls and open-air sleeping quarters. Imagine what a spiritual-fur-padded wall would do for a meditation chamber during winter? Or for a bedroom? We’ll tailor the size and thickness, maybe even add minor enchantments to enhance warmth. If we keep the rarer fur for them, they would lap it up.”

A slow nod came from Zi Wen. “You could make quite a bit of money.”

“I know,” Chen Ren said.

“But what about Meadow Village?” Zi Wen asked after a pause. “I’m pretty sure most of them won’t be able to afford that kind of luxury. Even a handful of fur would cost more than a season’s worth of grain.”

Chen Ren turned his eyes down, then gestured silently to one of the wolf pup corpses, smaller and curled almost peacefully under the morning frost.

“I’m getting to that,” he said but his eyes lingered on the small wolf pup’s body. Its form was curled as if still seeking warmth in death.

That tugged his chest. He still felt bad seeing it like that. But only for a moment.

This was the world they lived in. Either you used what you had or you let it rot. He reminded himself of that again and again.

Drawing in a slow breath, Chen Ren stepped forward and crouched beside the pup, brushing some frost from its pelt. “We can turn these into blankets,” he said. “Stitch two or three together at the center, reinforce the edges with cheaper cloth—cotton, linen, even patched hemp. That way, each piece becomes something that can warm a whole family.”

He looked up at Zi Wen. “Kids won’t be going out much in this weather, especially not with beasts prowling around. Blankets like these could help families sleep through the cold nights.”

Zi Wen folded his arms again, thoughtful.

“If we get enough of them,” Chen Ren continued, rising to his feet, “we can start moving them toward the cities—Jingxi, Cloud Mist. Li Xuan already promised to help on the business side, and with his connections, we won’t just be selling blankets. We’ll offer full insulation services. That, and we can still hold back some of the best-quality fur for cloaks and armor. There’s enough material here to support three ventures if we plan it right. And we would be killing more beasts everyday.”

Zi Wen nodded slowly, but his expression was still clouded with logistics. “You're not wrong. But where are we going to find the people to get this moving?”

He gestured around at the piles of wolves. “We need men to strip the fur without ruining it. Then stitchers to join and reinforce it. That’s not something anyone can do—you need hands that have worked with fur before and won't hesitate with beast fur. A group, even a small one, with the right touch.”

Chen Ren looked to the distant rooftops of Meadow Village, smoke rising from a few houses windows.

“Do you know anyone like that here?” he asked.

Zi Wen scratched at the side of his head, brows drawn together. “Should be one or two,” he murmured. “Old wives of hunters mostly. They’re used to tanning and patching up hides for their husbands’ cloaks and boots. They might not be professionals, but they’ve got the hands for it.”

Chen Ren’s smile returned. “And with the population expanding recently, I’m sure there are more who know the basics. Maybe some who worked in trades before coming here. Tailors, leather workers... we just have to find them.”

Zi Wen took a moment longer, then gave a decisive nod. “Alright. I’ll start asking around.”

He turned back to the wolves but paused, then let out a short chuckle, not hiding his grin. “You’re always thinking of new businesses, Sect Leader Chen. Very peculiar for a cultivator even with such a dao.”

Chen Ren’s smile didn’t falter. He couldn’t tell Zi Wen that it wasn’t just about the coin. That everything he did was one more step toward cultivation. One more pulse of qi, one more tether to this world’s power. Without it, he would’ve long taken the easy path—and frankly, he didn’t want to now.

But instead, he just smiled and said, “Somebody has to.”

Chen Ren tilted his head upward, his eyes tracing the drifting clouds scattered across the pale winter sky. The chill in the air didn’t seem to touch him at all. If anything, he looked... invigorated.

He exhaled slowly, and with a small, almost amused smile, said, “We’ll have a lot of new businesses soon.”

“Really now?

Chen Ren nodded without breaking his gaze from the clouds. “I’m already working on one. Once everything is in place, we’ll be stepping into an entirely different market.”

Zi Wen squinted at him. “Let me guess… pills?”

That brought Chen Ren’s gaze back to him—and for a moment, he was shocked. He quickly recovered and masked his surprise. “You know about that?”

Zi Wen gave a slight shrug. “Heard it from Xiulan.” He paused, lips twitching with restrained amusement. “And Luo Feng mentioned something too. Asked if I could keep an eye out for certain herbs growing in the deeper forest. Said he wanted to see if they could be cultivated—they were herbs used in alchemy.

“Besides… it just feels like the natural next step for the sect. First food and perfume, then defending the village. I was wondering if you are satisfied with just this much. Though, I’ll admit I don’t know how you plan to do that without more alchemists.”

Chen Ren gave a small hum in response, neither denying nor confirming. But inside, he felt that pressure again. The same one that always returned when he thought about the future of the sect.

Zi Wen was right.

Alchemy was the logical next step. If the sect wanted to rise above mere survival, if it truly wanted to grow, it needed more than mortal businesses and wen. It needed immortal currency and cultivation resources.

The problem was, there weren’t many alchemists. In fact, the only two within the sect were Qing He—and himself. Maybe Anji knew a thing or two.

That had been a constant frustration these past weeks. He had been in quiet talks with the head, and even with Qing He herself, about something revolutionary—training mortals to craft pills. At least, the basic ones. It was slow work. The idea alone had been met with skepticism.

Qing He had practically scoffed when he mentioned it. “Standardize pill crafting?” she’d said, laughing. “You want to turn the Path of Flame and Herb into a bakery?”

But Chen Ren had seen the flaw in this world’s system. If only cultivators could make pills, and they only taught those who joined specific paths, then those without affinity or luck would always be left behind. His idea wasn’t to replace alchemy but to widen its doors.

Still, it was far from complete. He had some notes. A few working theories. Even drafted a system. But each time he tested it, something went wrong. He needed better tools, more time… and more smarter minds around him.

Zi Wen’s voice broke the thought spiral.

“You’re the only one who knows alchemy here, right? Besides Senior Qing He?”

Chen Ren opened his mouth. “Yes, but there’s Anji—”

BOOM!

A tremor rolled beneath their feet as a shockwave of sound cracked through the winter air. Chen Ren felt the noise in his chest.

Chen Ren’s head whipped toward the sound, eyes narrowing. A plume of smoke had begun to rise—faint, but black against the grey sky.

Zi Wen had already turned to run, boots kicking up frost. “That came from the sect building!”

Chen Ren felt lightning run through his legs and up towards his hands. If it was an attack, he didn't know how the sect was going to defend against it, especially with the beast on the ramparts.

But as he took another look at the smoke and where it was rising from, he froze.

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed sharply, his pace faltering for a second.

The smoke was coming from his alchemy workshop.

***

Hun Tianzhi looked at the young man seated before him and took a slow sip of his herbal tea, letting the warmth settle on his tongue as a way to keep his expression neutral. The bitterness grounded him, masking the faint tightness in his chest. He felt it go through his throat to his stomach, ever so slowly.

He still remembered the day this man had passed the entrance trials—how he had stood before him, face flushed with pride, eyes bright with admiration. He had spoken of honor and belonging, of how glad he was to become part of the sect.

But now… now, that same man wouldn’t even meet his gaze.

The young cultivator sat with his shoulders stiff, fists resting on his knees, and after a breath too long, he finally spoke. “As you know, Sect Leader Hun, with how things are currently… I don’t think I can remain part of the sect any longer. It’s been five years… I’ve hit a bottleneck, and I believe the only way to break through it is to see the wider world. I want to leave the sect.”

The words were insanely practised. He could tell. Hun Tianzhi translated what was truly being said. The sect is too poor to help me break through. I want to try my luck with one that has more resources.

He set the cup down softly, letting silence hang in the air before asking, “Do you plan to return?”

The man hesitated. Just for a moment—but it was enough.

“We don’t know if I’ll even be alive out there,” he said at last. “The world’s dangerous. The beasts are agitated. If the heavens will it… I’ll come back.”

Hun Tianzhi translated that just as easily.

I don’t plan to return. You may as well consider me dead already.

A part of him wanted to say something—to warn him, to scold him, to remind him of the sect that raised him, fed him, sheltered him in his weakest years.

But there was no point. The man’s decision had already been made long before this conversation. He wasn’t here to ask permission—he was here to inform.

So Hun Tianzhi gave a small, simple nod. “Very well, then. I hope the heavens are kind to you in this next phase of your life.”

The man stood, bowed formally, and placed his sect token on the table between them with quiet finality. Then he turned and walked away. No hesitation. No glance back.

The room fell still as his footsteps faded down the corridor. Hun Tianzhi sat where he was, finishing the last of his tea, now lukewarm and bitter in a way that clung to the tongue.

He remained alone for several minutes, the scent of sandalwood curling softly through the air from the incense burner.

But when the cup emptied, and the quiet returned to its natural hum…The calm faded.

His fingers clenched tightly around the edge of the tea cup as the door clicked shut behind the departing disciple.

A moment passed. Then the cup shattered.

“That imbecile!” He shot up from his seat, fury flashing in his eyes as he slammed his palm down on the table, rattling the remaining teacups and sending the incense burner askew. “I wasted a Celestial Core Pill on that brat—that—that ungrateful coward—just to push him into the qi refinement realm! And now, the moment things get hard, the moment the sect’s footing gets weak—he runs.”

He paced once, twice, muttering between gritted teeth. “It’s not the pill you need. It’s talent you lack. You’re just a waste with a steady hand. If you weren’t half-decent at alchemy, I would’ve thrown you out myself.”

But the storm inside him began to fade almost as quickly as it had flared. All the righteous anger melted into a deep exhaustion.

He slumped down into the floor, shoulders sagging, elbows resting on the cold surface of the table. His voice dropped to a dry murmur. “How many is that now…?”

His fingers rubbed at his temples.

“…Seven. Seven in a month.”

He laughed—but there was no humor in it. He laughed a little louder.

“At this rate, I’ll be the only one left in this sect in another month or two. Just me… and ghosts in the corridors.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling, voice cracking. “Why are the heavens punishing me so much?”

The room fell silent again, but this time it felt heavy. Suffocating. Like it was trying to kill him right then and there.

His mind drifted to memories he didn’t want to remember, the day he founded the sect, how full of hope he had been, how every win had felt like a sign from fate. The silver cauldron gifted to him after winning the Eastern Alchemy Trials. That had been the turning point—his name whispered with respect, invitations from major clans, disciples waiting in long lines for a spot beneath his tutelage.

And now?

He was grasping at smoke, watching the walls crumble around him, one back turned disciple at a time. But memory changed nothing. Misery changed nothing.

So, like always, Hun Tianzhi stood.

Nothing would change unless I change.

He walked through the quiet corridors of his sect. Where once dozens of voices would have filled the air—laughter, sparring, footsteps—now only silence greeted him. Rooms that once held bright-eyed cultivators now lay dark and gathering dust.

He ignored it. He had learned to.

His destination was the one place where time still felt like it had meaning—his personal alchemy chamber.

The door slid open without a sound, and there it was. The silver cauldron. Smooth. Grand. Reflecting the faint flicker of light crystals embedded into the walls. It had once been the pride of his sect—the proof of his rise.

Now, even looking at it brought no satisfaction.

He stepped forward and activated the flame array with a flick of his finger. Heat flared to life beneath the cauldron, and with the motions worn into his bones, he began to push down herbs. He pushed down the dried ones, the crispy ones, and the ones he’d carefully, carefully chosen.

A low hum filled the room as the array engaged.

But even as the fire flared and the scent of ginseng and fireflower root thickened the air, Hun Tianzhi’s mind wandered once more.

Is this really the end?

With so few left… with all the promising disciples gone…

Should I really keep holding on? Or should I leave, just like them?

The flame crackled. And Hun Tianzhi stood still, staring into the rising mist, unsure for the first time in a long while… whether it was still worth the fight.

He stared into the shimmering mist rising from the cauldron, its silvery body humming faintly under the strain of the heat. He smelt the familiar scent of boiling spiritual herbs—earthy, bitter, tinged with sweetness—filled the air like incense, but it no longer stirred pride in him.

He could find a place, if he wished to. He knew that. Even now, with a sect barely standing behind him, his name still held some weight. His achievements hadn’t vanished. The Established sects would take him in. A Guardian Sect might even give him a respectable position—a seat among the lesser alchemy halls, or a post managing disciples in herb refinement. He would have housing, safety, resources. More than enough to live out the rest of his years in comfort.

But…

Did he want to be that again?

A cog.

A number.

One more alchemist sitting behind a row of cauldrons, churning out mid-grade pills for other people’s battles. Teaching recipes from old scrolls, not discovering his own. Watching others rise while he remained stagnant. He had lived that life once—back when he was younger, hungrier, and still unknown. It had taken him years to climb out of it. To earn enough respect to build his own sect from the ground up.

To be the master, not just a part of the machinery.

Did he really want to go back to that?

His hands moved automatically, feeding herbs into the swirling mix, controlling the temperature through his qi—refining root essence, layering spiritual fragments. His mind should have been focused. Alchemy demanded precision. Yet the weight in his chest refused to lift.

He didn’t want that life. He never had.

But what choice did he have now?

Without a miracle, this sect wouldn’t survive the winter. He could feel it—like rot creeping under the foundation.

The disciples were leaving. Resources were scarce. And no one—no one—was looking toward them for hope or strength.

He cursed under his breath. Only a miracle from the heavens could save them now. As he pushed the last set of powdered lotus seed into the cauldron and channeled his qi, he felt it settle inside him.

Only a miracle. Only a miracle would save him.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

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121. Stormbite Pill

Chen Ren moved through the sect building with quick, near-silent steps.

He had left Zi Wen behind after seeing the smoke coming from the alchemy workshop, telling him that it must be something there exploding and not an attack, but panic still plagued his insides. What if one of the mortals had sneaked into the workshop? The thought clenched his jaw. Had they activated one of the defensive arrays he had planted by accident? That would be troublesome—but even worse, what if the arrays had damaged the herbs Zi Wen had been painstakingly gathering? Some were rare that couldn’t be easily replaced.

He took the final turn that led straight to the workshop. The thick scent of smoke greeted him before he even opened the door.

When he opened it, he froze on the spot.

Inside, smoke curled out from the lip of his alchemy cauldron, lazily drifting through the open window. And he looked around, taking the nervous stances of unexpected people inside.

Anji stood to the side of the cauldron, her long robes speckled with soot. Her arm was raised, fingers wrapped around something he couldn’t quite make out at first. Then he saw it—the head, Wang Jun. She held it by the chin like a strange relic, her eyes narrowed, trying to look through the smoke.

On the opposite end of the room stood Qing He. Wisps of qi flickered around her fingers like threads tugged from her core, but they dimmed as she glanced toward him. Her eyes wide with surprise.

For a moment, all Chen Ren could do was stand there, one hand still on the doorframe, trying to make sense of the scene. Of the people in it.

Anji and the head were supposed to be in seclusion, working on their soul cultivation. Qing He? She should’ve been drinking bitter tea somewhere in the outer courtyard or working with Feiyu on gunpowder, not standing in his alchemy room like a child caught mid-theft.

Their gathering felt wrong, in every way and form. His voice, when it came, rumbled from his throat like a rolling stone.

“What is going on here?” he snapped. “Are you trying to destroy the only cauldron I have?”

Qing He lifted her chin, brushing a stray lock behind her ear. “I remember giving you that one.”

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes. “And I remember you gifting it to me. That usually means the item belongs to the receiver.”

Qing He gave a slow shake of her head, lips twitching into a familiar smirk—the kind she used when trying to be both infuriating and evasive. Chen Ren exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting to Anji, then to the old man in her hands.

The head licked his lips in desperation. “We were… trying to make a Stormbite pill.”

Chen Ren stared at him in silence. Then at the cauldron. Then back at the trio.

It wasn’t rage he felt—it was something worse. That slow, creeping certainty that he should have put more arrays around the workshop. Though, he doubted whether any amount of arrays would be enough to hold back Qing He.

The head let out a dry chuckle and gestured at the cauldron, where the smoke had begun to fade but the smell lingered.

“As you can see,” he said, “it didn’t go well.”

Chen Ren crossed his arms, one brow arching upward with slow, pointed disbelief. “Stormbite pill?”

“Yes,” Wang Jun replied. “You might not know about it. It’s actually a pill composed entirely of qi—no herbs, no earthly ingredients. Just the fusion of multiple aspected energies, shaped and sealed by the alchemist’s control alone. It was quite common back in my day… though it seems most modern alchemists have forgotten the art.”

Chen Ren blinked, slowly processing that. He could believe that part; the man often spoke of techniques long buried by time or discarded for easier, more cost-effective methods.

“What does it do?” he asked.

The old head’s lips curved into a grin. “It tastes good.”

It… tastes good? Is he serious? Chen Ren couldn’t help but stare at Wang Jun. “That's it? You nearly blew up my only cauldron… for flavoured qi?”

The head scoffed, as if the insult wounded him more than an actual strike. “Do you think that’s nothing? I… I can’t consume food anymore. I survive on qi alone—but the qi in the air, the qi in the earth, even the qi that escapes your body from time to time, it’s fucking bland. It's not condensed enough here. Do you know what it’s like to never experience flavor again?”

Chen Ren opened his mouth, but Wang Jun continued.

“All I wanted was a little taste. But this woman—” he jabbed his tongue out in Qing He’s direction “—couldn’t even control the arrays properly.”

Qing He’s arms were already folded, but now her eyes narrowed, the flicker of qi that still lingered on her fingertips dimming with irritation.

“You should have explained it better,” she snapped. “How was I supposed to know a wind-aspected gathering array would go unstable the moment it mixed with my qi? You said to channel it—you didn’t say to filter it. And if I hadn’t contained most of the backlash, you’d be nothing but ash next to your disciple.”

That last part made Chen Ren’s brow twitch.

Wang Jun didn’t respond immediately. The light behind his eyes seemed to withdraw. Chen Ren recognized that look. It was the same expression he wore whenever he was reminded that this form was a cage more than a vessel. He couldn’t answer because deep down, he knew she was right—and he hated it.

Qing He noticed the silence too. Her expression softened slightly, and she looked away with a faint huff, as if her own words had left a bitter taste behind.

When they had first met, she treated the head like an artifact—an animated relic she could poke and prod for forgotten knowledge. But the more they had spoken, the more she had listened, the more that had changed. Now, they spoke as peers. Friends, even.

At least sort of friends, Chen Ren thought, watching the two in silence.

Qing He and the head didn’t continue their argument—not fully. The sharp retorts faded, and though they were clearly irritated with each other, they didn’t let it erupt into something worse. That, in itself, said more about their relationship than any apology might’ve.

Thankfully, the silence stretched a bit more, giving Chen Ren space to step further in. His eyes finally landed on his cauldron.

Due to the heat that curled around it, he had to move cautiously. The thick bronze surface had blackened in places, scorched at the rim. And to his surprise, there were no cracks or structural damage. Everything was still intact.

It would hold—at least for now.

But what caught his eye wasn’t the damage. It was the inside. They’d drawn faint lines across the inner belly of the cauldron. He traced one with a finger. He didn’t touch, but hovered near enough to feel it. He felt the wind qi moving alongside the symbols.

These were [Wind qi gathering arrays]. He could see how they’d spiraled inward, concentrating the ambient qi into a focal point… and how it had likely spiraled out of control when touched by another’s will.

Chen Ren frowned. Alchemy cauldrons usually had arrays—yes—but heating arrays. Ones that controlled the smokeless flames beneath the metal, or helped circulate qi to properly mix with herbs.

Gathering arrays for cauldrons were rare, at least at low levels.

He’d heard of more advanced cauldrons used by Established and Guardian sects and wealthy clans. Cauldrons that didn’t just assist but amplified the qi infusion process. Some even refined the desired effect during the process. But those were luxuries. Things bought by master alchemists who could afford to spend enough. But now, he found himself staring at the possibility.

Could this kind of structure be incorporated? Could arrays like these stabilize the pill-making process? Maybe not this chaotic wind one, but something simple. For a moment, he fell into deep thought. Unconsciously he rubbed his chin.

Then his eyes flicked to Wang Jun.

“How exactly is the Stormbite pill made?”

Wang Jun looked at him, almost pleased by the question, like a teacher being glad that the student was finally curious.

“Good question… You gather different aspected qis—fire, wind, water, earth, whatever blend you’re craving,” he said. “Then, using your own qi as the core binding force, you swirl them together—slowly. Tightly. Think of it like spinning threads into a tight knot while keeping them from unraveling.”

He looked at the cauldron for a moment.

“Arrays help gather the qi from the air. Simple ones, if you’re lazy. Complex ones, if you care about flavor. But really, it’s just a ball of condensed qi with too many elements in one space. Unstable as hell. One mistake—boom.”

“And you got Qing He to make something like this in my workshop.”

“Oh yes.” The head’s grin turned nostalgic, completely ignoring his words. “In combat, some cultivators used to toss them like spirit grenades. But most lost their heads—literally—before they could make a proper throw. Too volatile.” He sighed, wistful. “But someone with control, like me…? I could hold it steady. Sip it. Taste the essence in layers. Fire first. Then the crackle of lightning. The sweetness of water qi right after. It feels a bit stingy on the tongue, but that flavour is just what I need right now. A proper spiritual drink for the living. Or in my case half-living.”

Chen Ren didn’t respond immediately. He just stared at the man. He was serious. All of that… for flavor.

Wang Jun paused and his eyes flicked to Qing He.

“Of course, someone isn’t nearly as skilled as she thinks she is.”

Qing He huffed and continued to mutter something under her breath.

He ignored both their jabs and the tail-end of Wang Jun’s ridiculous explanation about flavor. His mind had already moved far past that. He kept staring at the inside of the cauldron, especially the arrays. And the way they had drawn in qi.

The method had failed, sure, but not because the principle was wrong. No—if anything, it was because the components weren’t durable enough, or the synchronization was off. But the idea… that stuck with him.

The pill wasn’t made by crushing herbs or mixing powders or infusing with the alchemist’s qi alone. It was made almost entirely by the arrays. They didn’t assist—they did the core work.

Chen Ren’s heart beat once, hard.

Then came the question.

“Can we make different kinds of arrays on the cauldron?”

Both Qing He and Wang Jun looked at him.

Qing He nodded. “Yes. Some cauldrons are built by blacksmiths and array masters working in tandem. You’ll see it more often in older sects and accomplished alchemy halls. But you need stronger materials. A lot stronger. This one,” she gestured toward the half-burnt cauldron, “nearly cracked with just a [Wind qi gathering array]. You’d need spirit-grade alloys for proper load-bearing.”

Chen Ren walked to the side of the cauldron, fingers trailing along the scorched rim.

“What about simpler arrays?” he asked, almost to himself. “Ones that don’t gather, but radiate qi. Or ones that hold it in place. Like a qi-pressuring seal to stabilize the herbs mid-process. Or a qi-holding net that keeps the medicinal essence from leaking out during breakdown…”

His question earned another round of silence. Before he could follow up, an audible breath from Wang Jun came.

“You want… to use arrays to make a pill. Without an alchemist.”

“Yes. That’s the idea.” Chen Ren nodded, not hiding his intentions. “Isn’t it better than finding a way for mortals to handle everything? Sounds easier.”

Qing He shook her head. “You’re replacing alchemists with arrays. And maybe, if you can figure out the finer mechanisms. The exact output of qi, the exact pressure the arrays need to exert during every phase… then yes, the process might become smooth enough to automate. But even then, you’d still need a cultivator to fuel the arrays. Not to mention regulate them if something goes wrong.” She crossed her arms, a frown appeared on her face. “Also, wasn’t the whole point of standardization to let mortals take over alchemy? If they can’t even activate the arrays, doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”

Chen Ren’s shoulders dipped, and his arms slowly uncrossed. His gaze fell back to the cauldron.

She was right.

Even if arrays could act like machines, they still required energy. And unless he designed a whole system where energy was self-fed or controlled by someone without a core, a cultivator would always be part of the equation. That wasn’t what he’d wanted. Not fully.

And worse still, even if he could get that to work… What then? He had always known what he was up against.

If he wanted to challenge the pill market, he had two choices. Either increase his rate of production enough to offer pills at prices so low even sects couldn’t compete—or create something so superior that price wouldn’t matter. And so far, he’d been chasing the former.

A faster, cheaper, repeatable method. But this? This wasn’t that.

Maybe arrays weren’t the answer after all.

His shoulders sagged further, and he exhaled slowly. But even as doubt seeped into his mind, something inside him pushed back.

He knew this path had potential. There was something here, just beyond reach. Like he’d opened the right book—but some crucial pages were still missing. If he could find those pages—figure out how to bridge the gap between cultivator-run arrays and mortal operability—then maybe there was a way.

A hybrid system. Arrays doing the work. One or two cultivators maintaining the framework. Mortals handling the preparation, storage, collection. Not operators—but attendants to a greater process. A factory.

He clenched his jaw, staring at the cauldron’s blackened rim again. He knew that he wasn’t on the wrong path.

He just hadn’t reached its end.

The more Chen Ren turned the thought over in his mind, the more solid it began to feel. He glanced between Qing He and Wang Jun.

“I still think it has potential,” he said. “I just haven’t figured out the right way to use the arrays yet.”

Wang Jun sighed and looked like he had just heard someone declare they would build a flying ship out of paper. “I really don’t know why you’re even bothering with this. If it’s success in the pill market you want, then use the recipes I gave you. Half of them aren’t even in circulation anymore. You’d corner the market in months.”

Chen Ren gave him a tired look. “The recipes you told me about require ingredients that only sect leaders and imperial alchemists have access to. One of them—” his hand gestured vaguely, “—needed a herb that grows in the middle of the ocean. How exactly do you expect me to get that?”

Wang Jun clicked his tongue like an annoyed teacher. “You can, if you try hard enough. The way you talk, you’d think gathering herbs was harder than refining pills. For now, you're just going to be stuck chasing this array alchemy dream of yours. Maybe for hundreds of years.”

That stung—but before Chen Ren could reply, another voice cut in.

“I think it’s an interesting idea.”

He turned.

Anji had been silent this whole time, standing off to the side like a statue, her hands still faintly dusted with ash from the earlier explosion.

“You think so?” Chen Ren asked.

Wang Jun scoffed. “What would she know? She hasn’t even learned to perceive her soul yet.”

Anji flushed. Her cheeks turned a faint pink, and her lips parted in protest—but no sharp words came out. Just a quiet, “I’m trying.” Her hands curled slightly at her sides, but she didn’t back away. Instead, she turned fully toward Chen Ren, stepping slightly closer.

“Yes,” she said. “I do think it’s interesting. If you can really make the arrays function on their own—with just a cultivator to activate them—then it changes everything. The time it takes between pills, the consistency, the output… everything would increase. Arrays don’t rest. They don’t lose focus. And if mortals help with preparation and collection while the system keeps running—then you’d finally be able to enter the pill market.”

Chen Ren studied her for a moment, then nodded. “That’s the plan.”

And hearing it aloud again—spoken with belief, even if only from one person—felt like the first real step toward making it happen.

Qing He’s eyes lingered on him for a long breath before she spoke again. He could hear the suspicion in her voice.

“Have you even made progress on where you’d be selling pills?” she asked. “The Empire is vast, and if you’re thinking of heading toward Cloud Mist City because of that brat Li Xuan, then you’re just asking to get crushed by the Soaring Sword Sect.”

Chen Ren gave her a sideways glance, lips twitching. “Obviously, I’m not going to take on a Guardian Sect.”

His tone was dry, but he had considered it once—if only for a second—before discarding it as foolishness. He turned slightly, resting a hand on the still-warm cauldron.

“I’m still figuring out the logistics,” he continued. “But I’ve already sent word to Tang Yuqiu. Asked her to compile everything she can find—cities with a high number of cultivators, especially ones where rogue cultivators pass through regularly. Places with pill markets not locked down by Guardian sects. I’ve got a few shortlisted already.”

“Will it be Ashen City?” Anji asked.

“No. I did think about it,” he admitted. “It has cultivators, sure. And we managed to build a foothold there because of our work with the Zhu clan. But that’s the problem. I had to work with a clan to even get started. And with pills?” He glanced at her. “I’m not doing that again. Not unless I want to get dragged into clan politics every time I sell a bottle of healing pills.”

He straightened, rubbing his neck lightly.

“Ashen City’s just too tangled. Too many undercurrents. Too many people who’ll want a piece of anything new. I’ve already invested in my relationships there—I’m not about to ruin that by stepping on a few toes with a new venture.”

“So?”

“I’m looking toward the border cities,” he replied. “Lots of travelling cultivators pass through. Fewer established powers to contest me, and a more open market. I'm just waiting for the information before narrowing it down to one.”

As soon as he said it, a knock echoed against the door.

They all turned.

Without a word, Anji moved. She leaned down and yanked open the crate at the far side of the room. The head let out a low, ghostly grumble as she stuffed him inside, muffled complaints already bubbling.

“You treat me like furniture,” he muttered as the lid shut over him.

Anji ignored him and opened the door.

A young mortal stood there, his chest lightly heaving, as if he’d run through the compound.

“Sect Leader Chen,” he said, bowing quickly. “Tang Boming from the Tang Clan is here to meet you.”

Chen Ren smiled. Finally, it seemed like the information he had been waiting for had arrived.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

122. Family situation

The air was thinner here. Tang Boming noticed it when he walked through the gates of Meadow Village. It was only his second time setting foot in the village, but the stillness of the place made it feel older than it was, as though it had endured simply by deciding not to move with the world.

There wasn’t much qi in the surroundings. Nothing dense or worth meditating in. Just the natural kind that clung faintly to rocks, wood, and breath. Still, it was peaceful. Tang Boming inhaled once, held it, and then exhaled slowly.

If I were a mortal, he thought, I’d probably want to retire somewhere like this.

But that peace—it raised questions. Had this place not been devastated by beasts?

On his way here, he had passed two other villages. One was in ruins, roofs collapsed, blood dried into the dirt. The other had been quiet in that unnatural way—abandoned, windows boarded up, livestock pens empty. The people had likely fled to the cities, somewhere the walls were higher and somewhere that cultivators kept the beasts at bay.

This region was always overlooked around this time of year. The Kalian Empire directed its forces to the borders, to places where threats could spark political instability or touch noble estates. Remote villages like this were often left to fend for themselves—until the next census, until a noble heir remembered they had land out here, until someone important cared.

And yet…

Here, there were children.

He saw them as he walked down the main road—thin-limbed, red-cheeked, shouting at one another through the cold as they kicked around a worn leather ball. But there were no signs of trauma. No eyes peeking out of boarded-up homes. Even the elders moved freely, sitting under awnings or sweeping porches.

The Divine Coin Sect had a hand in this, surely. Whatever Chen Ren was doing here, it was working.

But how?

From what Tang Boming knew, the man barely had enough cultivators to fill out a training circle. Baby sects like his—barely a few moons old—struggled to recruit even a single wandering cultivator, let alone retain one.

And yet here they were. He adjusted the scroll case at his side, his thoughts already moving ahead to the meeting. Still… still, there were questions. How had he created peace here when stronger sects had fled or failed?

Tang Boming didn’t have the answers. But in his young age of seventy-eight years of living, he had learned one simple truth: everyone had their secrets.

And unless those secrets clawed into his life, he had no reason to chase them. Not everyone liked revealing those truths. So, he kept walking on the path that led him to the gates of the Divine Coin Sect.

If one could even call them that.

To him, it looked more like a large residence than a sect. There were no ornate pillars or formation flags fluttering in the wind. No guardians at the door. But Tang Boming had long since learned that in this world, appearances meant little. Power and reputation weren’t always carved in stone or gold—they often grew in silence.

He approached the gate and gestured to a passing mortal boy. The child paused mid-step, eyes going wide in recognition, then bowed and scurried off to announce his presence.

Not long after, a figure emerged from the side building. Familiar. Though not in the way he’d ever imagined seeing her.

Tang Xiulan.

Dressed in dark green robes with the faint coin and dragon emblem of the sect stitched near her collar, she walked toward him. She stopped a few feet away and offered him a bow.

Tang Boming returned it with one of his own, a little more hesitant. Because for a moment, seeing her here, in this role, stirred something he couldn’t name.

She straightened. “I’ve sent a mortal to inform Sect Leader Chen of your arrival,” she said. “You can wait in the reception room. There’s hot tea prepared.”

Tang Boming nodded, but his feet lingered for a breath too long before moving.

He followed her down a stone path, passing by a trimmed garden and a few mortals sweeping up fallen leaves. And then, just as the doorway to the waiting room came into view, the question slipped from his mouth.

“…Are you happy here?”

Tang Xiulan stopped.

Just like that.

She didn’t turn around. Didn’t answer right away. Her shoulders stiffened, and when she finally looked at him, her face had changed. The courteous calm had vanished, replaced with something harder—more guarded.

“Do you really care?” she asked with a flat voice. Whatever caution she had in her voice before was gone.

Tang Boming met her gaze. “Yes,” he said simply. “You’re family.”

She let out a breath. Not a laugh—not quite. More like a sigh tinged with something bitter. “That’s just a name,” she muttered. “I was a servant in the Tang household, remember? Maybe people treated me kindly enough, maybe I had a place. But that never changed who I was. Not really.”

Tang Boming didn’t argue. He couldn’t. She was right. The way she had been treated in a place she could call her own home was—not right. Something akin to shame bloomed in his chest, making him look away for a moment, then, back at her. “Still,” he quietly said. “I want to know, are you happy here?”

Tang Xiulan was silent.

Then she exhaled again, softer this time. “Yes,” she said at last. Her gaze drifted to the hallway beyond the reception room. “I am.” She paused, the words catching on her tongue before she continued. “I have actual responsibilities here. I manage things. People come to me when something needs to be done. No one judges me for who I was—because most of them don’t know. And even if they do, it doesn’t matter. Not really.”

She looked at him again.

“For them, I’m just the one who keeps things running. That much is enough for me.”

Tang Boming smiled faintly, a rare softness brushing the edges of his normally composed face.

“I’m happy for you,” he said and he meant every syllable.

Tang Xiulan didn’t reply, but she gave a shallow nod and continued leading him to the reception room. The door was already open, and inside, a pot of tea sat on the low table, steam curling gently from the spout.

Tang Boming stepped inside, settled himself with a straight-backed posture, and let out a slow breath.

Tang Xiulan, standing at the threshold, gave him a formal bow. “I hope your conversation with Sect Leader Chen goes well.”

He returned the nod, watching as she turned to leave. Just before she stepped out, his voice caught her retreating form.

“…Hope your life in the sect goes great too, sister.”

She paused—but didn’t turn. Then, with silent steps, she left. The door clicked softly behind her.

Tang Boming’s gaze lingered on it for a moment before he lowered his eyes to the tea in front of him. His hand hovered near the cup, but didn’t touch it.

Too late?

The thought drifted uninvited into his mind.

He had neglected family for decades. Not out of cruelty, but convenience. A choice made quietly over time. His parents hadn’t cared much—they were practical, indifferent as long as the clan name was upheld. But his siblings? He had no relationship with them.

He had sacrificed all of that in the name of advancement, chasing realms and stages, hoping that the next bottleneck would bring him closer to something meaningful—immortality, maybe.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

Maybe it was time to mend a few things—before it truly was too late.

The door creaked open again.

He straightened instinctively.

Chen Ren entered the room, his presence as grounded as ever. Simple robes, sharp eyes, and the aura of authority surrounded him easily. But what drew Boming’s attention was the woman behind him.

An old lady with silver-streaked hair, walking with an elegance that made the air shift subtly around her. There was no overt show of power—but even from a glance, Tang Boming felt the pressure.

Qing He, if he remembered correctly. Tang Yuqiu had mentioned her before—called her a master of cultivation, someone even her father gave respect to. That fact alone made Tang Boming’s nerves stir. She didn’t look like Chen Ren’s master, but… who knew? Again, in this world, appearances often lied.

He stood and gave them both a respectful bow—deeper when facing her. Chen Ren didn’t waste time.

“Let’s skip the small talk,” he said, stepping forward and settling down across from him. “I’m interested in the information you’ve brought.”

That was Chen Ren—always to the point.

Tang Boming smiled, the nerves fading beneath a layer of trained professionalism. His back straightened just a little more as he took the scroll outside.

“Very well,” he said. “Let me begin… though I don’t know if you’re going to like what I have to say.”

***

As Chen Ren stepped into the room, he immediately sensed something hanging in the air.

It wasn’t spiritual pressure, no, it can’t be—it felt personal. Tang Boming sat at the table, his posture composed, but his gaze had been lost somewhere just a moment before—some lingering thought he clearly hadn’t shaken off yet. Chen Ren noted it, but didn’t press.

Everyone had their ghosts.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Chen Ren asked at his previous statement.

Tang Boming’s smile didn’t change. “Because the situation is far worse than even I feared when I first started looking into it.”

That set the tone.

“As you already know, most sects operate with internal sect economies. They refine pills, manuals and weapons and circulate them through their own disciples—part of their training and a source of control. But beyond that, the truly powerful sect don’t stop there.

“All of the Guardian Sects sell their pills externally,” Tang Boming continued. “In cities with high cultivator populations. They dominate local markets, supply minor sects, wandering cultivators, and even the nobility. Especially the Emerald Sun Sect—you know, the one focused almost entirely on alchemy.”

Chen Ren frowned. The name wasn’t unfamiliar. The Emerald Sun Sect had always been mentioned whenever he had read about great alchemists in the empire. They were the richest Guardian sect for a reason. Competing with them wasn’t just a bad idea—it was suicidal. Not just for him, but for any sect.

“I’ve ignored any region where their presence is dominant,” Tang Boming added, clearly sensing where Chen Ren’s thoughts had gone.

Chen Ren gave a slow nod. “That’s fine. I have no plans to run headfirst into a powerhouse.”

Tang Boming unrolled part of the scroll. “That’s why I focused on regions tied to the Established Sects. Ones that still command presence, but don’t completely control the flow of pills. I looked into details from seven cities—places where the market is active, but not locked. Every single one has a healthy number of cultivators, Emerging sects, and at least one or two clans vying for influence. There you can get a foothold. Build a customer base among wandering cultivators and rogue ones. Then, once your name and supply line are stable, start supplying the smaller clans and Emerging sects. That’ll open doors—without drawing too much attention early on.”

Chen Ren gave a small nod.

He already knew what Tang Boming was saying was true. Selling pills to clans and sects—especially those trying to claw their way up the hierarchy—would be nearly impossible for someone like him right now. They wouldn’t see him as a threat or a supplier. They’d see him as a nobody trying to punch above his weight.

A baby sect with no foundation, offering pills they could get from anywhere else? They’d laugh. Or worse, they’d crush the business before it even drew its first breath.

No, he thought. The smarter path is the rogue cultivators. Wanderers. Drifters. The new ones trying to rise, who don't have clan support or sect backing. They’d buy anything that gave them an edge. Especially if the price is right.

That was the plan.

Target the cities. Build slowly from the bottom.

“What are those seven cities?”

“Lianhai, Tiandu, Golden Bell City, Cloudmere, Redwing Hold. Jiushan and Broken Ridge.

“All seven have a decent cultivator population,” he continued. “Some more than others. A few have well-established clans that control portions of the pill market. None of them are completely dominated by a single sect, though all of them have multiple powers vying for control.”

He paused, letting the weight of that sentence settle for the next stretch of time that felt like thirty hours to Chen Ren as the man gave him all the information he had gathered on them.

Tang Boming broke down regional economics, trade flows, and black market routes. But most of his time was spent detailing the power structure of each city, which clans were influential, which sects had territory nearby, their known highest-level cultivators, the kinds of pills they produced and sold, and—most critically—the rivalries that existed between them.

Chen Ren absorbed everything.

Competition wasn’t a problem in itself. It was expected. But the type of competition mattered. And in every city he heard about, the same pattern emerged, too many players.

In Golden Bell City alone, five mid-tier clans were battling for pill market control. In Redwing Hold, an Established sect had burned down two storefronts in the last year to maintain monopoly. Jiushan had a tangled mess of alliances that shifted with the seasons—one deal too successful, and the other side would step in to crush it.

Even if Chen Ren could carve out a corner of the market, it wouldn’t be long before he’d be forced into conflict—not with one power, but several. He didn't want that. Not now.

By the time the briefing ended, only one city remained in his mind—Broken Ridge.

Less tangled than the others. Not without risk but manageable. Not many clans had roots there, and the pill market was still fluid. Cultivators passed through often. Independent powers hadn’t fully sunk their roots in.

It wasn’t ideal. But it was viable. And right now, that was enough.

“You said in Broken Ridge City, only the Darkmoon Sect holds the majority share in the pill market,” he said. “What about the rest? Surely there were other powers there before.”

“There were. Over the past few years, several clans and minor sects have tried to gain a foothold. But one way or another, they’ve all been pushed out.”

Chen Ren frowned. “Pushed out?”

“Outcompeted. Undermined. Disbanded,” Tang Boming said flatly. “Whatever leverage they had—pill sales, supplier networks, even storefronts—eventually vanished. The Darkmoon sect took over most of it. They’re the biggest player now by a large margin.”

There was a pause, and then Qing He spoke. “How?”

Tang Boming gave a short exhale. “I didn’t dig too deep into all the methods. But one of their known strategies is… recruitment. Specifically, they recruit the alchemists of their competitors.”

Chen Ren blinked.

Qing He raised a brow. “And the alchemists just… leave?”

Tang Boming shrugged. “Apparently so. The sect doesn’t pressure the power itself. They just offer better resources to the talent. And from what I heard, most of those alchemists don’t even look back. That alone breaks their rivals. If your alchemist leaves, your product vanishes. Your market collapses.”

Tang Boming continued, “Broken Ridge City is on the southern border. On the other side of the region lies the territory of a race of insectoids. Massive beasts with natural armors, glands, and unique internal organs—all of which are extremely valuable for cultivators. Some parts are used directly in pill refinement. Others can replace spiritual herbs altogether. On top of that, the insectoids are intelligent. They build nests over ancient ruins and treasure grounds. Human cultivators often cross the border to hunt, harvest, and scavenge.”

“And the Darkmoon Sect take advantage of it?” Chen Ren asked.

“They have one of the most successful hunting teams in the region,” Tang Boming nodded. “They bring back materials and relics—treasures others rarely get their hands on. They offer those directly to the alchemists they recruit. Not just spirit stones or empty promises.”

Qing He nodded slowly, a trace of wry amusement curling at the corner of her lips.

“It makes sense,” she said. “Cultivation is a pragmatic path. Loyalty doesn’t mean much unless there’s an equal return. Most people would sell their allegiance for a furnace full of rare cores and a stable cauldron.” She looked at Chen Ren. “It won’t be easy.”

She was right.

For cultivators—any kind of cultivator—treasures held more sway than oaths or banners. Power came from resources, and no one walked the path of cultivation hoping to stay in the shadows. If the Darkmoon Sect truly offered rare ingredients and relics from the insectoid territories, it wasn’t hard to imagine why alchemists abandoned their allegiances without looking back.

He didn’t even know the full extent of the offers they were making. But whatever they were, they worked. His thoughts were pulled back by Tang Boming’s voice.

“So,” the man asked, his tone carefully neutral, “you’re going to Broken Ridge?”

Chen Ren looked at him. He didn’t speak immediately, but after a long breath, he gave a slow nod. “It looks like the best option among all. Only one dominant player… and a lot of rogue and low-level cultivators cycling through. The types of pills I’m aiming for won’t help those in the higher realms anyway.”

Tang Boming gave a slight nod in return. “Then I’ll collect more detailed information. The Darkmoon Sect, their structure, their key figures, and the local sect and clans.”

“Do that,” Chen Ren replied.

But even as he said it, he felt Qing He’s eyes on him. He didn’t need her to speak. Just in the quiet gaze she leveled at him, he understood the unspoken question.

You picked a city. But what exactly are you going to sell?

He had chosen the battlefield. But he hadn’t yet forged the weapon.

And in truth, he still hadn’t cracked the code of standardized pill-making. No method that didn’t rely on personal skill. No array structure that mortals could operate with consistency. No reliable way to mass-produce anything that could stand against even second-rate mortal grade pills.

What he was trying to do was aiming to revolutionize pill making itself.

A madman’s dream. And yet, what other choice did he have?

He couldn’t compete with reputation. He didn’t have ten alchemists on call or cauldrons forged in divine flame. If he was going to do this—really do this—he needed to make a new system. One no one else had. But was he really doing that?

That thought stirred something in his chest. He stood up abruptly, pushing back his chair.

Tang Boming blinked, surprised. “Leaving already?”

“It was good meeting you,” Chen Ren said with a nod. “Thank you for your help—as always. Give Yuqiu my regards too.”

“I will,” Tang Boming replied and bowed again.

Then Qing He looked at him. “Where are you going?”

Chen Ren looked over his shoulder. “I need to research pill making,” he said. “So I’m going to read.”

“Read what?” she called out.

“We’ve got dozens of old books now,” he said, already stepping toward the door. “Alchemy. Arrays. There should be something in there that can help me.”

He walked through it and was already on the way to the library they’ve created. Hope burned in his heart and he wished he was right.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

123. Eureka

Anji and the kids—Chun, Bo, and Jian—hefted bundles of wolf pelts onto the ground with a dull thud. She saw the motes of dust in the late afternoon light at the weight of them. Zi Wen, Hong Yi, and a few of the older villagers crouched nearby, sorting the furs into neat columns based on durability, rarity, condition, and usefulness. Their fingers sifted through the blood-matted hides with an ease born of repetition, though even they paused occasionally at the stench—some pelts still clung too tightly to the remnants of beast flesh.

The stink clung to Anji’s skin, turned her stomach, made her breathe through her mouth. She didn’t like it. But she stayed.

After all that Chen Ren had done to help preserve her sect’s legacy, this was the least she could offer in return. Every skin, every pelt, every bit of work she could do—it gave her hands something to busy themselves with. More importantly, it gave her mind something else to focus on.

Anything but him and his training.

The head. Wang Jun.

His voice had become something she dreaded now—sharp rebukes, cryptic metaphors, and bitter curses about her inability to grasp the basics of soul cultivation. Sometimes, his words bit deep enough to leave her questioning it all.

Was my father wrong? Was I never meant for this path?

But then she would remember Qing He’s calm voice, gently pushing her doubts aside. “If Wang Jun truly believed you were a failure, he wouldn’t waste breath on you.”

She understood where Qing He was coming from. Still, the lessons were cruel. The progress had been slow. For mortals, sensing the soul—let alone the energies around it—was near impossible. That was what the head said. And she had no choice but to believe him.

But she had to do it no matter how hard.

And when the doubts crept in, when the darkness of her own thoughts began to wrap around her, she’d found that work—mindless, physical, exhausting work—helped. As she moved to turn and get another batch of the pelts, a howl split the air.

Screams followed it.

Her body tensed before her mind caught up, spinning to look toward the village’s makeshift rampart. Shadowed figures moved along the barricade—villagers, weapons in hand, shouting commands into the growing panic.

Another beast had found its way into the Meadow.

Zi Wen sighed beside her, already rising to his feet and brushing fur from his trousers. “More work for us,” he muttered. Then, a smirk. “But at least, we don’t have to carve it up. That’s Chief Muyang’s job. A very dirty one with all the beast blood.”

Anji nodded, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her sleeve. “Shouldn’t you be on the wall? That howl didn’t sound like a weak one.”

Zi Wen only shrugged as he grabbed another bundle of smaller furs. “Li Xuan’s there. I don’t know what’s going on with that guy, but every time I watch him fight, it’s like he’s using the beasts as training dummies. Doesn’t matter if they can bite a man's head off.” He chuckled softly. “Little Yuze’s with him too, so I’d say we’re safe.”

Hong Yi let out a low grunt and muttered, “I’d rather be on the wall than sorting through blood-soaked pelts.”

Zi Wen snorted, not even looking up. “You said you were free when I asked.”

“I thought you needed to consult me on something!” Hong Yi snapped, brushing off his hands in disgust. “Not throw me into menial labor.”

Their bickering earned an eye-roll from Anji, but before she could say anything, a tug on her robes pulled her attention downwards.

“Can we go to the wall and watch too?” one of the children asked, wide-eyed.

“No,” Anji said flatly, narrowing her gaze. “I told you already. Xiulan will have my skin if I let you anywhere near the wall.”

“But Brother Zi Wen said it’s all safe…” Little Bo whined, pouting. But Anji knew it was all an act.

“For him, not for you lot,” Anji said sharply, straightening up. “You think getting into proximity of a creature that could eat you in one bite is fun? Stay here and help if you want that extra bowl of soup.”

She was about to scold them further when an explosive blast echoed through the village. The ground trembled faintly, and she flinched along with the others, heads whipping toward the wall.

But she saw nothing there. It looked the same with men shouting over the sound of gunshots and lightning that probably came from Li Xuan.

“You’re looking in the wrong direction,” Zi Wen said calmly, brushing a wisp of fur from his tunic.

Anji turned her gaze, following his line of sight—her breath caught. Smoke billowed out of the sect building and she immediately understood what the blast was.

Of course, she should’ve guessed. Her thoughts scattered again as Zi Wen nudged Hong Yi with his elbow. “So? How many is it now?”

“The third one today,” Hong Yi grumbled, squinting through the smoke. “You guessed right.”

Zi Wen held out his hand smugly. “Where’s my money?”

Hong Yi crossed his arms. “There could be more. If it ends up being four or five, I’m not paying. You said three exactly.”

Zi Wen scoffed. “You guessed two.”

“And I was wrong. Sect Leader Chen is clearly more talented at blowing things up than I gave him credit for.”

Anji gave both of them a flat look. “I should’ve expected this from you two. Instead of helping him out, you’re placing bets?”

Hong Yi shrugged. “Us helping out won’t do him any good. He’ll figure it out. He always does.”

Anji didn’t argue. They were right.

Whatever Chen Ren was building—testing—creating—wasn’t something anyone else had ever attempted. Not even the great sects had dared touch this path. Alchemy had always been a domain of the gifted—cultivators, blessed by affinity and talent, hoarding knowledge like gold.

And now here he was. Trying to bring mortals into the fold. To many in the empire, even the suggestion would be heresy.

Sure, she’d seen alchemists in her sect rely on arrays when they needed speed—channeling qi through inscribed formations to cut corners when time was tight or effort was lacking. But that wasn’t what Chen Ren was doing. He wasn’t trying to make pills faster.

He was trying to make them accessible.

To let mortals handle the refining process—and have the arrays take care of the qi-based steps. It sounded impossible. More than impossible.

Anji had studied alchemy, and even she had never heard of arrays like that—probably not even Qing He. Ones that could split the burden, isolate the essence binding from the physical process.

Yet Chen Ren was trying—she could tell from the blasts.

She felt it was both admirable and stupid. But then again, most of Chen Ren’s ideas were like that.

Anji sighed, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear as she turned to Zi Wen. “What do you mean ‘he’ll figure it out’? Do you really have that much confidence in him?”

“Of course I do. That man figured out how to make perfumes without needing to deal with the sects. I still don’t understand how that works,” Zi Wen replied without missing a beat.

Hong Yi nodded, arms crossed. “If it’s about money, I feel like that man could climb a mountain with a broken leg and call it necessary for a business opportunity. You don’t need to worry. This is just his tribulation.”

Anji blinked. “Tribulation?”

“Every cultivator has one,” Hong Yi said matter-of-factly. “The way of the ruthless heavens. Some get soul demons. Some get lightning trying to burn them to ashes. For someone like him? It’s figuring out new ways to make money.”

Zi Wen snorted with laughter. “Exactly. You’ll see. He’ll overcome it—then dump a whole mountain of work on us.”

Hong Yi simply nodded. But Anji wasn’t sure it would be so simple.

If Chen Ren succeeded—if he really made it work—alchemy itself would never be the same. Not just a faster pill-making process, not just a clever shortcut, but a fundamental change in who could even do it. Mortals.

That alone would make the alchemy clans and sects in the empire froth at the mouth. They’d kill to keep things as they were. But he’s not doing it for that, she reminded herself. He’s not trying to revolutionize anything.

He just wanted to make money. That was all.

Still, the weight of what he was attempting… It made her uneasy. She exhaled slowly.

“I hope he passes this tribulation,” she murmured, looking up towards the sect building.

***

Chen Ren, covered in soot, frowned at the still-smoking cauldron in front of him with a single thought in his mind.

At this point, facing one of those heavenly tribulations where lightning tries to roast your soul might’ve been easier.

He wasn’t even joking.

He’d buried himself in books, scrolls, and even half-rotten alchemist notes, memorizing every scrap of information he could find. Cauldron types, herb properties, refining conditions, success factors—theories layered upon theories. He had even collected every array known to support pill refinement.

After weeks of testing, adjusting, and occasionally cursing the heavens, he had narrowed things down to a handful of arrays that might work. But “might” didn’t cut it.

Making pills only using arrays wasn’t the issue. He could do it—once, maybe twice. It was sustaining it that was the problem.

The real bottleneck was essence extraction. Even for the most basic, mortal-grade pill, the ingredients needed to be heated, coaxed, and broken down until their essence bloomed—and then that essence had to be fused with qi. Not just any qi—controlled, precisely molded qi. That was what formed the pill core.

In theory, he could encode the process into arrays. He had. But in practice?

Every time the array activated, it drained qi like a starving beast. And since it didn’t pull qi from a cultivator, but from the array’s own limited store, the formation became useless after a single use. Worse, if the balance tipped even slightly, the array malfunctioned—and the cauldron exploded.

He glanced at the cauldron. Blackened, cracked around the base. It somehow survived the third explosion today. Even if he managed to squeeze out a single pill, he’d have to redraw the array again, recharge it, and hope it didn’t blow up again.

At this point, it would've been easier to find a few dozen alchemists, lock them in a room, and ask them to make pills the old-fashioned way.

But that wasn’t an option. Not for him. Not for this sect.

From what Chen Ren knew, only the most Established sects—those with hundreds of disciples—could afford to run proper alchemy workshops. Not for efficiency, of course. They called it training, but in truth, it was nothing more than a glorified Chinese sweatshop. New disciples were thrown into rows of furnaces and cauldrons, refining pills endlessly for the benefit of the sect.

He could never do that.

Even if it were an option, Chen Ren wouldn’t take it. He believed in labour laws. In dignity. He didn’t crawl out of poverty just to become the kind of man who shoved others into it.

Which left him with more holes in his plan than he liked to admit.

Standing before his battered cauldron—cracked, reeking of charred lotus root—Chen Ren flipped through a stack of alchemical manuals he hadn’t touched yet, desperate for a new angle. The books were meticulous, each diagram a testament to centuries of tradition. But the more he read, the more one thing became painfully clear.

All of this was designed for cultivators. Every step. Every style. Every technique.

And then the thought struck him—so obvious, so simple, he actually froze with the book half-open in his hands.

Why am I trying to adjust this system... made for cultivators?

That was the flaw. He wasn’t thinking far enough. He wasn’t supposed to tweak their method. He was supposed to throw the whole thing out.

His eyes narrowed. Slowly, he set the book down and reached for a quill and a blank sheet of paper. If he was going to do this, he needed to start from scratch.

What do I know about pill making?

He scrawled the words at the top of the page. Underneath, he drew three simple bullet points.

1. Essence Extraction – Heat herbs in a cauldron until their essence is released.

2. Qi Containment – Use personal qi to hold the essence in place, preventing it from dispersing into the atmosphere.

3. Compression & Shaping – Apply pressure to form the pill.

He stared at the list.

That was it. That was alchemy, reduced to its skeleton.

He’d been trying to have arrays take care of step one and step three—extraction and shaping—while assuming step two was too advanced without a cultivator’s direct input. But the real issue wasn’t the complexity of arrays.

It was the entire foundation of the process.

Alchemy, at its core, assumed the presence of qi. Without it, the process collapsed. It wasn’t designed to run without a cultivator standing at the center.

He could already handle the first part—extracting the essence. With the right temperature and controlled heat arrays, even a mortal could manage that. The real issue was trapping it.

Once the essence rose into the air, it dispersed far too quickly—lost before it could be molded. That was the part cultivators handled instinctively, with qi as a net, sealing the essence mid-air.

Chen Ren didn’t have that luxury. He needed a new net.

He scratched his head, staring at the three bullet points he’d jotted down. Step three—shaping the pill—was ironically the easiest to hand off to mortals. After all, essence was vapor. Air. And back on Earth, there were plenty of ways to capture vapor, convert it, shape it—hell, there were entire industries based on it.

He just had to apply what he knew.

Excitement began to hum in his chest as his thoughts spun faster. He cleared his workspace, dust flying up from the chaos of books and broken quills. One by one, he started pulling out manuals, sorting them into piles. He wasn’t looking for theory anymore.

He was looking for replacements.

Three new steps. Three new methods. Something that mimicked the outcome of traditional alchemy—but used entirely different means.

And then—

His eyes widened. Of course. He shot up so fast the stool clattered to the floor behind him as an idea formed.

Not pills. Potions.

Chen Ren tore through the shelves, fingers flying over worn spines, until he found a thick manual he had completely dismissed before: Herbal Liquids and Spiritual Suspension—A beginner’s guide to potion brewing.

He flipped page after page until his eyes landed on the passage he needed—ink faded, margins yellowed with time. A slow grin crept across his face.

“I don’t know if this’ll work,” he muttered, almost laughing now, “but if it does…”

He sat back down with a thud, pulling a clean sheet toward him, and began to write and soon found himself stating at the three new rules. He exhaled, the words staring back at him like a challenge thrown at the sky.

“Water,” he whispered. “The solution was water all along.”

His fingers twitched to begin testing it immediately. There’d be failures. A lot of them. But this—this was the path forward. One that might just change alchemy across the empire. If it worked.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

124. Standardisation (1)

Yalan flicked her tail lazily, a low purr rumbling in her throat as the creamy, freezing chunk of what Chen Ren called ice cream melted against her tongue. It was cold—shockingly so—but not unpleasant. No, it was delightful. Smooth, sweet, and strange in all the best ways. The flavor lingered, teasing her senses long after she swallowed, and for once, she didn't mind the unnatural cold that came with it.

Chen Ren had introduced it as a “summer delicacy”, though Yalan privately thought it made just as much sense in winter. Snowflakes drifted lazily beyond the windowpane, but what did the weather matter to her? Mortals would probably end up sniffling under thick blankets after trying this in such weather, but her kind was made of sterner stuff.

Across the room, Qing He cradled a steaming cup of green tea—another one of Chen Ren’s odd but surprisingly pleasant recipes. Her eyes were closed as she sipped, clearly savoring the warmth.

On the low table between them, the severed head of Wang Jun sat upright, his eyes locked on the ice cream with a look of sheer envy. Yalan’s ears twitched. She sometimes pitied him—one who reached the so-called peaks of immortality, reduced to a talking head who could neither eat nor drink. But what could be done? There was no known art, spiritual or culinary, that could give him the pleasures of the flesh.

She dipped her head to lap at another bite, whiskers twitching with satisfaction. She was glad Chen Ren had chosen food as his first business. Her appetite had only grown sharper with each of his creations, and a part of her hoped he would invent more. Preferably something sweet.

Still... Yalan's eyes flicked towards a window, the face of Chen Ren appearing in her mind. She couldn’t help the small prickle of concern beneath her fur. With all that had happened lately, she wasn’t entirely sure Chen Ren would come out of his workshop the same man, or if he’d come out at all.

As if sensing her thoughts, Qing He spoke, “Do you think he’ll come out of there sane? Or will he be like those old monsters—cultivators who seal themselves away for centuries, chasing madness in the name of breakthroughs?”

Yalan shrugged with her paw. At this point, she truly couldn’t tell.

“It’s only been a couple of days.”

“A couple of days in one room for him is weird enough. You know how he is. Never still. One thing after another. He even dragged Feiyu in there and locked the door. Stopped all gun production too. I’ve been so bored because of it.”

Yalan gave a noncommittal chuff of agreement. Qing He wasn’t wrong. Chen Ren wasn’t the type to sit in one place. And the idea that both he and Feiyu hadn’t come out for food… It was troubling. She hadn't smelled anything cooked in days when she had passed by the workshop—only the faint buzz of qi and bitter smells of herbs and potions. They were likely sustaining themselves entirely on spiritual energy now.

At least there hadn’t been any more explosions. That was something. But the occasional scream of frustration had more than made up for the silence in between.

“Whatever he’s trying to do,” Yalan muttered, curling her tail around her paws. “He’s going to come out of it after he fails.”

“You sure he’s going to fail?”

Yalan finished the last of her ice cream with a satisfied lick and sat back. “He’s very capable. But what he’s trying to do… even seasoned alchemists would fail at it. Still, I don’t think he’ll give up. He’s just going to fail and keep going once he gets another inspiration. He’s far too stubborn to let the pill market go.”

“That’s true. I think he’ll end up hiring alchemists. Reshape how they work. You know how he is—if the sects won’t play fair, he’ll just try to change the rules. And it might actually work,” Qing He offered a smile. “But the real question is—when will he realise that? At this rate, he’s going to spend the next few weeks buried in cauldrons and scrolls, chasing the impossible idea of standardisation like a dog with a bone.”

A gruff voice broke into the conversation, dry and echoing slightly.

“In my time,” came Wang Jun’s scoff from the table, his severed head wobbling slightly. “Any disciple wasting weeks on innovation and contraptions instead of breaking through would have been disciplined on the spot. What a waste of precious cultivation time.”

Yalan’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she turned to look at him.

“And in your time,” she said with a slight edge. “You ended up as a talking head. If it’s Chen Ren, then him trying to innovate to sell a new product will probably bring him closer to a breakthrough. He’s not like any other cultivator.”

Wang Jun’s head turned stiffly toward her, his lips tight, as if he wanted to argue. But after a long pause, his mouth simply twisted into a reluctant frown and he let out a dry grumble.

“That’s… true. Even in my lifetime, the strangest Dao I ever encountered was the Dao of Gambling. Lost more spirit stones and resources to that bastard than I’d care to admit.” He clicked his tongue, lips curling in a grimace. “And even then, that man only reached the meridian expansion realm in two hundred years. From what I’m hearing now… Chen Ren’s already close to foundation establishment?”

His tone shifted to something like awe, if begrudgingly. Then a bit too casually, he added, “I would’ve loved to dissect his body one day—”

Yalan’s ears flattened and she hissed softly, her glare sharp as a blade.

Wang Jun backtracked immediately. “Only if he allows me, of course! Of course. Purely academic curiosity. Such rapid advancement... it must come with side effects. The heavens aren’t generous with anyone, not truly.”

“I don’t think the heavens are being generous.” Qing He broke into his line of conversation. “With the Gate of Immortals you told me about… I think that kid’s already tangled in threads he can’t even see yet. And I’m sure the heavens will come down on him when they think it’s time.”

Yalan’s expression darkened as she slowly nodded, reluctant but unable to deny the truth. She had seen too many rise fast only to burn faster—cultivators who shot through realms like falling stars, only to be snuffed out before they could shine. The heavens did not like imbalance. They rarely tolerated those who grew outside the pace of fate and treated them as bugs.

And Chen Ren… Chen Ren was no ordinary bug. He was a bug chewing divine grass, soaking in rare light, and growing far too fast for the world’s liking.

What kind of tribulation would come for him? Even Yalan couldn’t say. But she knew one thing for certain, when it came, she would be there. Just how she was protected once several centuries back.

She supposed the tribulation had already begun—Wang Fu of the Blazing Ember Sect had been a part of it. A monster in crimson robes with a thirst for cruelty. She had torn him apart with her own claws, but if the rest of that sect came looking… Yalan’s gaze drifted toward the workshop again. No matter what came next, she would protect him. Just like she had promised.

The heavens wouldn’t let her. Yalan could feel it—like a pressure in her bones, a tension in the qi around her. As much as she wanted to protect him, she knew the heavens themselves would interfere when the time came.“When that happens... What is your plan?” Qing He asked suddenly and sipped her tea.

Before Yalan could reply, Wang Jun scoffed from the table. “I doubt she could do much. She’s pretty weak.”

Qing He didn’t even blink. “That’s rich coming from a head who can’t even walk.”

Wang Jun’s jaw twitched. “You can mock my current state all you like, but I was feared in my time. Even I wouldn’t be confident stepping near that Gate of Immortals. From what I know, it sounds more like a grave than a gate.”

Yalan narrowed her eyes. “Then what? What are we going to do?”

Qing He frowned and shook her head. “When the time comes... I have some thoughts. I’ve already sent letters to people I know. I’m inquiring more about this gate.”

Yalan tilted her head, her ears twitching. “Who are they? I still don’t know which sect you belong to.”

That made Qing He laugh. It was a quiet and bitter laugh when it came out. “I belong to no one. I’m retired from my sect.”

Wang Jun sneered. “No cultivator ever truly leaves a sect. It can only be destroyed. The identity always stays with you.”

Qing He’s smile faded as she shot him a sharp glare, and Yalan felt the shift in air around them. An argument was brewing. Yalan’s fur bristled. But before any of them could say more, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed outside.

They all froze. The footsteps were uneven, rushed—someone running, maybe in excitement, maybe in fear.

Yalan’s ears swiveled. One thing she liked about this crude little mortal building was how few arrays there were. It meant she could hear things. Really hear. She exchanged glances with Qing He and the head. All of them waited, breath held.

Then the door creaked open.

Chen Ren stood there, the winter light casting sharp angles across his disheveled frame. His hair had grown longer, wild and uncombed, and a thin beard dusted his jaw. Dark circles ringed his eyes—but there was no exhaustion in them. Only light. Bright, unfiltered, dangerous light.

He looked at them all—Yalan, the head, the tea-sipping Qing He—and grinned. Yalan became sure he had gone mad or at least closer to it.

“You all seem to be getting along well. Or have you just gathered here to gossip about me?”

Yalan didn’t respond to his teasing. Instead, she rose gracefully to all fours and stretched her body out along the windowsill, tail flicking once before curling neatly beside her. Her amber eyes fixed on him.

“You gave up on trying to standardize pill making faster than I expected,” she said, tone neutral and bored.

Chen Ren’s grin didn’t fade. If anything, it grew more amused. “You thought I’d fail.”

“It’s just… not something you should ideally succeed in. What you were trying to do is a fool’s errand. Pill refinement is like calligraphy—different hands, different results. Even sects with centuries of legacy haven’t managed true consistency.”

And yet, for some reason, Chen Ren’s idiotic smile only widened at their disbelief. The dark circles under his eyes, the faint scent of burnt herbs still clinging to his clothes—none of it seemed to matter to him.

“Then I guess I’m sorry to disappoint you,” he said lightly, raising his arms as if welcoming their shock. “I actually did manage to succeed. I’ve found a way to standardize pill making.”

Yalan’s tail froze mid-flick. Her head turned sharply, eyes narrowing as she searched his face for the smallest sign of a joke. A twitch at the corner of his lips, a gleam of mischief in his eye—anything to suggest he was messing with them.

But no. All she found was that same maddening, victorious smile. Had he really done it?

Her mind ran through every impossible variable. The qi variations, the unstable cauldron temps, the subtle timing and feel every alchemist had to learn for each recipe…

No. She didn’t believe it. But she knew one thing for certain. She was about to get the proof.

***

Chen Ren walked with light steps. The cold wind tugged at his robes and he glanced at Yalan walking next to him and Wang Jun wrapped discreetly in cloth in Qing He's hands with only his eyes peeking through.

All three wore expressions of disbelief. And that just made Chen Ren grin harder.

He wanted them to doubt. He wanted to see the way their faces changed when they saw what he had created. He could practically taste the satisfaction already.

“If this is a joke,” Qing He said dryly, “or it doesn’t work… I’ll hold it against you, kid.”

“Yes,” Wang Jun muttered from inside his muffled cloth cradle. “If this is some elaborate prank, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

Chen Ren only smirked. “It’s not a prank. Just keep walking. You’ll see soon enough.”

Truth be told, he couldn’t blame them for their suspicions. What he had accomplished wasn’t what he had set out to do—but it was still revolutionary. A breakthrough, just not in the conventional sense.

But he had found a way to bypass the problem entirely.

It was enough. More than enough to kickstart large-scale production. To bring pills to cultivators at cheap prices and make a large profit.

They walked in silence. With every step, he felt their expectations thick around him, until finally they reached the alchemy workshop. It looked like a battlefield.

Herbs were scattered in open crates and jars, some ground into powder, others left half-sorted. Mechanical parts—springs, cogs, tubing—lay half-assembled on nearby tables. Strange runes glowed faintly on a series of copper molds arranged in rows. Smoke hung faintly in the air, and the sharp tang of refined qi lingered like incense.

In the center of it all stood Feiyu, sleeves rolled up and short hair that had grown a bit messy was put back, holding a set of tongs and a half-finished pill mold. He turned as they entered and gave a small smile.

Chen Ren placed Wang Jun on a safe table and looked at Feiyu.

“Oh, you’re finally here. I was just preparing the next batch for production,” Feiyu said, gesturing at the pill mold.

Qing He stepped forward, brow furrowed. “What’s going on, Feiyu?”

Feiyu dusted his hands and gestured toward the room. “Sect Leader Chen needed help designing some equipment. I ended up assisting him through most of it. You’ll understand when you see what we’ve devised.”

She only nodded, though her gaze remained wary.

Chen Ren stepped forward and turned to face them all.

“What you’re about to see,” he cleared his voice. “will create history. I don’t know if I’m the first to do it—but I am sure it’s not a popular method. And it will make pill production ten times faster.”

Yalan padded forward, sniffing curiously, and extended a paw to tap the side of the newly designed cauldron they had created. A thick lid sealed the top, and from its center ran a long metal pipe that curved downward and fed into a second smaller cauldron nearby.

Her tail twitched as she examined it. “Isn’t this the same thing you did while making that alcohol? Distillation, you called it?”

Chen Ren grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. It uses that principle, sort of. But adapted. Either way—” He clapped his hands once, loud in the silence of the workshop. “—I believe we should begin.”

He turned to one of the cluttered tables and picked up a small tray where three sets of herbs had already been weighed and sorted.

“These,” he said, lifting them for the others to see, “are Jadeveil root, Starpetal leaf, and Blackscale bark. The standard mix for a qi replenishment pill.”

Feiyu nodded and moved, stepping beside the cauldron. He lifted the lid and reached for a ceramic jug sitting nearby. With both hands, he carefully poured the contents into the cauldron—a clear, slightly glowing liquid that steamed faintly as it made contact with the metal.

Qing He raised a brow. “What’s that?”

“Spirit water,” Feiyu replied. “Very easy to make. We’ve been refining it with our qi for the past twelve hours. Should be enough for this batch.”

Chen Ren stepped up with the herbs, now carefully adding each ingredient into the spirit water. The moment the last handful went in, he placed the lid back down and activated the heating array beneath the cauldron with a pulse of qi.

The workshop filled with a faint hum as the heat began to build, swirling the herbs and water together inside the sealed chamber. Steam began to rise, hissing softly through the pipe above.

Yalan narrowed her eyes. “I have no idea what you’re trying to do here.”

Chen Ren grinned, crouching beside the setup and pointing toward the pipe. “It’s easy. Qi disperses well in water. I’m heating the herbs with spirit water to pull out their essences into the liquid. Then—”

“Then they’ll try to escape,” Wang Jun interrupted flatly.

“Exactly,” Chen Ren replied, nodding. “That’s why I’m distilling them.”

He gestured toward the end of the pipe, where droplets had begun to fall into a clean, silver-lined vessel. Each drop made a soft tap, shimmering faintly with condensed essence. The air around it already felt a little warmer, a little denser with qi.

The liquid wasn’t thick like a pill paste. It was clear, refined, and almost glowing.

Chen Ren didn’t speak further. He just waited silently, arms folded, watching the vessel slowly fill, and wondering what kind of expressions the three ancient beings behind him would wear when they finally saw what he had made.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

125. Need a little flavour

Once the vessel was filled up enough, Chen Ren let Feiyu handle the rest of the process. The man moved immediately, mixing the herbal essence water with starch—the same binding agent they had tested before and found effective. As Feiyu focused on the blend, Chen Ren turned toward the three people he had called to witness the demonstration.

Their eyes followed every movement with curiosity and quiet tension.

Wang Jun was the first to break the silence. “There’s no way this will work,” he said, his nose scrunching up in protest. “I get the principle—it works on paper, sure. But pills aren’t theory. There’s no guarantee they’ll actually come out right.”

“They did, and it turned out good, too,” Chen Ren replied simply. He turned around and moved to bring over a wooden tray filled with round pill molds where they had put essence mixed with starch yesterday. It was now dried, shimmering faintly in white color.

Qing He leaned forward, eyes narrowing as she reached out. “You ate it?” she asked. “How was it?”

“Honestly, it’s better than the one I bought from Jingxi City. You should try for yourself.”

That was the only invitation Qing He needed. She plucked two pills from the tray and placed one in front of Yalan. The third witness, Wang Jun, remained still, watching as the two placed the pills on their tongues.

A few seconds passed as they swallowed the pills.

Qing He grunted in approval and turned to the head. “Try it,” she said with a smile.

Wang Jun rolled his eyes. “You know I can’t. I’m just here to see whether Chen Ren pulled it off or not.” His tone was flat when he spat out words.

Chen Ren knew he wanted to take a taste as well, the curiosity was well evident in his eyes.

Qing He shot a glance at Chen Ren. “It worked,” she said. “It’s a solid Qi Replenishment pill. Well, I do have some notes. It's far from perfect.” Chen Ren opened his mouth but was cut off by Qing He. “Purity could be better. And the taste… taste is terrible. Worse than the regular pill. Probably because the starch didn’t mix well. But it’s workable, I guess.”

“And I’m pretty sure you could still sell it to those broke rogue cultivators. They won’t care about taste if it restores Qi,” Yalan said, tasting another.

The moment Chen Ren heard those words, a bit of tension in his shoulders eased. He unclenched his jaw and realised how tight it was until then. After all the sleepless nights, half-burned mixtures and ruined batches, they’d finally managed it—an unconventional way to make pills. One that gave a way for mortals to help out.

Of course, it wasn’t perfect yet. But he could already see the way forward. With the pills in line, he’d be able to create a successful production line, a steady supply chain, and small workshops. Although he hadn’t sat down to calculate the numbers, he was certain that this method would let him produce far more pills using fewer herbs than traditional alchemy ever allowed.

That alone gave it value and purpose for him to move forward.

He knew one of the biggest flaws with traditional alchemy was the element of luck.

The process could shift and turn solely based on the alchemist’s qi and concentration. But that wasn't the case with distillation, drying and molding—there was no luck involved. As long as the ingredients were good, and the process was precise, he knew the outcome would be consistent.

That outcome… it could bring him success. And—

Qing He’s voice cut into his thoughts.

“Even so,” she said, brushing her hands together. “If I dare say it, it serves your purpose. But you’ve added non-traditional components—starch, spirit water. The way essence binds is a plus, but it’s still crude, so you need to refine it further…” her eyes suddenly narrowed at the pill tray and looked up. “If you used something like spiritual clay—or even just dehydrated the mixture instead—you’d probably get better results.”

She paused for a moment.

“Also, not all herbs pair well with spirit water. Some clash entirely. So you should know that what you could make with this method will be limited.” She tilted her head briefly. “But I guess you don’t care about it.”

“I don’t. I can leave the rarer pills for actual alchemists.”

From the beginning, his goal was never to replace alchemists. It was to create common pills cheaply in a constant supply. And now, he was on the verge of achieving it. His eyes sparkled. There were still ideas brewing in his mind, to make his pills far more efficient.

“You think spiritual clay would work better as a binding agent?”

“It should.”

“But, would it help the taste?”

Qing He’s gray eyebrows rose an inch. “Taste?”

Wang Jun burst out laughing from the side. “If you want something tasty, kid, why not make me the Stormbite Pill again?” he grinned. “We can try together. Maybe it would blow up the cauldron fully while we’re at it, but if the pill comes out well, it's worth it.”

Chen Ren ignored Wang Jun’s teasing and turned toward Yalan instead.

“Do you remember those healing and bone-mending pills you fed me after the spectral rhino incident?”

Yalan’s whiskers twitched. “I remember. You almost vomited them out.”

The corners of lips turned up. “Anyone would’ve. Honestly, it’s not just those. I’ve tasted quite a few since then and every single one was bitter enough to make me question whether alchemists have tongues at all.” He scrunched his nose up in disgust. Even thinking about the taste made him almost gag.

That statement made Qing He frown, folding her arms. “Obviously, they taste bitter. Pills aren’t food to taste good. They’re for healing and cultivation. No one cares about taste.”

“But why not?” Chen Ren countered, raising two fingers between them. “Let’s say two pills are priced the same, have the same purity and effect. One tastes like you’re chewing on the brain of a bug. The other doesn’t. Which one would you pick?”

Qing He narrowed her eyes. “What exactly are you getting at?”

“I’m just thinking with a consumer mindset,” he said with a shrug. “So, tell. Which one?”

From the side, the group’s silent observer finally spoke up. “I’d take the flavored one,” Wang Jun said. “A little taste won’t kill anyone.”

“Same,” Feiyu chimed in from the back, still stirring the essence and starch mixture with rhythmic movements.

A grin spread through Chen Ren's lips. He turned his eyes towards Qing He who clearly didn’t like the way this conversation was going. And he had an explanation for that; it was likely because of her alchemist roots.

And he understood that. But a little support from her could go a long way for him.

“See? I think this could work.”

That earned a brief glare that lasted for a few pregnant seconds. He didn’t back out. He kept up the staring contest until she let out a long breath and said, “So you want to add something that brings in more flavor to the pills. Fine. But you do realize that doing that could alter the pill’s effects entirely. There’s a reason we follow recipes refined over hundreds of years.”

“I know. Trust me, I do,” Chen Ren replied and kept the pill tray away. “But how do we perfect anything if we don’t test and adapt? Now that I have a working method for consistent pill production, I want to push it further. Refine the process. Build a whole system around it and improve the recipes along the way so I could sell a lot of pills to cultivators. Also, I’m not trying to invent a new kind of pill here. I just believe alchemy has stagnated. This might be the change it needs.”

After his explanation, which was mostly aimed at Qing He, he waited. He waited for any reaction that he could get.

Then surprisingly, Yalan gave a low purr. “What you’re saying isn’t wrong. And I didn’t even think you’d get this method to work, so if you are trying to get the taste to get better, you would achieve it sooner or later.”

Chen Ren blinked, then placed a hand on his heart and feigned hurt. “Really? I thought you’d have some faith in me.”

Yalan snorted. “Faith? You couldn’t even make an Earth-grade pill properly two months ago.”

He opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it and simply said, “Point taken.” His gaze shifted back to Qing He, waiting.

Qing He’s frown deepened as she crossed her arms. “Do you really want my help?”

“You’re the only one here with enough knowledge to actually help me refine this. And right now, after trying so much, I believe I really do need help. I don't want to spend months into this.”

That was all needed for Wang Jun to jump in. “I can help too, you know.”

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you specialize in outdated methods?”

“There’s no such thing as outdated knowledge in cultivation. We’ve been using the same principles for hundreds of years, and they work just fine.”

Chen Ren opened his mouth to concede—he wasn’t entirely wrong—but Qing He cut in before he could.

“Alright, I’ll help. I’ve got a few ideas already… but I’m doing this as a favor. I would use that one day and you wouldn't be able to get out of it by using your sweet tongue.”

Chen Ren smiled, clearly not minding the jab. Then, he looked back at his workshop. “That’s all good with me. We’re going to have some exciting days ahead of us.”

***

The next few days were not exciting at all.

Perfecting recipes and refining his new method of alchemy turned out to be an incredibly tedious—and exhausting—task. Far from the thrill of invention, it was a slog of measuring, boiling, grinding, and more measuring. Every ingredient had to be weighed accurately. They had to figure out better ways to dissolve herbs in spirit water without compromising purity, and—perhaps the hardest part—find a binding material that could carry flavor without ruining the pill’s integrity.

Chen Ren, at one point, entertained the idea of flavoring the pills like candies, imagining rows of mint or chocolate-flavored qi boosters. But even he had the sense not to say it aloud.

That level of madness could wait. For now, he needed to get at least three more reliable pill types added to his recipe book before he could even think about "candy-like pills."

Thankfully, help arrived in an unexpected form.

Anji volunteered to assist—without being asked—and took charge of the herb measurements with surprising efficiency. Wang Jun joined her and it quickly became apparent that he had a deep knowledge of herbs. Even Qing He looked impressed when he identified multiple substitutes that dissolved better in spirit water while maintaining the same effects.

That part alone shaved off hours of trial and error.

But it was Anji who truly proved invaluable. She quietly mentioned her experience working in the alchemy halls of the Void Blade Sect, and her competence showed. Under Chen Ren’s instructions, she calculated the exact quantities needed to make a consistent batch of twenty pills—down to the last stalk and grain.

And she didn’t stop there.

Without needing to be told, she began developing spreadsheets—on parchment, of course—mapping the costs of each herb, the volume of ingredients, and even projecting profit margins per batch. When Chen Ren glanced at her notes, he blinked twice. She had even calculated the overhead cost of spirit water production and labor in terms of spirit stones.

It was to the point that Chen Ren decided, then and there, that Anji would be the one handling the pill business for him. She might not have made a single pill herself, but the way she managed the logistics—herbs, costs, profits—was something even he couldn’t replicate without burning out.

That decision, at least, was easy.

What wasn’t easy was everything else.

The Qi Replenishment Pill, for all its flaws, had been the simplest one on his list. The real challenge began when they moved on to the next three basic pills he wanted to recreate—ones every young cultivator kept stocked: Scarlet bloom healing pellets,
Bone-refining capsules and Focus clarity pills.

Unlike the Qi Replinsment pill, these were a headache from the very beginning.

Not only were they more complex in composition, but they also demanded longer preparation times and more sensitive handling. The Scarlet bloom healing pellet in particular used a fire-aspected herb that absolutely refused to dissolve in spirit water, no matter what method they tried. Chen Ren scratched his head over it until it felt like his scalp would bleed.

He and Qing He spent hours poring through notes, trying every substitution they could think of. Even Wang Jun pitched in with a few herb names that looked promising—only to reveal, after a second thought, that they were either extinct or unavailable near Meadow Village.

Eventually, they dropped that particular pill altogether.

Fortunately, the world of pill-making wasn’t short on basics, and they pivoted to a different one—a common Muscle Recovery Pill that had fewer restrictions and a lot more room for experimentation. If Chen Ren had to point out the real problem, though, it wasn’t the recipes.

They had time. They could tweak the mixtures and run trials until the measurements were exact. Once that was done, most pills stabilized and followed predictable results.

No, the real problem was the equipment.

Aside from the basic heating arrays, Chen Ren had been experimenting with inserting auxiliary arrays into the cauldron interiors—arrays that would agitate the mixture, help with essence separation, or accelerate evaporation. The theory was sound. The application, not so much.

There was only so much a cauldron could take before the inscriptions interfered with each other or just melted straight off.

And more than once, he found himself standing in front of a smoking piece of scrap metal wondering how real alchemists dealt with this daily.

Which brought him to another conclusion—they were going to need an actual alchemist or two. Not just for the pills’ integrity, but to certify the quality, balance, and grade of each batch they produced. Innovation was fine, but without recognized alchemists backing them, they were just rogue pill sellers with no reputation.

Anji could handle the business side of things. She’d gotten experience with the alcohol venture already—organizing transport, managing supply chains, and doing the math no one else wanted to touch. Chen Ren had no doubt she’d do the same here.

But supervisors and equipment were another matter entirely.

Unfortunately, after just one serious conversation with Qing He, he realized how far out of reach those things really were.

They sat across from each other at a low table, the scent of dried herbs lingering in the air. Qing He stirred her tea idly, not even looking at him as she spoke.

“You need to understand something, Chen Ren. Cauldrons for alchemy aren’t easy to get. The good ones are made by sects themselves. Even the ones in regular alchemy shops are second-rate at best. You are lucky I gave you the ones I have.” She looked up, her eyes steady. “And for what you’re trying to do, you don’t just need one—you need big ones. Ones that can handle embedded arrays, uniform heating, batch refinement. Those are rare. And expensive. You’ll need to shell out a lot of spirit stones.”

She paused to take a slow sip, then added, “And alchemists? You’re lucky to have a few cultivators working with you now. Skilled alchemists don’t wander around waiting to be hired. Your best bet is to start training someone new. But that’ll take years.”

Chen Ren exhaled slowly, slumping forward on the table. “There’s got to be a way,” he muttered. “You don’t want to supervise the pill assembly line either.”

“Obviously I don’t,” Qing He replied with a sniff. “I have better things to do with my time.”

He bit back the retort that nearly slipped out—like drinking tea all day?—and instead stared down at the unfinished schematic on the table between them.

It wasn’t like he could just walk into the wilds and stumble across a skilled alchemist and perfectly preserved pill cauldrons.

…Or could he?

It was far-fetched. Ridiculous, even. Skilled alchemists were rare and always affiliated with sects or clans. Good equipment gets taken away by the powerhouses—usually those same sects.

But then, a flicker of memory came to him. Something Tang Boming had said when handing him a scroll of information on Broken Ridge City's clans and sects.

Chen Ren’s gaze slowly shifted to Qing He.

“Acquisition,” he said aloud.

She blinked. “What?”

“I need to do an acquisition,” Chen Ren said, eyes lighting up as the idea turned into a full-blown plan in his mind. “That’s how we solve this.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

126. Spirits of the white

On Earth, acquisitions and mergers were standard practice in business—that they were almost mundane. But in this world, they were rare.

Poaching? That happened all the time. Cultivators jumping sects, clans bribing each other’s elders, rogue talents being lured away with promises of pills and treasures. But actually buying out a falling organization?

That was something else entirely.

Usually, it was the hobby of rich clan sons or daughters trying to prove a point. They’d pick up a collapsing business or small mercenary group for cheap and forget about it when things got hard.

But what Chen Ren had in mind… went far beyond that. He was thinking of acquiring an entire sect.

It started as a ridiculous thought—one even he wouldn’t have entertained seriously a few months ago. But the more he worked on pill production, the more he came up against the same bottlenecks—lack of equipment, lack of trained hands, lack of formal infrastructure. It was like trying to build a tower from sticks and spit.

That’s when he remembered something Qing He had said offhandedly while sipping tea and talking about sects one day— hundreds of sects fall and rise every year. Most so small no one remembers their names.

That stuck with him.

Wouldn’t at least some of those fallen sects have alchemists? Or at the very least… cauldrons?

Alchemy was, after all, one of the most widely practiced disciplines in cultivation. Even minor sects often had at least one cauldron and someone who knew how to use it. That thought—innocent at first—had snowballed into something bigger when he recalled what Tang Boming had mentioned weeks ago.

How the Darkmoon sect in Broken Ridge City had absorbed and disbanded multiple smaller sects and clans in the area over the past decade, consolidating power like a slow, creeping shadow. Tang Boming had explained that many of the alchemists had been poached, but that conversation stuck with Chen Ren for another reason.

He never said anywhere that all of them were taken.

It stood to reason that the Darkmoon Sect wouldn’t have the resources—or the need—to absorb every single alchemist or disciple from the sects they destroyed. Some people would be left behind. Some wouldn’t have made the cut. But his focus also shifted to equipment, artifacts and cauldrons that could've been left behind.

Without wasting any more time, he made his decision to travel to Broken Ridge City.

He left Zi Wen, Luo Feng, and Li Xuan behind to protect the village, instructing them to keep everything running smoothly in his absence. Qing He, reluctant as ever, agreed to continue refining their recipes—though not without warning him she wouldn’t tolerate any “half-baked schemes” derailing her work.

Once the cauldron and alchemist issue was solved, Chen Ren planned to begin full-scale pill production.

He could already picture it all coming together—his own production line, a shop full of customers, and spirit stones flowing like water. He would have everything and would slowly began to get richer in the immortal world too.

He smiled to himself, watching the road ahead. Then Wang Jun’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Your plan is stupid,” he said bluntly. “You’re relying entirely on chance and luck. And frankly, I don’t think you’ve got much of either.”

The carriage bumped over a rocky path, rattling slightly as Chen Ren turned his gaze toward him. Across from him, Anji let out a soft sigh, clearly used to Wang Jun’s way of speaking by now. Yalan was perched near the window, half-asleep and swaying with the motion of the carriage.

Aside from the three mortals seated in front, driving the carriage in turns, Chen Ren had brought only this small group with him. Originally, he had intended to travel with just Anji. But Wang Jun had insisted on tagging along, citing something about guiding Anji’s soul cultivation and ensuring she kept practicing her perception.

But rather than doing that, he was just being annoying.

Chen Ren didn’t rise to the insult. Instead, he leaned back and looked out at the passing trees before replying.

“Every business opportunity is a chance. All of them. The difference is in how you see it.” He tapped his temple lightly. “Chances are everywhere—you just need the eyes to spot them.”

“Good eyes?” the head scoffed. “I’ve got a better brain, and I can't even imagine someone selling their sect to you when you don’t even have the spirit stones to buy a dozen cauldrons. You’ve got no high-grade artifacts, no valuable techniques to trade. What exactly are you going to give them in exchange—optimism?”

Chen Ren frowned.

The man had a point, annoying as it was. He truly didn’t have the resources to outright buy a sect—not in spirit stones, and certainly not in anything a proper cultivator would consider valuable. Mortal currency wouldn’t get him a bowl of soup in a sect, much less resources or allegiance. He had gotten a good amount of spirit stones due to looting the vault, but they were only a few hundred in total, all low grade.

Still, it didn’t mean all doors were closed.

He glanced over at the head and said coolly, “Sometimes you don’t need spirit stones or artifacts. You just need to figure out what the other party really wants. If it’s something other than spirit stones, I might be able to get it.” He let a beat pass, then added with a smirk, “Worst case? I just sell you. Pretty sure any cultivator would be interested in studying something like you.”

Wang Jun snorted. “First, I’m priceless. And you’d have the emperor’s inquisitors knocking your door down if anyone saw me with you. I don’t exactly scream righteous cultivator mascot, do I?”

“Then keep your mouth shut and behave. You can’t be seen in the city.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Anji said from beside him, her voice calm as always. “Master will stay in the room with me. He won’t cause trouble.”

The head grumbled. “At least let me out at night. I’ll die of boredom.”

Chen Ren didn’t respond. He simply looked out the window, watching the road wind through the hills, rocky and covered with snow. But he wasn’t really seeing the terrain. He was thinking over the head’s words.

Was he relying on chance?

...Maybe.

He just didn’t want to admit it. But there was some logic behind it. Logic built not on numbers, or wealth, or leverage—but on something simpler. Something that every cultivator had, regardless of age, status, or sect. Pride.

And if Tang Boming’s stories were true, Darkmoon Sect had risen through ruthlessness—absorbing, discarding, and humiliating anyone they didn’t need. Which meant they had bruised a lot of pride.

If Chen Ren could find the ones left behind—the alchemists tossed aside like old tools—then he didn’t need spirit stones or fancy artifacts. He just needed to offer them something far more valuable.

A chance at payback.

Chen Ren’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden jolt—the carriage lurched violently and came to an abrupt halt. He nearly lost his balance, stumbling sideways and brushing against Anji, whose face flushed a faint pink.

He muttered an apology and shifted his focus and looked at Yalan, whose sleepy gaze had sharpened into something eerily focused. She sat upright and her nose twitched slightly.

“I feel something,” she murmured.

Chen Ren nodded. That was all the warning he needed.

He stepped out of the carriage, boots crunching into the half-frozen dirt path beneath. The wind had grown colder and sharper. The sky above was a dull grey, clouds thick and unmoving. Tall, leafless trees flanked the worn path on both sides. A faint mist clung to the earth.

At the front of the carriage, three mortals stood frozen—Zushi, Tao Li, and Han Fei. Their faces were pale, almost bloodless, eyes wide with fear.

Chen Ren followed the line of Zushi’s trembling hand as he pointed toward the mist-shrouded path ahead.

And then he saw them.

Six ghostly figures drifted slowly in a wide circle, moving without sound. Their bodies were translucent, their outlines vague, but he could make out long trailing robes and faces blurred like fogged glass. They didn’t seem to notice the living at all. They simply circled… aimlessly.

A cold dread settled in his chest.

The ground near them was half-covered in snow, and just off the path, half-buried in it, lay corpses—at least four of them. Villagers, judging by the worn linen clothes and farming tools still clutched in dead hands. Their skin had gone pale blue, eyes wide open and staring into nothing.

Zushi’s voice cracked as she whispered, “Frost Spirits… they’ve come to take us with them.”

“You know what they are?” Chen Ren asked, turning to her.

Zushi gave a stiff nod, not daring to look away from the spirits. “I’ve heard stories, Sect Leader Chen. From my grandfather. He said when people die during the frost moon, and their spirits can’t find peace, they wander in circles like that—forever cold, forever lost.”

“They’re spectres,” Zushi continued. “Wandering souls born in the wilds—feeding on the spirits of those who die in winter. That’s how they grow stronger. Once they’ve fed enough, they don’t just wait anymore… they kill. Lure people off cliffs, drive beasts into villages, even whisper into the ears of children.”

Beside him, Tao Li added, “Seeing them is a bad sign, Sect Leader Chen. Very bad. We should turn around.”

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes. “Is there another path?”

The three mortals looked at one another before slowly shaking their heads.

“No, Sect Leader,” Han Fei said. “This is the only route to Broken Ridge unless we turn back and go around the river. That’ll take a week.”

Chen Ren took a breath and exhaled sharply. “Then wait here. I’ll deal with it.”

He stepped forward, boots crunching frost. As he walked, his spiritual perception spread outward like a silent wave, brushing against the air and locking onto the six circling forms.

Just as he thought—their energy was thin.

There was no weight to it, no pressure like what he’d felt from higher cultivators or beasts. They were dangerous, yes—but not powerful. Not in the way he feared. Even six of them, right now, weren’t enough to threaten him.

Still… he felt uneasy.

These were ghosts. Astral beings. And physical attacks meant little to them. His punches and kicks wouldn’t help much if they could phase through his strikes. But he had something better.

Lightning crackled faintly along his fingertips as he walked, using the qi in his dantian and tracing it in his veins like electro threads. Lightning was one of the most effective elements against wandering spirits, he had read in a book and now it was time to test it.

As he drew closer, the mist thickened and the spirits stopped circling. They turned toward him. And for the first time, Chen Ren got a full look at their faces beneath the pale veil of fog.

If they could be called faces at all.

Flesh peeled and hung from bone, patches of icy skin split and crumbled. They had no nose, no mouth—just gaping sockets filled with twin orbs of pure white, glowing like fog lamps in a storm. They didn’t speak. Didn’t shriek.

They just stared.

Without hesitation, Chen Ren spread his arms, pushed his qi outward, and let the lightning build into a sharp crackle.

A bolt of bright golden lightning ripped from his palm toward the nearest spectre.

It hissed through the air—clean and deadly—but the ghost dodged, slipping sideways like smoke caught in a breeze. Its jaw tore open suddenly, flesh splitting down the middle in a grotesque spiral to reveal a row of jagged, crystalline teeth.

And then, all six charged at once.

Chen Ren didn’t wince as one of the spectres lunged at him, a jagged claw arcing down toward his chest. Instead of dodging, he let the lightning within him surge.

The energy exploded outward with a thunderous crack, bursting from his body like a web of fury. Arcs of lightning lashed through the air, snapping toward the ghostly figure.

The spectre didn’t even have time to scream properly—it was consumed mid-lunge, writhing as the lightning tore through its misty form, burning it into fragments of pale vapor that vanished into the wind.

Around him, the road grew deathly still. The frost-covered trees stood like silent sentinels, their twisted branches groaning softly under the weight of snow. The mist swirled with each movement.

The lightning danced, trailing behind him in snapping, flickering streams. The other spectres shrieked in wordless, primal sounds as they circled closer, no longer in an eerie trance but now driven by mindless hunger and rage.

Even as one collapsed into the dirt, its form breaking apart into a drifting fog, the rest charged toward him, weaving erratically, trying to slip through the arcs of lightning.

“Stupid things,” Chen Ren muttered, watching one try to dive beneath a crackling bolt and get clipped in the stomach. “Mindless ghosts. Can’t even be good targets.”

But the next attack came faster.

A second spectre slashed at him, its claws gleaming with cold spiritual malice. Chen Ren leaned back—just enough to let the strike pass by his face, ruffling his hair—then slammed his fist forward.

Lightning-qi surged into the blow.

His fist collided with the creature’s distorted face, and for a moment it looked as though it would shatter entirely—but instead, its jaw unhinged grotesquely, trying to swallow his entire forearm. Mist churned violently around its neck as if it were choking on the pain.

With a grunt, Chen Ren brought his other arm up and drove it straight into the thing’s chest.

The spectre split apart with a high-pitched shriek, collapsing into a pile of mist that scattered with the next gust of wind.

He exhaled, letting the qi in his core swirl and stabilize.

Across the road, three more spectres came rushing in, claws swinging, their ghostly bodies weaving through the trees and over the rocks. But Chen Ren didn’t even feel a shred of fear.

They were weak and killable. And now that he had confirmed that, he charged.

Snow kicked up in a spray behind him as he dashed forward, lightning wrapping around his arms like coiled serpents. The spectres attacked in tandem—two from the sides, one from above—but he ducked, twisted, and lashed out.

Each blow met its mark.

As the battle went on, Chen Ren noticed something different. The spectres were adapting.

Their dodges became sharper. The moment he raised his arm, they would jerk to the side. When he gathered qi in his palm, they began to scatter, separating instead of swarming. One of them even tried to bait his lightning bolt before pulling back, letting it strike the frozen ground.

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes.

“Learning, are you?” he muttered. “Fine.”

No more ranged blasts.

He shot forward with full speed, leaping onto a jagged rock and launching himself straight into the fray. Mist burst around him as he punched one spectre out of the air, turned mid-spin, and drove his elbow into another’s skull-like head.

Lightning burst from his body on contact, short-range arcs frying anything that got too close. He moved like a streak, a whirlwind of motion and storm. One fell. Then another.

The fight blurred—slashes came, fists answered. He dipped beneath claw strikes, caught one of the spectres by its broken, smoky neck and slammed it down with a burst of qi that shattered its form completely.

He shifted his stance just as the final spectre lunged forward, claws sweeping upward. Chen Ren dodged back, his boot skidding across the frost-hardened ground. Lightning crackled through his legs as he pivoted mid-step and lashed out with a savage kick.

His foot slammed into the spectre’s chest, sending it flying backward like a rag doll.

The spirit smashed into a tree with a low, dull thud, and for a moment it lay there, coiled mist curling around the trunk. It lifted its head and snarled at him—only to be greeted by a sharp arc of lightning, searing through its center.

The spectre shuddered, hissed—and then dissolved into the wind, leaving behind nothing but cold silence.

Chen Ren stood in the center of the now-quiet path, steam rising from his skin in the cold air, shoulders rising and falling as he caught his breath. Around him, the mist began to thin, leaving only the frost-covered corpses... and the smell of burnt air.

For some reason, none of the spectres had tried to flee.

Even as their kind were shredded by lightning and sent howling back to whatever realm had spawned them, they kept coming without a shred of self-preservation.

That suited Chen Ren just fine. The last thing he needed was their kind roaming the countryside, preying on villagers in the night.

He finally exhaled, breath fogging in the chill. The wind had picked up, sweeping through the trees, dragging the remnants of mist into the gray sky above. He stood there, the faint scent of ozone lingering around him, chest rising and falling.

From the carriage, the three mortals stared at him in awe, wide-eyed and half-afraid to speak.

Yalan had already stepped out, padding toward him across the snow-dusted path with her usual lazy grace. Her voice slipped into his mind.

“That was slow.”

Chen Ren turned to her, blinking. “Slow? I dealt with six of them in under two minutes.”

“A lightning cultivator should’ve done it in under one,” she replied without missing a beat. “We may run into more. You should do better next time.”

He grumbled under his breath but didn’t bother replying. She was probably right.

He turned to head back to the carriage, stepping past the frost-coated corpses. But just as his boot met the earth, a strange sensation pulsed through his body—like a ripple in his bones. His eyes widened.

Then a cracking sound came. It was deep, jagged and wrong. Not from the earth—but from inside him. Pain exploded through his limbs.

His arms seized first, then his legs, joints locking as if they were being twisted from the inside out. His chest clenched violently, and then something burned through it—no, everything burned. He felt fire in his bones. Fire in his blood. Even his teeth felt like they were melting.

He stumbled, eyes wide, vision splitting into white and red.

Then the pain hit his head, a thundering wave of heat and pressure. Like someone had stuffed a lightning bolt into his skull and set it off. The world spun. His body seized—and all he could feel was fire and tearing.

Like he was being remade. Or ripped apart. His vision shook violently. One moment he was upright, the next, he felt life leaving his body.

His palms met the frozen earth with a dull slap as his knees buckled beneath him. The sharp sting of ice bit into his skin, but it barely registered. His body convulsed once, a surge of pain lashing through his chest.

Somewhere, through the ringing in his ears, he heard Yalan’s voice.

It was close. He could almost hear her—

But the words were a garbled mess, warped and distant, like she was speaking underwater. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus—on her face, on the ground, on anything—but everything was spinning, twisting, like the world was folding in on itself.

Is it a curse? Or I got attacked by another spectre? Had one of them cursed me after all?

His thoughts scattered like ash in the wind.

Then his eyes went glassy, the grey skies above blurring into nothing but streaks of shadow and light. Blackness crept in from the edges of his vision, smothering color, dulling shape. His breath hitched. Then everything went still.

And Chen Ren collapsed onto the frost-covered path—body limp, fingers twitching—before the dark swallowed him whole.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

127. Broken ridge city

Chen Ren was floating in a void—or so it felt like that.

It was a dark expanse all around him. He tried to squint his eyes to see, but there was no light, no sound, not even the beat of a heart to anchor him. It was the kind of silence that didn’t only deafen a person—it erased; it erased to the point where his own existence felt thin and faulty as if reality had forgotten he was supposed to be there.

But he knew he existed.

Otherwise, how could he be thinking? How… how could he remember the pain so clearly that he felt it torn through every nerve in his body just moments ago? Or wait. Was it months ago? Years ago?

He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t even tell if the time here moved. Maybe it never had.

All he knew was the cold, creeping dread that he might have slipped back into the cycle of reincarnation.

Heavens, that would have been the worst, worst possible outcome.

He had only just begun to find his place in this world—friends who didn’t want to stab him in the back, and a sect that he could build something out of, a strange new life that, for once, felt his. And starting over again? Throwing it all?

He grimaced—at least, he thought he did. It was hard to be sure in this formless black.

That trope had always annoyed him in the xianxia novels he used to read, the one where the protagonist died, lost everything and had to rebuild from scratch just to get stronger. It was pointless to say the least.

Well, he didn’t think of himself as a protagonist, he couldn’t be. But the point still stood.

And now, with every passing thought, his mind felt muddier. Like it was melting in the void. The images in his mind grew fuzzy, logic slipped through his fingers, and soon, he had a feeling that his own memories would begin to fray at the edges.

He simply drifted—and continued to drift more.

Who knew how long he drifted like that—

His hand touched something.

He almost missed the sensation, but no, he was sure. It was a resistance against the nothingness. And it grounded him, if only for a moment. Before he could process, he heard a sound.

It was not his thoughts, or an echo. He was sure it was a voice, almost too soft to hear—but unmistakably there, calling to him.

Where is it coming from? He tried to focus on it. Tried to follow the direction. But the sound kept slipping through his grasp, close, and yet impossibly far.

Chen Ren gritted his teeth and pushed. He knew his strength wouldn’t be enough, but he pushed with will, trying to seize control over whatever this place was. He needed to move—to choose.

And for a breath, he thought it was working. It felt like it was working. But then came the pain. A sharp pain pierced through his skull like a blade of ice, sudden and blinding. His thoughts scattered, his control shattered.

And the void swallowed him again. He cried out as his eyes flew open.

The void shattered.

Cold air brushed his face and it felt like someone was holding him. Soon, voices filled in, muffled at first—and then they became clearer.

Yalan, Anji and Wang Jun were all looking at him.

He was alive.

Chen Ren blinked hard, breath ragged as he tried to piece everything together. His limbs still trembled, but the pain was gone—leaving only a phantom echo in his bones.

Yalan’s voice was the first to break the silence.

“Are you okay? You passed out screaming.”

He turned to look at her, his vision still a little off-center. Screaming? The fight came back to him. The spectres. The lightning. The cold. The void.

His brows tightened. “Was I cursed?” he asked, eyes darting to each of them. “I don’t know what happened. I just felt this… pain—like everything was tearing apart.”

Yalan shook her head. “There were no other spectres around. I would’ve sensed it. And I’ve never heard of a curse like that. Even if you were cursed, there’s no foreign qi in your body. Everything’s… stable.”

“Then why did I pass out?” Chen Ren muttered, almost to himself.

Wang Jun scoffed under his breath. “How would we know? All I saw was you getting cocky and overextending yourself. Maybe you just burned yourself out.”

Chen Ren turned toward him with a small frown. “No… I had qi to spare. I’ve been in tougher fights than that. It just doesn’t add up.”

Before he could spiral further, Anji gently took his hand.

“I don’t think you should overthink it right now,” she said quietly. “What matters is that you’re awake. Whatever happened… you can figure it out once we’re in Broken Ridge.”

Yalan purred in agreement. “There should be healers there—cultivators with more insight into body or soul injuries. You should get checked out. We still don’t know if that demonic cultivator did something to you back in the vault. If he unleashed some sort of a curse, then you would have been the recipient of it since my cultivation was stronger than his.”

That made Chen Ren pause.

Right. That encounter… the strange feeling that had clung to his core ever since. His jaw tightened, thoughts spinning faster now.

Something had happened.

And whatever it was—it wasn’t done with him yet. Chen Ren gulped at the thought, feeling a pit forming in his stomach.

“Hopefully it’s not that,” he muttered. “I don’t feel any pain now, but what I did feel… It was like embers burning through my veins from the inside out. I never want to feel that again.”

Wang Jun huffed from the side. “Then don’t push yourself. Use as little qi as possible. You were perfectly fine ever since you started working on your standardizing pill production. But suddenly you collapse right after a ghost fight? If it’s not a one-off, then something’s wrong with your body. You should rest before you do something stupid again.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly. “Okay. If we’re lucky, I’ll figure out what’s happening before we run into any conflict in the city.”

“We’re not even there yet, and you’re already thinking about conflicts?” Wang Jun asked.

Chen Ren shrugged at that, the edge of a smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m being smart. Planning for what lies ahead.”

Another snort. “If you can still talk like that, then yeah, you’re probably fine.”

Oddly enough, Chen Ren had to agree with him.

Aside from a dull ache pulsing in the back of his skull—where he’d knocked his head against the carriage roof trying to sit up too fast—he felt no lingering effects. No tightness in his chest, no stiffness in his limbs, no trembling of qi.

And as a cultivator, he would know.

He had trained enough to have a clear sense of his body. Of when something was wrong. But now… there was nothing.

So why had he passed out?

Why had the pain felt like his body was being torn apart from the inside?

No answers came.

Just another mystery.

One more added to the growing pile that had started ever since he stepped foot in this world.

Chen Ren leaned back against the carriage wall, closing his eyes briefly as the wheels rolled onward over uneven terrain. And somewhere in the corner of his mind, a single, bitter thought echoed:

Why can’t things ever just be simple?

He didn’t know.

And that—more than anything—frustrated him.

To distract himself from the mess in his head, he turned to the window and took a slow sip from the canteen. The water was lukewarm, but it helped to settle the dry feeling in his throat.

The forest had long since vanished behind them.

Now, the road cut through wide open plains. There was golden-brown grass flattened by winter winds. In the distance, he could see the forms of carriages and farmer carts dotted the road like ants moving toward a hive.

Chen Ren watched them roll by—some filled with grain sacks, and others carrying bundled up families. And he knew that the city was close.

He tried to picture what a border city would be like. He hadn’t traveled closer to the empire’s fringes. His mind conjured tall, worn walls, a stationed garrison.

Turning his head slightly, he glanced at Yalan.

“Have you been here before?” he asked.

She looked at him, an apple now mysteriously in front of her—half-eaten, as if she’d conjured it from thin air.

“I passed by it once,” she said between bites. “Not a bad city. But back then, there were more… insectoid attacks.”

Chen Ren’s brows lifted. “The insectoids?”

Yalan nodded. “Yeah. The Empire started reinforcing the place after that. Rebuilding the walls. I think it’s much safer now.”

“How big is the wall?” he asked.

She tilted her head lazily toward the horizon. “Should come into view soon. When I passed by, they were still building it. You’ll see.”

Chen Ren nodded, shifting slightly in his seat and fixing his eyes outside. The clouds were heavy and white, drifting lazily above the winter-chilled plains. The cold pressed against the carriage walls, but instead of biting, it felt grounding—soothing, even.

His gaze drifted upward again, following the skyline until something far in the distance caught his attention. Peaks.

They rose from the earth like fangs, dark and distant. Between them, he thought he saw shapes—angular structures nestled between the cliffs, unmoving.

Buildings. A sect? Probably. This close to the city, there could only be one.

Darkmoon Sect.

He leaned slightly forward, eyes narrowing as if it might bring the image into better focus. It surprised him, still, that a border city like this hadn’t been placed under the authority of a Guardian sect. But then again—Guardian sects were all built atop major qi veins, places carefully chosen for cultivation.

Relocating would’ve cost them more than it was worth. Which left room for Darkmoon to expand… and take.

There could’ve been other reasons too—but Chen Ren didn’t dwell on them. His attention was pulled forward, toward the road and what lay beyond it.

He saw it.

The first silhouette of Golden Ridge City’s outer wall.

It loomed in the distance, rising steadily with each roll of the carriage wheels. Far more massive than he had imagined, the wall stood easily fifty feet tall—constructed from grey stone slabs stacked and sealed with precision. Even from afar, he could tell that it was a fortress.

As the carriage drew closer, the finer details sharpened. Guard towers lined the wall, manned with crossbow-wielding soldiers in thick winter cloaks. The gates themselves were a pair of iron-reinforced slabs, tall enough to let through caravans and wagons in double lines.

And in front of them—stood the crowd. Two lines had formed at the city’s entrance.

To the right, a longer line of civilians, farmers, and tradesmen—some with carts, others on foot. To the left, shorter but more distinct—cultivators.

Chen Ren recognized them instantly by the faint shimmer of qi radiating from their bodies, like heat rising off stone. There were at least two dozen outside the gates already, waiting their turn or speaking quietly among themselves.

He let his perception flow, subtle and smooth.

The strongest qi signature belonged to a man leaning against the wall with a spear on his back—Foundation establishment realm. The rest were mostly qi refinement cultivators, with a few that gave off the sturdier, more physical aura of body forging realm ones.That many cultivators just standing outside? His eyes gleamed. Every single one of them was a potential customer.

He would need to investigate how large the cultivator population in the city actually was—but if the numbers were anywhere near his estimates, then his plans might go beyond just success. He could become rich. Very rich.

The carriage rolled into the cultivator line. Slowly but surely, they inched forward, the winter wind brushing against the sides and causing the cloth canopy to flutter faintly.

At the gate, Tao Li handed over a small pouch of silver to the stationed guards.

The guards gave them a bored glance, then nodded. No questions or inspection. They waved the carriage through.

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed slightly as they passed under the towering gate. That easy?

He remembered how Gu Tian had managed to sneak into Cloud Mist City so effortlessly—and now it made more sense. Even border cities like this didn’t seem to have strict vetting, especially for cultivator entries.

Still… he supposed it made sense.

In cities thick with cultivators, who would dare cause trouble? And who would survive if they did?

Of course, unless someone was a high-realm expert. But even then, there were ways to stall them—long enough for someone stronger to arrive and deal with the threat.

As their carriage finally rolled through the towering gate, Chen Ren shifted slightly to take in the sights. The head grumbled from the front bench, already anticipating what was coming.

“Back to the bag again,” he muttered, voice dry and bitter.

Anji sighed with him. “Just for a little while, Master. You know it’s only until the room is secured.”

Chen Ren didn’t say anything. He did feel bad for the old being—but they had no choice. The head had lived this way for a long time. He’d have to bear with it a little longer.

The streets of Golden Ridge were wide and lined with stone-paved roads. Tall buildings stretched upward on both sides—shops, homes, and towers that hinted at merchant wealth and old city architecture. Everything had that border-town sturdiness to it.

What caught Chen Ren’s attention most were the people.

Cultivators filled the streets—more than he’d expected. They strode confidently with sheathed swords on their backs or spirit tools at their hips. Their robes came in every color and style, but the most common by far were grey robes striped with black—Darkmoon Sect colors, if he had to guess.

And not a small number, either. They were everywhere. And wherever they walked, the crowd made room. Mortals instinctively stepped aside, heads lowered. Even other cultivators gave them a wide berth.

Influence, Chen Ren thought, eyes narrowing slightly. They weren’t rulers here. But they were treated like it.

The carriage continued, occasionally stopping as Zushi and Tao Li hopped off to ask directions. It turned out Tang Boming had already arranged lodging for them—somewhere near the merchant quarter, close enough to the central plaza but far enough from the sect grounds to stay low.

It took nearly half an hour of winding through the city streets, but they finally arrived.

The inn was a three-story building made of pale brick and timber. A small wooden sign swung out front with the name Quiet Pines Inn written in graceful calligraphy. A few people filtered in and out—travelers, merchants, and what looked like the occasional cultivator.

The moment the carriage stopped, Chen Ren stepped out first, stretching his back as his boots touched solid ground. The winter wind bit at his cheeks, but the air smelled fresh, clean—different from the streets outside the capital.

Anji followed behind and Yalan walked with her, both gazing up at the inn with unreadable expressions. The mortals hurried inside the inn to handle their tasks—checking in, arranging their luggages, sorting rooms.

And for just a moment, Chen Ren stood still and allowed himself a breath of quiet satisfaction.

This was why building a sect mattered. Not just for the name or the pride—but for the people. Delegation. Support. A real network. He didn’t have to worry about every small detail anymore.

And that… was progress.

After a minute of quiet observation, Chen Ren was pulled from his thoughts by the soft creak of the inn’s front doors. Tang Boming stepped out alongside Han Fei.

Tang Boming’s sharp eyes swept over the group, lingering for just a moment on each face. There was something unreadable in his gaze—perhaps disappointment—but it vanished the next second, replaced by a warm smile.

“You all arrived earlier than I expected,” he said, clasping his hands together. “Seems like you didn’t run into any migratory beasts.”

“Just a few frost spirits,” Chen Ren replied with a shrug. “Nothing serious.”

Tang Boming’s brow twitched upward. “Frost spirits, you say? I heard a lot of villages are tired of dealing with them. Still, glad to see you made it safely.” He gave a small nod. “I’ve been doing what you asked of me. Waiting. Listening. Gathering what I can. There are information guilds in this city, so getting anything without being noticed takes finesse.”

A glimmer of satisfaction lit his eyes.

“But I think you’ll like what I found.”

He gestured behind him. “Come inside. Let me show you the rooms first.”

They entered the Quiet Pines Inn together, and Chen Ren’s eyes drifted over the layout. A small receptionist’s desk sat near the entrance, manned by a sleepy-eyed woman scribbling something on parchment. A few guests lingered in the common area, sipping tea or reading scrolls. The walls were painted in muted colors, and everything smelled faintly of cedarwood.

As they passed through the main hallway, Chen Ren caught sight of a back door slightly ajar—beyond it, the gentle clatter of dishes and muffled conversation revealed a restaurant built into the back of the inn.

Tang led them up the creaking wooden stairs to the second floor, where a corridor stretched with evenly spaced doors.

“I booked one for everyone in your party,” Tang said casually as they walked, opening doors one by one. “Second floor gives a good balance—easy to leave from, not too noisy. You’ll have space, privacy, and no nosy neighbors.”

Chen Ren gave a small nod of appreciation as each member of the group stepped into their rooms. When they reached the last room at the end of the hall, Tang Boming stopped and opened the door with a quiet creak.

“You can use this one, Sect Leader Chen,” he said with a smile. “I imagine you’re tired after the road. There’s a public bathhouse just around the corner from here. Clean and quiet. Hot water from natural springs. Cultivators love it, and I’ve already arranged for your party to be granted access.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Might be worth checking out right away.”

Chen Ren let out a soft breath, the thought of hot water easing his aching shoulders sounding like heaven.

“That does sound wonderful…” he said. “But I wanted to do something else first.”

Tang tilted his head. “Oh? What’s that?”

“Do you know any alchemy sects or small organizations in the city?” he asked, getting straight to work. “Preferably ones with a few members, maybe some working equipment… that might be interested in getting acquired by me.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

128. Hunters

Chen Ren’s nose twitched as he took a sniff off the phial filled with shining purple pills. They gave off a faint medicinal smell with a slight hint of bitterness that lingered in the air for long.

He turned the phial in his hand, watching the light catch the engraved patterns on the glass.

Hmm, interesting.

He wasn’t sure about the pills themselves, but whoever had made the container was undoubtedly quite good at their craft. The filigree worked into the stopper, the smooth clarity of the glass, and the balance of the weight—it was the sort of thing one would only expect from a high-end alchemy store.

Setting it down, he reached for another phial when a polite cough from behind caught his attention.

He turned around to find Tang Boming standing near a bald man dressed in the standard grey robes lined with black—Darkmoon Sect colors. Likely an outer disciple picking up extra spirit stones by working here at the alchemy shop.

The man offered a thin smile and stepped forward slightly.

“Esteemed cultivator,” he said smoothly. “You’ve been browsing our selection for nearly an hour without making a purchase. Has nothing caught your eye?” Then, as if sensing his own tone, he added, “If you’d like to share your cultivation realm and what kind of pill you’re after, I’d be happy to assist you more directly.”

Chen Ren almost laughed. The smile was courteous, and he noticed the respectful tone in his voice, but the meaning behind it was clear: buy something or leave.

Still, he didn’t take offense.

Instead, he lifted the phial of purple pills and held it up. “What’s the purity of these?”

The bald man answered immediately, as if the number had been drilled into his skull. “Thirty to forty percent, esteemed one. One of our more affordable batches. Modest, but effective.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly, his eyes still focused on the pills.

“What about the ingredients?” Chen Ren asked, turning the phial slowly in his fingers. “Are any of them harmful to someone with a lightning-aligned spirit root?”

The bald man’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m afraid I can’t disclose the exact ingredients, esteemed cultivator But I can assure you, our pills are formulated for general use. Safe for cultivators of all aspected spirit roots—fire, water, lightning, and the rest.”

Chen Ren hummed thoughtfully, but didn’t stop there.

He continued his casual interrogation—asking how old the pills were, where they were made, what purity ranges they typically stocked, and whether they had any better-quality versions tucked away for refined customers.

To his credit, the bald man answered each question without faltering. And to his surprise, the bald man’s tone remained courteous throughout, his smile unfailing. Chen Ren could tell the man had either been given proper customer training or was just naturally good with people.

Probably training, Chen Ren guessed. There was tension behind the man’s smile, barely masked irritation in his eyes. He was getting annoyed. And Chen Ren didn’t blame him.

In a world where cultivators could destroy shops over perceived slights, having customer training was necessary. One wrong word, and a stray fireball or sword qi could level the front desk.

Finally, as Chen Ren set the phial back on the display, the bald man clasped his hands behind his back and asked, “So, will you be purchasing this batch of Iron Marrow Pills, or should I bring out something with better purity?”

Chen Ren turned slightly, meeting his eyes with a casual smile.

“Actually,” he said, “I was just curious about the Iron Marrow Pills. I might come back for them if I decide to go hunting insectoids outside the city.”

He clapped the man lightly on the shoulder in thanks, already turning to leave. “But for now, thanks for answering all my questions.”

That should’ve been it. But the man’s control finally cracked.

“You wasted so much of my time and aren’t buying anything?” he snapped, his voice sharp enough to draw glances from across the shop. “I could’ve made an actual sale with someone else in the time you spent poking around!” His face twisted with frustration. “Buy the pills or I will—”

He froze. Chen Ren hadn’t moved much. Just turned his head. But the subtle shift of qi that leaked out from his dantian and charged like a brewing storm was enough to silence the room.

The bald man’s voice died in his throat.

Clearly, the flare of qi reminded the man who he was speaking to. Afterall, the disciple was just a body forging realm cultivator.

Chen Ren, on the other hand, was much stronger.

The instant his qi flared, the bald man’s expression changed. His eyes widened slightly, and a cold bead of sweat rolled down his temple. He gulped, realizing—too late—that Chen Ren wasn’t just another broke cultivator loitering around with empty pockets.

He’d misjudged badly.

“You should think before speaking,” Chen Ren said quietly and sized him up. “Might serve you better.”

Then, without another glance, he turned and strode out of the store, Tang Boming following a few steps behind.

The streets outside welcomed them with sharp wind and passing footsteps. Chen Ren just continued walking down the stone-paved road, eyes flicking between the people, the storefronts, and the distant banners fluttering under the morning sun.

Tang Boming had to half-jog to keep pace.

“That’s the third pill shop you’ve been to,” he said between breaths. “You’re going to end up in a duel at this rate, poking around without buying anything.”

“I am thinking of buying. Eventually. I’m just not going to waste spirit stones unless I know what I’m buying is worth it. Some of them are already selling garbage dressed up in fancy bottles.”

He paused and rubbed his hands together.

“Either way, they need to work on their staff. They're trained, sure, but not well enough. Polite until you say 'no,' then the mask slips.”

“Well, they are cultivators. Even if they’re working in a shop, they’ve got pride. You can't train that out of them.”

Chen Ren gave a short laugh. “Pride? Sure. But pride doesn’t stop a stronger cultivator from trashing your shop.” He shook his head, muttering under his breath. “I was hiding my cultivation level, walking in with you who didn't bother hiding cultivation… and that guy still couldn’t hold himself back from acting like a cliche young master.”

Tang Boming glanced at him, brow furrowed. “Cliche what?”

Chen Ren waved it off. “Doesn’t matter.”

His eyes scanned the road ahead—another alchemy shop down the block, this one with a slightly fancier banner.

“At least I can say this,” he added. “Darkmoon Sect’s got a solid customer base. Even on a Tuesday morning, that place was buzzing.”

Tang nodded slowly. “That was their third branch in the city, you know. The smallest, too. They’ve got the biggest market share for a reason,” he said. “It’s not easy to take them down.”

“Fortunately,” Chen Ren replied, “I’m not trying to take them down.”

He smiled faintly, the kind that hinted at ambition coiled just beneath the surface. “I just want a piece of their market. A big enough piece to matter. Once I get a steady stream of spirit stones rolling in, I’ll be able to build businesses that attract cultivators… and don’t face any competition. At least not at first.”

Tang Boming shot him a sideways look, raising a curious brow. “And what kind of business would that be?”

Chen Ren just grinned. “You’ll know when it’s time. Right now, I need to focus on setting up shop here. Did you get the information I asked for?”

“I sent a few of my men out to look into it,” he said. “But I’ll be honest—it’s rough.”

He scratched the side of his jaw. “Any decent alchemist either leaves the city, gets pulled into a clan, or just ends up serving the Darkmoon Sect outright. And the ones that don’t… Well, most of them got screwed over by the Darkmoon sect and just packed up and left.”

“None stayed?”

“A few,” Tang admitted. “But mostly out of pride. Old sect loyalists—alchemists who still wear their broken emblem like a badge and try to build themselves back up. Doesn’t work out. No resources, no backing. They keep trying, but they’re all stuck in place.”

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Then those are the ones we aim for. Any good among them?”

Tang sighed. “Not really. Most are stubborn to a fault. Cultivators with chips on their shoulders. They’re hard to control—and harder to convince. Worse, they’re afraid to openly go against the Darkmoon sect , even if they hate them. Won’t join the sect, but won’t defy them either.”

He gave Chen Ren a skeptical glance. “And I don’t get why they’d say no to Darkmoon, then turn around and agree to get acquired by you. No offense.”

“None taken,” Chen Ren replied with a shrug. “But them saying no to Darkmoon is exactly why they might say yes to me.”

“Huh?”

“I’m not the one who ruined them. I’m not the reason they lost their sect, their resources, their pride. That alone makes me less of a threat and more of a friend. It’s easier to reach out a hand when you’re not the one who pushed them into the pit.” He paused, then added, “Can you get me full records? Names, affiliations, and the strongest person in each sect or clan, and—most importantly—what caused their downfall. I want to see if there’s anything I can use.”

Tang Boming nodded, slower this time, the gears turning behind his eyes. “I can do that but I’ll say it again—it won’t be easy. Especially since you’re not exactly wealthy… by immortal standards.”

“I know,” Chen Ren replied with a half-grin. “But sometimes words are worth more than spirit stones. And my mouth tends to run well. I know how to use it.”

Tang gave him a long, awkward look, the corner of his mouth twitching as they turned a corner into a busier street. “That… came out strange.”

Before Chen Ren could offer a comeback, a loud voice cut through the street.

“Get out of the way!”

Both of them turned toward the sound.Up ahead, the crowd began to part, merchants, cultivators, and commoners all stepping aside as a group of men strode confidently through the center of the road. They wore the unmistakable grey robes with black stripes that he had used to seeing in every other street. Their expressions were proud, arrogant even, as if the entire city belonged to them.

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes and muttered, “What’s going on?”

Without waiting for an answer, he stepped forward with Tang Boming following close behind.

Gasps and scattered praise rippled through the watching crowd. A few women clapped softly, and some young cultivators stared with wide eyes as the group passed by. It wasn’t until the tail end of the group passed in front of Chen Ren that he saw the reason behind the spectacle.

One of the Darkmoon disciples at the rear was dragging something large behind him—a creature, long dead, but no less monstrous in death.

It was a mantis-like insect, easily seven feet tall even while slumped forward. Its exoskeleton gleamed pale green under the sunlight, fractured in several places but mostly intact. Serrated claws the length of a man’s arm hung limply from its arms, and two large pincers jutted from its sharp, angular head. Its multifaceted eyes had gone dim, and a long slit across its thorax still oozed blood.

Chen Ren spotted several deep puncture wounds in its chest, alongside neat stab marks—likely from spears or sabers. But the creature hadn’t been hacked apart. Its body was clean, almost preserved.

He tilted his head. “Why the show?”

Tang Boming let out a short breath. “Probably new disciples,” he said. “That’s likely one of an elder’s grandsons up front. Darkmoon sends their newcomers out in hunting parties. It’s part of their training—kill something dangerous, bring it back, and show the sect you’re useful.”

Chen Ren watched silently as the group continued on, the crowd still murmuring in awe. The disciple dragging the beast gave a smug glance to either side, clearly enjoying the attention.

So this was how they built their image—power, presence, and public display.

He wasn’t impressed. But he was definitely taking notes.

Tang Boming exhaled and added, “And when any group manages to hunt an insectoid without damaging its core parts—organs, carapace, glands—they parade it around like this. Makes them feel like heroes. It’s a small custom among the disciples.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the corpse as it was dragged past.

Even from a distance, he could tell: the insectoid had value. Its thick green carapace could be processed into tough, qi-conductive armor, especially for younger cultivators. The organs—particularly the heart sac and nerve nodes—might serve as rare alchemical components. And the blood, dark and viscous, could be distilled for poison resistance or strengthening agents.

He didn’t say anything, but already, his mind was noting quantities, preservation methods, potential market value.

Beside him, Tang Boming continued, “They’re spoiled, most of them. Walk around like the city belongs to them. I’ve only been here a few weeks, but I’ve already seen young Darkmoon disciples stir up trouble in the markets, harass other cultivators, even drive smaller merchants out.”

Chen Ren’s gaze sharpened. “The city lord doesn’t do anything about it?”

Tang gave a humorless chuckle. “You know how it is. The emperor’s always been lenient with the nobles and the sects. He lets them run things how they want, as long as taxes flow and border security holds.”

He glanced around, voice dropping further. “The city lord gives full support to the Darkmoon Sect. He looks the other way when they suppress competition—sometimes even helps them do it.”

Chen Ren frowned at that.

The last thing he needed was a political authority working against him while he was trying to build a business that would eventually challenge a dominant sect.

“So what happens if I clash with them?” he asked. “Would the city lord step in?”

Tang shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not if you play your cards right. Shower him with gifts, keep your relationship clean, and you’ll be fine. Just because he favors Darkmoon doesn’t mean he’ll sabotage you.” He paused, then added, “As long as you’re not disrupting the city or attacking people in broad daylight, I doubt he’d interfere with a healthy competitor. If you come off as stable and profitable, he’ll keep a neutral stance.”

Chen Ren exhaled, tension still lingering in his brow. So… he could move here. But he’d have to walk the line—carefully.

“Good,” Chen Ren muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “One more thing on my plate.”

He turned to Tang Boming. “Get me a meeting with one of the sects that really hate the Darkmoon Sect. Someone desperate, bitter, and aligned enough to be useful to our purposes.”

Tang gave a wary look but didn’t interrupt.

“And while you’re at it,” Chen Ren added, “dig around. See if there’s anything we can use at the negotiation table—debt, past betrayals, internal scandals. I might have to work just to get them to talk to me, but once I’m sitting across from them… I want to have cards in my sleeve.”

Tang nodded slowly. “I can do that. But I’m not making any promises. Getting a meeting with sect leaders isn’t easy. Especially the disgraced ones—they either vanish into isolation or cling even harder to their pride.”

“That’s fine,” Chen Ren said. “I trust you.”

They walked in silence for a few paces, the hum of the city around them filled with calls from vendors, distant cultivator chatter, and the occasional clang of iron from a forge street nearby.

Then Chen Ren reached over and clapped a hand on Tang’s shoulder.

“One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“I want information on the hunting squads that go after the insectoids,” Chen Ren said, voice calm but firm. “Breakdown their costs—pills, gear, mounts, anything they take with them. Then give me the actual profits they make per trip. Not the ones they brag about. The real margins.”

Tang Boming frowned. “You’re planning to start your own hunting team?”

“I don’t know yet,” Chen Ren admitted. “I need to run the numbers first. But it’s a good idea. Outside the city, beyond the borders, only strength matters—and no one has jurisdiction out there. No city lords, no sect pressure. If the profits are as good as I think, it could be a reliable stream of spirit stones.”

He looked ahead, eyes gleaming now with layered ambition. “And I’ve got some other ideas too. Unique ones. If we play this right…”

His smile widened.

“This city will be a gold mine for the Divine Coin Sect to unearth.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

129. Jadefire Hall

Despite how much Chen Ren appreciated Tang Boming’s ability to gather information, he quickly learned that good intelligence on sects was still hard to come by.

The markets were full of rumors—whispers about this sect being on the decline, that sect harboring grudges, another having an internal dispute—but none of it could be taken at face value. What was true and what wasn’t had to be verified through effort, patience, and well, direct probing. If they gambled on bad intel, any negotiations he initiated could collapse before they began.

That said, Tang Boming had managed to pull together a few worthwhile leads.

After cross-verifying sources and leaning on some of his merchant contacts, he was able to map out several lesser-known sects that had a history with the Darkmoon sect and hadn’t fared well under their dominance. Some had lost territory, others disciples, and a few had simply faded into irrelevance under pressure.

But gathering names was the easy part. The real challenge came right after.

Getting a meeting with a sect leader—even from an Emerging sect—turned out to be more difficult than he had expected. Most weren’t interested in any kind of partnership, and fewer still wanted to listen to a stranger cultivator talk business. They were focused on selling their pills and maintaining whatever scraps of respectability they had left. A few had already decided to leave the city altogether, hoping to rebuild elsewhere.

That was when he really understood just how ego-driven alchemists could be.

He did manage to secure one meeting, though—with the sect leader of the Aqua Azura Sect, a small, two-generation sect operating out of a narrow corner shop in the lower district of Broken Ridge City.

Property prices in the city were infamously steep. Rent wasn’t paid in wen, but in spirit stones, and nearly all the good locations were owned by cultivators. Even having a small storefront meant something, especially for a sect clinging to relevance.

He understood and respected that. So he came prepared. In fact, he approached the meeting with every intention of treating the Aqua Azura Sect as an equal, no matter how small he knew their name was. It wasn't as if his own sect was a Guardian Sect.

But it went much worse than even his lowest expectations.

The sect leader, an old man with a hunched back and the constant stink of booze on his breath, spent the entire meeting rambling about the “glorious legacy” of his sect. Every attempt Chen Ren made to steer the conversation toward practical terms was brushed off, ignored, or derailed by slurred stories of “once upon a time” achievements.

And when Chen Ren finally brought up the actual proposal—partnership, investment, shared infrastructure—the old man leaned back, narrowed his bleary eyes, and slurred,

“If you want us to even consider your little scheme, boy, we’ll be needing majority revenue. Seventy percent at least. We’re the ones with the legacy, after all.”

Chen Ren just sat there, staring at him in disbelief.

He knew some cultivators had their heads shoved too far up their own asses, drunk on the importance granted by being born with spirit roots. But he hadn’t expected a sect leader to be like that.

That was enough reason to leave then and there.

Chen Ren didn’t even bother sipping the tea that Yalan quietly warned had some weird chemicals mixed in. He walked out without a word, leaving the old man and his delusions behind.

After that disaster, Chen Ren decided not to waste all his time on sects. Instead, he shifted focus to independent alchemists—rogue cultivators without sect affiliations. In theory, they should’ve been easier to deal with. No reputation, no politics, no legacy egos or inner circle drama.

In theory.

Because it didn’t take long for him to realize there was a reason these people were unaffiliated. He spoke to four—and each one turned out to be more frustrating than the last. All of them wanted a ridiculous amount of resources just to consider joining the Divine Coin Sect. Two of them even looked down on him for being a “mere” qi refinement realm sect leader, not even noticing that a meridian expansion realm beast was sitting beside him the whole time.

By the end of it, Chen Ren was starting to think this entire plan had been a terrible idea.

That was when Tang Boming returned with good news. Another sect had agreed to hear him out.

Unlike the last few, this one actually had a reputation. And according to Tang Boming, the sect had even carved out a decent foothold in the city before the Darkmoon Sect targeted them. They were known as the Jadefire Hall, a sect formed out of a pure love for alchemy.

Their focus had been research rather than profit or power—especially on advancing alchemical techniques, testing ingredients, and innovating new recipes that most cultivators didn’t bother with.

But of course, that kind of focus made them a soft target.

The Darkmoon Sect had picked apart their core disciples within months. Poached their top alchemists, undercut their ingredient suppliers, and spread subtle rumors that turned customers away. Now, there were whispers that their sect leader was planning to step down and worse, disband the sect entirely.

The more Chen Ren heard, the more perfect it sounded. A research-driven sect. Out of favor with the heavens. Desperate, but still holding on to some pride.

It was the exact kind of opportunity he had been hoping for.

Without wasting another second, Chen Ren made his way up the peaks where the Jadefire Hall was located, Tang Boming and Yalan trailing behind him.

He didn’t know how this meeting would go.

But for the first time in days… it felt like the odds weren’t completely against him.

The mountain trail narrowed the further they went.

Spiky cliffs flanked them on one side while thick, frost-dusted pines clung stubbornly to the other. Wind howled between crags. Chen Ren found himself unintentionally pulling his robes tighter, even if he didn't actually feel the cold.

They had been climbing for nearly two hours now. And still, there was no sign of the Jadefire Hall.

Behind him, Tang Boming let out a tired sigh, shifting the large satchel slung over his back. Inside it, they’d brought a small gift to the sect leader. “We should’ve asked for a neutral location to talk,” he muttered, rubbing his shoulder. “Even the messenger I sent last week said he got tired from all the climbing…”

Yalan, who had long since stopped walking and started leaping over jutting boulders like a nimble mountain goat, glanced over her shoulder. “Why the hell is their sect so far up the peak anyway? It’s not like they’ll get better qi up there.”

Tang Boming snorted. “Apparently the sect leader likes the view from the top. Says it gets his creative juices flowing. Better mindset, better odds at discovering new pill recipes.”

Chen Ren almost rolled his eyes. “The more I hear about this guy, the more it sounds like he’s better suited for research than leading a sect.”

Tang Boming chuckled. “Well, you’re not wrong. From what I heard, he started the sect after winning a small regional alchemy tournament—Eastern Alchemy trials. Also spent a few months in a traditional sect and hated it.”

“Why?” Yalan asked, hopping down to join them for a moment.

Tang adjusted the strap of his bag again. “Because alchemists at lower levels have it rough in big sects. No matter how talented you are, they don’t give you proper respect until you can craft at least an Earth-grade pill.”

Chen Ren frowned. “Isn’t that the same for every cultivator?”

“Nope,” Tang said, shaking his head. “If you’ve got a good spirit root or blow the entrance exam out of the water, elders will fight over you. Martial cultivators train hard, but if they have talent, they get treated well early on. But alchemists? They get dumped in the work halls. Told to refine pills day and night with garbage ingredients until they prove they’re worth anything.”

Chen Ren nodded quietly to himself as they walked. A sense of pride swelled in his chest—not arrogant or boastful, just solid, earned pride. His new system of pill standardization was rough, unrefined even, but it worked. If more sects adopted it, countless alchemists wouldn’t be shackled to their cauldrons, grinding out Mortal grade pills day and night. They could focus on creativity, research… on actually growing.

But he also knew most sects would never touch his methods nor would he give it in. Tradition ran deep in this world—so deep it suffocated innovation.

It made sense, but it wasn’t for him. He considered himself lucky; lucky to have people like Anji, Wang Jun and Qing He who didn’t care too much for rules or pride or old ways. They were people who looked at results.

As they continued their climb, the cold air thinned and sharpened. The clouds felt close now like curtains drifting lazily above their heads.

The view, however, was breathtaking.

Chen Ren paused briefly to glance across the deep gorge that split this mountain from the one directly opposite them. That distant peak—swathed in mist and faint flashes of array light—was unmistakably the home of the Darkmoon Sect. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out more, but the thick layering of illusion and concealment arrays distorted everything. It looked more like a blurred smear across the landscape than an actual stronghold.

And beyond the sect?

Chen Ren saw the wild lands—The official term for the land beyond the city.

Cliffs, ridges, deep green woods crawling across slopes like spilled ink. And here and there, distant booms echoed across the air, followed by flashes of red and gold. Cultivators fighting beasts. Or insectoids.

He kept his eye on those lands while walking, wondering what a battle would be like with an insectoid until the delineation of a stone gate emerged from the edge of the path, sculpted right into the mountainsides.

It wasn’t grand. Not like the jade arches or soaring towers of other sects. It was plain, almost humble. Two worn pillars, one cracked across the middle and held together with some crude sealing talisman. A crooked wooden sign hung above the gate, its paint faded from years of wind and sun.

Someone sat beneath it.

A lone man, robes draped lazily across his body, eyes half-lidded and arms folded. His hair was tied up in a messy knot and a broken sword leaned against the wall beside him.

But the moment Chen Ren and his party stepped closer, his body tensed.

His eyes sharpened immediately as he pushed himself to his feet. His fingers brushed lightly against the hilt of the sword—not drawing it, but clearly preparing himself.

“Who are you all?” he said sharply in a hoarse voice. “State your purpose.”

Chen Ren stepped forward, hands behind his back.

“We’re here to speak with your sect leader. We have already sent a messenger,” he said. “He agreed to hear us out regarding a business proposal.”

The man frowned. Then his eyes narrowed further as he looked over Tang Boming’s heavy satchel.

“Name?”

“This is Sect Leader Chen Ren of the Divine Coin Sect,” Tang Boming said, stepping closer to the guard. “We sent a messenger ahead. Your sect leader agreed to meet with us.”

The sleepy-eyed gatekeeper blinked again, his gaze flicking between Chen Ren and the satchel-laden Tang Boming. Despite the apparent fog in his mind, some instinct pushed him to focus when Chen Ren took a step forward and let a thread of qi roll off his body like smoke caught in sunlight.

“Can we go in?” Chen Ren asked casually.

The man straightened immediately, nearly stumbling over himself as he moved to open the gate. “Y-yes, please go in,” he said hastily, gesturing them through with both hands like he was brushing aside invisible curtains.

Chen Ren exchanged a glance with Tang Boming, who just gave a helpless shrug. The gate creaked open and they stepped inside.

And within seconds, Chen Ren frowned.

It was too quiet. No, it was empty.

Chen Ren looked around—broad walkways, clearly demarcated housing buildings, training grounds, and several specialized workshops were built into the stone of the mountain itself. The infrastructure was good. Very good. Far better than the ragtag compound the Divine Coin Sect had grown from.

But it all felt abandoned.

There were no disciples sparring in the yards. No murmurs of training, no sounds of trial and error from alchemy rooms. Even the buildings themselves looked like they had been left in a hurry—some doors slightly ajar, some windows covered with grime, the scent of unused incense lingering in the air.

“They really did lose a lot of people…” Chen Ren murmured to himself.

He had known that. Tang Boming had told him. But this—this was something else. This was a ghost sect.

After nearly ten full minutes of walking, and just as Chen Ren was about to turn around and call back the sleepy guard, footsteps echoed down the stone path. He turned around and saw a short man walking towards them.

He wore red robes, the kind dyed with expensive herbs, and the symbol of the five elements—metal, wood, water, fire, earth—was woven into the cloth over his chest. The emblem matched the one the gatekeeper had worn, marking him as a disciple of the sect.

But unlike the guard, this one was alert. His beady eyes studied their group even as he bowed deeply at the waist. Tang Boming returned the bow politely.

Chen Ren simply offered a nod. His status as sect leader meant he didn’t need to bow to a disciple, and the man didn’t seem offended in the slightest.

“You must be Sect Leader Chen Ren. I apologise. I only got to know about your arrival minutes ago,” the man said. His voice was clear, with a slight rasp—like someone who’d spent more time breathing in herb smoke than fresh air. “I am Tau Liu. Core disciple of the Jadefire Hall. Sect Leader Hun is waiting for you. Let me lead you to him.”

Chen Ren gave a small smile. “Then let’s not waste his time.”

With a polite nod, Tau Liu turned, leading them deeper into the sect grounds—toward whatever was left of a place that had once tried to stand tall beneath the shadow of a much darker moon. The three of them followed him as they moved through the quiet, echoing streets. Even here, right in the middle of the sect, the absence of other disciples remained unsettling.

Trying to make conversation, Tang Boming spoke up. “I’ve heard a great deal about Master Hun Tianzhi. To meet such an honoured alchemist in person… It’s an honour in itself.”

Tau Liu offered a small, prideful smile. “I’m glad you think so. I’m thankful to the heavens every day that I get to learn under him. Sadly…” his smile dimmed slightly, “some people don’t realise how fortunate they are.”

Tang Boming prodded gently. “I heard a few of your disciples were taken in by the Darkmoon Sect.”

The smile vanished completely. A flicker of anger flashed across Tau Liu’s face before he composed himself. “The heavens punish the unloyal,” he said tightly. “And I’m very sure they’ll come to realise their mistakes in time.”

“I’m sure they will,” Tang Boming said diplomatically, leaving it at that.

Throughout the remainder of their walk, Tang Boming continued to pry more information—on sect affairs, on recent alchemical developments, and on Sect Leader Hun—but Tau Liu was careful. He was being polite, but extremely guarded. Beyond what they already knew from rumours and reports, he gave away nothing.

Eventually, they arrived before a large wooden sliding door etched with subtle patterns of flame and mist. A weak medicinal scent seeped through the seams.

Tau Liu stepped aside and gestured with an open palm. “You may go in, Sect Leader Chen. My master is expecting you.” He added after a pause, “Only you. Your… pet and disciple will remain here.”

Chen Ren almost chuckled at that, especially when he saw Yalan’s eyes narrow, her body stiffening at the word pet. He didn’t correct it. There was no point—and it might be fun to tease her about it later.

Tang Boming handed over the bag to Chen Ren and without a word, he stepped forward and entered. The door slid shut behind him.

The room was simple. A single table rested on top of a woven mat, flanked by two cushions. Behind it, a modest bookshelf stood, filled with scrolls and what he guessed as alchemical tomes. He scanned his surroundings more and realised that there was no ornament, or ostentatious display of power. Not in any way that mattered.

For a moment, he felt like he’d stepped into a scholar’s retreat rather than the inner sanctum of a sect leader.

And at the table, sitting quietly, absorbed in a book was the man he had come to meet.

Hun Tiazhi.

He was dressed in clean but faded robes dyed a deep ember red. He had calm features with a neatly trimmed beard peppered in silver and thin fingers that turned the pages of his book with care. His hair was tied in a simple knot, and the aura around him was restrained. Chen Ren immediately noted the round jade necklace around his neck.

Hun Tiazhi looked up from his book, closed it, stood and offered a light bow.

“I am Hun Tianzhi, sect leader of the Jadefire Hall,” he said with a composed smile. “I received your letter. It’s quite rare to see someone so young already leading a sect.”

“Chen Ren, sect leader of the Divine Coin Sect. It’s an honour to meet an alchemist of your reputation.”

He offered the satchel he’d been carrying.

“There’s moonshine inside—strong alcohol. Cultivators love it. One of the products my sect makes."

Hun Tianzhi stared at the satchel for a few seconds and accepted it with a small nod, setting it down at the corner of the table. “Thank you. And… reputation? I haven’t done much worth to have it in a while. But your kindness is appreciated.”

He motioned to the cushion across from him. “Please, have a seat.”

Chen Ren accepted the offer, settling onto the cushion as the older man poured tea into two ceramic cups—one for himself and one for his guest. The act was simple, but it wasn’t lost on Chen Ren. Pouring tea for another was a gesture of respect. Already, this meeting was going better than the last one he'd suffered through.

He lifted the cup and took a sip—mildly bitter with a medicinal note. Fitting, considering the host.

“I walked through your sect on the way here,” Chen Ren said, setting the cup down gently. “It’s serene. Peaceful. The layout and structure reminded me of the Soaring Sword Sect, in some ways.”

At that, Hun Tianzhi’s eyes lingered on him a little longer, as if reevaluating him. “You’ve been to Soaring Sword Sect?”

Chen Ren nodded. “Not as a disciple. I had already founded the Divine Coin Sect by then. I killed a demonic cultivator in the past year that Soaring Sword Sect was after, and Vice Sect Leader Yan Xiu invited me personally as thanks. I made a short trip there.”

What Chen Ren was doing was simple—textbook, even. He was establishing his reputation, making it known that he wasn’t some wandering rogue or greenhorn with delusions of grandeur. Mentioning the Soaring Sword Sect and Yan Xiu, no less was a quiet way of setting the table.

This is who I am. These are the people who know me.

He had no need to show off his cultivation. Hun Tianzhi had likely already guessed it and deemed it not significant. So, connections mattered the most. And while both their sects were “Emerging,” there was no doubt that Hun Tianzhi’s Jadefire Hall Sect had more history, more foundation… more pride. Chen Ren wasn’t trying to overshadow that. He was simply levelling the field.

The old man seemed to recognize it too.

But he didn’t seem interested in playing the same game.

He exhaled quietly, setting his teacup down as his gaze turned faintly dry. “It seems you’ve caught the attention of a few powerhouses already. And yet, here you are… in the crumbling halls of a sect on the verge of closing. Why?”

Chen Ren knew what it was; it was an invitation to stop dancing around and speak directly.

Chen Ren appreciated that. In truth, he preferred it.

He met Hun Tianzhi’s eyes. “Like I said in my letter,” he said evenly, “I have a proposal. I want your sect… to be acquired by mine.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

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Magus Reborn is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

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Kai had survived the treacherous Mage trying to kill him in his own house. But new enemies loom over the horizon.

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To fend everything and come out on top, Kai not only had to increase his budding strength and gather allies, he also had to realise that the history he knew might not be correct. Together with his Knight Killian and Administrator Francis, Kai of Sorcerer's Tower would stop at nothing to realise his potential and change the world.

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130. Misunderstanding

Hun Tianzhi brought the ceramic cup to his lips and sipped the slightly bitter tea. He put the cup down and his lips curved into a smile—a smile he’d used too many times that settled on his face like a second nature.

That smile had seen him through feasts and funerals, betrayals and bargains. He had worn it when bowing before meridian expansion realm elders, when rejecting marriage alliances, when being called a failure by nobles who couldn’t tell a cauldron from a chamber pot. Over time, he had learned that this facial expression was his safest armor.

But today, the smile nearly cracked.

“I want your sect… to be acquired by mine,” the young man across from him said, as if he were talking about buying buns from a street vendor.

For a moment, Hun Tianzhi felt his breath hitch. His fingers, curled around the cup, tightened. His eyebrows nearly twitched.

Acquire? Acquire?

The word echoed in his mind like a slap over and over again.

He breathed in slowly through his nose and let the air fill his chest before answering, forcing his voice to sound not-so enraged. “What do you mean you want to acquire my sect?” he asked. “It’s not a food cart to be bought or sold on a whim.”

Though he didn’t mean to, the last few words came out sharper than intended. He regretted it immediately, but only slightly.

But the boy, barely two decades old, gave off a smile in return.

“You already said the sect was on the verge of closing,” he said with a light shrug, “So wouldn’t it be better to give it to me, since you’re ending it anyway?”

Hun Tianzhi almost spilled the tea. But thank heavens, he didn’t. He kept his calm front and took another slow sip to hide the ripple in his thoughts. For a moment, the heat of the liquid grounded him.

It was true. He had thought about closing the sect and just moving along the next phase of his cultivation journey. He had made the mistake of saying it out loud.

But that didn’t mean he was ready to hand over the legacy he’d built from scratch with his own hands—especially not to a young cultivator with barely any experience in the real world.

He set his cup down gently.

“It’s true, Sect Leader Chen,” Hun Tianzhi said slowly, “that I mentioned the idea. But the thought of giving this sect to someone else had never crossed my mind. This humble one has no desire to become part of another sect. And…I still don’t understand what you mean by acquiring my sect.”

He wanted to know the truth. And when he thought the young man would start beating around the bush, his grin widened.

“I didn’t mean I’d buy everything you own,” he said. “It’s similar, but not exactly that.”

“Then? What do you mean?” Hun Tianzhi asked.

“The Divine Coin Sect isn’t like traditional sects,” he began. “We believe cultivation should help both mortals and cultivators live better lives—through trade, through ideas, through what the world actually needs.”

What does that mean? He questioned the man’s intent and narrowed his eyes.

“I won’t go into every avenue we’re working on,” Chen Ren continued, “but they’ve been successful. And now, we want to take it further—into the pill market. That means we need skilled alchemists. People who know their craft. People like you and your disciples.

“My plan is to create an Alchemy Hall under Divine Coin Sect. And I want your sect to take charge of it—under your leadership, of course—with some guidance from me on how to run things.”

He kept his face still, but a twitch in his brow betrayed the stir beneath the surface. It was absurd—almost laughable. That wasn’t the path of immortals. And to be reduced to merely an alchemy hall in another sect? That was laughable for someone his standing.

Chen Ren sipped his tea as if he hadn’t just suggested that Jadefire Hall—his life’s work, the legacy built through decades of hardship—should be reduced to a branch of some fledgling sect playing shopkeeper.

Winner of the Eastern Alchemy Trials… Hun Tianzhi reminded himself. Earth-grade alchemist. Peak foundation establishment realm cultivator. And this boy dares speak of “guiding” me?

He studied Chen Ren closely, looking for cracks. But there was no nervous twitch. Heavens, help me. He didn’t even seem to realise just how insulting his words had been—or worse, he did and simply didn’t care.

But again, why was he so… confident? He was clearly only at the qi refinement realm. Sure, it was impressive for his age, but he was asking a much stronger cultivator to basically work for him.

That made Hun Tianzhi think. So, he averted his eyes from Chen Ren and looked at the tea that was cooling down.

Maybe, there was a catch. Or else there was no way a cultivator could be so foolish. But what was it?

Was it the Soaring Sword Sect he had mentioned? That might explain his boldness. But he’d said it was only a brief meeting. Not a sponsorship. Then what?

Hun Tianzhi narrowed his eyes slightly, the warmth of the tea now forgotten. He had no intention of agreeing to any of this—but he needed to see the shape of the game before walking away from the board.

“Sect Leader Chen,” he said at last, keeping his tone polite, “if you don’t mind… I’d like to know a little more about your sect before considering anything.”

Chen Ren looked up from his cup, smiled faintly, and nodded. “Of course. What would you like to know?”

Hun Tianzhi hesitated a beat, then asked the simplest question that could reveal the most. “How many elders do you have?”

Chen Ren leaned back slightly and answered, “Three, I’d say.”

Hun Tianzhi lifted his cup again and took a slow sip, using the motion to mask the flicker of suspicion growing in his mind. Three elders? For a sect barely known in cultivation circles?

Three? He himself had only ever managed to attract one—and that man had left after a single winter, lured away by better offers and brighter sects. And that was when he had already stepped into the foundation establishment realm. Chen Ren was still in qi refinement.

The thought alone should’ve made him scoff. But he didn’t. Because something didn’t add up.

When Chen Ren arrived, he knew that the young cultivator came with someone and he felt that cultivation, a mirror of his own. And yet, they haven’t been introduced as an elder.

So it meant, whoever these three elders were, they were much stronger than qi refinement realm.

That confidence Chen Ren carried, the way he spoke as if the world would shift to make space for him—it wasn’t arrogance. It was trust. Trust in someone behind him. Someone powerful. Someone using him as the face while they worked from the shadows.

That explained everything. Especially the offer he’d made that Hun Tianzhi had no incentive to accept.

This… this surely was some sort of a plot or a test for him. Why? How? He had no idea, but he needed more information right now.

His throat felt a little dry. He glanced into his cup and found the tea had cooled, no steam rising. He didn’t remember how long it had been.

“You’re awfully quiet, Sect Leader Hun. Are you okay?” came Chen Ren’s voice. “I thought you had more questions.”

“Hm,” he murmured, trying to cover it. “Apologies. I was… thinking.”

He took a sip of the cold tea and placed the cup down. “You mentioned elders. None of them came with you?”

“One did. But he prefers staying inside. Doesn’t like crowds. You know how… experienced cultivators are… especially once they’ve seen the peak of their strength. They’ve got their own pace.”

There it is. The confirmation.

Hun Tianzhi’s heart gave a slow thud, and he masked it behind a nod. If the cultivator didn’t want to go out, and just meditated and was reclusive—that was a sign of an ancient cultivator.

He cleared his throat and said lightly, “Ah, I was hoping to meet him. Learn more about other members of your sect. It would help me… understand things better before I give my answer.”

After saying that, Hun looked at Chen Ren closely, to see any sign. There, there it is. A small hesitation in his gaze.

It didn’t last long—barely a flicker in the boy’s eyes, the briefest shift in the corners of his mouth—but it was there. A pause where there hadn’t been one before.

Why?

Before he could dig deeper—

“I wish that was possible. But he doesn’t… give his time to others unless it’s something important. You know how older cultivators are, Sect Leader Hun. Once they’ve seen the peak of their strength, they walk a different path. They do things their own way.”

A soft beat passed.

Hun Tianzhi’s heart thudded again, heavy and deep. Peak of strength? That phrase echoed like a drum. There were many stages in cultivation, but only a few could say they’d truly seen the peak.

Was it the meridian expansion realm? Golden core? Could it be legendary domain manifestation…? Unlikely. But possible. The idea alone was staggering.

Whoever this elder was, he was stronger than Hun Tianzhi. That much was certain. But why? Why reach out now? Why his sect?

He couldn’t stop himself. “Sect Leader Chen, I understand your offer, but why… My sect? You must know—there aren’t many disciples left. We’ve barely produced anything of worth in the last year. We’re in debt.”

That last word scraped out of him. Debt. It tasted bitter even now. It was what had driven his students away, what had broken their morale. Some had believed they could no longer climb the mountain they once dreamed of.

“I don't mind that,” the boy said. “I’m not looking to turn your sect into a pill factory.”

Hun Tianzhi’s brow twitched. Huh? I thought—

“I’m interested in what makes your sect different. You focus on research. Discovery. Not just copying what’s already been done. That’s rare. Especially in a city like this. I want you and your disciples to majorly focus on research about new pills and their recipes.”

For the first time in their conversation, Hun Tianzhi felt more interested in the offer. And somehow, the offer no longer sounded ridiculous. But he soon curbed himself.

Research…

That was what he had dreamed of doing, once. Before the debt, before the disciples fled, before the city’s pill market turned its face away from his sect. The thought alone made his pulse steady for a second. But then the doubt crept in.

Could they really afford to fund research? It wasn’t cheap. Materials, failures, more materials… and months with nothing to show for it. Could this boy’s sect really carry that weight?

Just as the question took shape in his mind, Chen Ren spoke again, this time like he had read the old man’s thoughts. “As for your debt,” he said lightly, “I’ll acquire it too.”

Hun Tianzhi blinked. “You’ll… what?”

“Your debt,” Chen Ren said again. “Five thousand low-grade spirit stones, right? That’ll be transferred to Divine Coin Sect under the agreement. If we’re going to do this, it makes no sense to let you carry that burden.”

The cup in Hun Tianzhi’s hand felt heavier. He didn’t drink. He just stared into the cold tea as the implications settled like dust in his mind.

Five thousand spirit stones.It wasn’t just money. It was a shame. It was the weight on his shoulders that had broken the backs of his disciples. It was what had pushed away his most loyal students, what kept his head bowed at merchant guilds and made him avoid the alchemists’ halls where he once stood proud.

And now someone said he’d erase it? Just like that?

He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His thoughts spun too fast to catch.

The offer was too generous. Ridiculously generous. A sect to run research in peace. A hall to lead, named under him. Debt would be gone. And resources would be available. A background supporter strong enough to silence enemies.

But why? Why him?

Heavens never gave anything for free. In this world, if something sounded perfect, it meant you hadn’t seen the price tag yet.

And until he knew it, it didn’t feel right to agree. And Chen Ren, the boy didn’t press. He simply sat there after sharing his end of the deal.

“Sect Leader Chen… forgive my directness, but this offer—”

He paused, choosing his words.

“It’s too generous. I don’t understand why your sect is being so kind to someone like me.”

His voice was calm, but in his eyes flickered something that hadn’t been there for a long time—hope trying to fight off disbelief.

“Well,” Chen Ren said. “You haven’t heard how I want you to run the alchemy hall yet.”

Hun Tianzhi’s brows lifted slightly. He didn’t interrupt.

“I understand your hesitation,” Chen Ren continued. “Truly. I came to you because your philosophy aligns with what I need. You focus on the craft, not just the coin. That matters.”

“But there’s more,” he added, tone shifting. “Your location in Broken Ridge City—it’s valuable. It gives us access to a growing market and visibility in a packed city.”

Hun Tianzhi nodded slowly, the logic clear.

“I plan to absorb your debt,” Chen Ren said next, “but only if the agreement transfers that debt to Divine Coin Sect. And naturally, your tools, grounds, and hall would come under us too.”

Hun Tianzhi’s fingers curled just slightly on his knee.

“But,” Chen Ren said, “the main reason… is your history with Darkmoon Sect.”

That name.

The words hit Hun Tianzhi like a bitter pill. He never liked hearing the name of the sect that ruined him and his dreams so fast. The sect whose trap he had fallen in to be ruined.

His lips thinned. The smile that had held through this long, strange meeting wavered. “So,” he said softly, “you want to go against them.”

“Yes, I plan to take them on right here, in Broken Ridge.”

Hun Tianzhi exhaled through his nose. “Sect Leader Chen… dare I say, even if I loathe them more than anyone alive, you must understand—Darkmoon Sect isn’t something to challenge lightly. They’ll move fast. Poach your alchemists. Smear your name. Pull strings with the city lord. They’ve done it all before.”

“That’s okay. I don’t think they’ll succeed,” Chen Ren replied, unbothered. “They won’t expect someone who’s not playing their game. I’m not here to play safe. I want to make a splash—and remind this city that the pill market isn’t a monopoly. It’s a sea, and we’ve just cast our net.”

Hun Tianzhi opened his mouth. Words of caution stirred on his tongue. But then he stopped. Something shifted behind his eyes.

A thought clicked into place, fast and sharp. The confidence. The strange structure of the offer. The generous terms. The ancient cultivator who never showed his face.

Of course.

It all fits now.

Chen Ren wasn’t the one calling the real shots. There was someone older and stronger. Hidden in the shadows, backing Divine Coin Sect. Someone with history—someone who hated Darkmoon Sect as much as he did.

An elder who had been ruined by them, perhaps. Now coming back.

The elder wanted to use Chen Ren as a front to this while playing everything out in the back.

His pulse picked up, he couldn’t help it. It all made sense now.

But now came the real question. Would he do it?

Join a plan that wasn’t his. Become part of a web someone else had spun. Be a chess piece, even if that meant rising again… and maybe, just maybe, winning.

His fingers tightened around the edge of his robe.

Was revenge worth it?

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

131. What remains of Jadefire

Throughout the meeting with Hun Tianzhi, Chen Ren couldn’t shake the feeling that the old man in front of him was misunderstanding something. He didn’t bother asking about it or correcting him, though. From the moment Chen Ren brought up the idea of acquisition, Hun Tianzhi’s eyes had shifted—first flashing with anger, then narrowing with caution, softening into respect when Chen Ren talked about the elders in his sect, and finally settling into something close to realization when Darkmoon Sect entered the conversation.

The old man likely hadn’t noticed Chen Ren watching him, but it was hard to miss. His smile never wavered, he could tell it was a mask, but every time he paused to think or took another sip of his tea (which was a lot throughout the hour long conversation), something flickered in his eyes. They were small shifts but they told Chen Ren enough.

Still, he was glad. Even if he hadn’t yet looked into Jadefire Hall’s full resources, Hun Tianzhi didn’t strike him as the sort of man who’d be difficult to work with. Before, the old man would’ve laughed at the proposal the moment it left Chen Ren’s lips. But now? Now he was clearly considering it.

And that was a win in itself.

By the time their tea was finished, Hun Tianzhi confirmed Chen Ren’s growing impression of him—offering a tour of the sect with the kind of casual hospitality that didn’t feel forced. They found Yalan, Tang Boming, and Tao Liu waiting outside by a small pond. From there, the group followed Hun Tianzhi deeper into the sect grounds, heading toward the Jadefire Hall’s herbal gardens.

It was there that the rumours proved true.

Hun Tianzhi surely wasn’t the ordinary sect leader one would expect—he was an alchemy scholar at heart. The moment they stepped between rows of deftly cultivated plants, the old man’s voice came alive. He stopped beside a tall stalk with thin crimson-veined leaves and began speaking at length about it.

“As you know,” he began, “Soothroot leaves are often used to feed young spiritual beasts that cultivators rear. Most think it’s simply because the creatures like the taste, but that’s only part of it.” He crouched beside one of the pots, brushing a thumb across the leaf gently. “These leaves have a compound in them, nearly impossible to extract—that naturally calms aggression and encourages docility. Makes the beasts easier to train… even friendlier.”

He looked up, eyes twinkling slightly. “Now, it’s very, very difficult to use them in alchemy. Because they’re very volatile. They break down fast and don’t react well to spiritual heat. Only beast bodies can seem to handle it. But Tao Liu here—” he turned, gesturing at his disciple, who stood behind him with hands politely clasped, “—is cultivating a small batch for me. I’m working on a potion that might be the first to properly use it. It could revolutise alchemy.”

Chen Ren nodded, not for the first time. This was the thirteenth rare plant today. And there was one thing in common for every plant—they all came with their own story. “So, it's a potion that affects hormones. Hmm,” he said, more to himself more than others.

“Hormones?” Hun Tianzhi’s confused voice dragged him out of his thoughts.

Hormones… Right. He doesn’t know what it means. Chen Ren gave a slight chuckle. “Think of them as… chemical messengers inside our body. They handle a lot of things—growth, energy, even mood. What you’re trying to make might influence those, push a person’s emotions one way or another.”

A light nictitate in the old man’s eyes and for a brief moment, he looked less like a weary sect leader and more like a child hearing a new bedtime story.

“Huh… Fascinating,” he whispered. He looked at Chen Ren directly when he spoke next. “You have quite extensive and mysterious knowledge, Sect Leader Chen. I would love to learn more about it, if you’re willing.”

Chen Ren simply smiled. “Just things I picked up from someone wiser.”

Hun Tianzhi nodded again, slowly this time, as if confirming something in his mind. He didn’t ask further, and Chen Ren didn’t correct him.

They left the herbal garden behind and began the climb up one of the higher ridges. Different sizes of stone steps curved around the slope, leaning to chambers that carved directly into the cliffside.

“This is where our disciples come to practice pill-making,” the old man said as they reached the plateau. “Most of the chambers are empty now.”

Chen Ren looked at the passing doors and his thoughts turned to what he wanted to ask from Hun Tianzhi. It was a good time to learn more about the debt that he got to know from Tang Boming.

“Can I ask you something?” he said in a respectful tone. “If it won’t offend you.”

“Of course, Sect Leader Chen. I’m not one of those wrinkled fossils who take offence at every word. Speak freely.”

Chen Ren nodded once. “How did your sect end up with such a heavy debt?”

Hun Tianzhi’s steps slowed. His smile didn’t vanish, but something in it dimmed. “Ah…” he murmured, glancing toward the clouds drifting past the peaks. “I figured you must’ve heard whispers in the city.”

“I’d rather hear it from you,” Chen Ren said simply.

Before Hun Tianzhi could respond, a voice piped up from behind.

“It’s all my fault,” Tau Liu said, lowering his head. His hands clenched the helm of his robes. “If I hadn’t brought that man to Master…”

Hun Tianzhi stopped in his tracks and turned, the lines around his mouth deepening. “Tau Liu,” he said firmly, “you need to stop carrying that blame. You didn’t know. None of us did.”

“But I trusted him,” the disciple muttered, still not meeting anyone’s gaze. “He said he could help, and I believed him.”

Chen Ren watched them, a small furrow forming on his brow. The pieces didn’t quite connect yet. “What happened?” he asked, glancing between the two.

Hun Tianzhi looked ahead again and exhaled slowly. All of a sudden, he sounded like a man who kept a secret hidden for so long and was reluctant to talk about it.

“It was two years ago,” he began. “We were finally making headway in Broken Ridge City. Disciples were refining pills daily, our name was beginning to matter. I started thinking… maybe this dream of mine, this haven of pure alchemical pursuit, might actually become real.”

He paused, stepping over a flat stone, then continued.

“But peace never lasts in this world. The Darkmoon Sect saw us growing and didn’t like it. One by one, the hunting teams we’d made deals to gather herbs and other ingredients with started backing out. I went to ask them why.” Hun Tianzhi’s eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger, but memory. “They wouldn’t say much. Just that it wasn’t convenient anymore.

“We had no choice. My disciples had to go outside the city, into the wilds, to gather ingredients themselves. That was when the trouble really began.”

Hun Tianzhi exhaled through his nose, the lines on his face deepening as he spoke again.

“After that,” he said quietly, “Darkmoon Sect stopped hiding their hands. I’m certain now—there were already spies in our ranks. They began turning hearts slowly. Gentle words, promises of better resources, recognition… This and that. One by one, disciples I had taught with my own hands left. Some didn’t even say goodbye.”

He looked up at the narrow path winding ahead of them.

“Supplies dried up soon after,” Hun Tianzhi continued. “The merchants stopped any business with us. The few who did… well, they wanted prices only a fool would accept. And you’ve seen it—our land’s not under a proper qi vein. Our herbs were already growing slow. With no materials, our production dropped. And with that, our income.

“Trying to get suppliers from other places didn’t work until one day.”

Tau Liu spoke then. “It all started with me,” he said, voice tight. “I met him first.”

Hun Tianzhi turned, shaking his head, but the disciple pressed on, eyes darkened by guilt.

“I was in the Wild lands,” Tau Liu said. “The outer edges, near the old ruins. I’d gone out hunting—trying to gather rare ingredients myself. Stupid idea, I know. I was already injured when a xila worm showed up.”

Chen Ren blinked. Xila worms were huge caterpillar-like beasts, usually twice the size of a horse, covered in bristles that sprayed acidic mist. He had heard about them from Tang Boming when he had asked about the dangers of the wild lands. Fighting one alone in open land was a death sentence.

Tau Liu nodded, seeing the recognition in Chen Ren’s face. “It nearly tore me in two. But then he showed up—A meridian expansion realm cultivator. Killed the worm like it was nothing. I was… I was grateful. He even helped treat my injuries.”

He shook his head slowly.

“We talked,” Tau Liu went on. “I told him about the sect, about our struggles and why I was there. And he said he could help. He’d been living away from sects, some hidden trail within the empire. A hermit, basically. He said he was looking for someone who could make a peak earth-grade pill for him—the Silver Root Ascension Pill.”

Chen Ren stiffened slightly. That pill was no joke. Extremely complex, incredibly rare and one used for breakthroughs as implied in its name.

“That should’ve been the first red flag,” Tau Liu muttered. “Someone like him could’ve just gone to a Guardian Sect. They’d have given it for a favour. Or even auctioned one if he offered enough. Why would a man like that come to Broken Ridge of all places?”

“Tau Liu brought the man to me,” Hun Tianzhi said, his hands behind his back. “He was polite, well-spoken. Carried himself with the calm of someone used to strength. Said he was interested in a long-term contract… if I could make the Silver Root Ascension Pill for him. He gave me half the ingredients,” Hun Tianzhi continued. “Rare ones, ones you can’t just fake. That’s what convinced me. Said he was still searching for the other half but if I could get them myself, he’d pay me in full the moment I gave him the finished pill.”

Chen Ren’s brows rose slightly, but he still didn’t interrupt.

“I used what little spirit stones I had left,” the old man said with a soft, tired chuckle. “Even called in favours from old friends. I sent word to the markets in the capital. Took a loan from Broken Ridge’s merchant guild. All of it to make one pill.”

Chen Ren didn’t need to hear the rest.

He turned to the man. “But he didn’t buy the pill. Or pay for the materials.”

“No,” he said. “He took the pill. Told me it wasn’t the quality he needed. That it wouldn’t help his breakthrough.”

“And you couldn’t make him pay,” Chen Ren added, though it wasn’t a question.

The old man gave a slow nod. “I tried. Even shouted at him in front of the sect gates. He just looked at me like I was a barking dog. I knew I couldn’t win—not against someone like him. He was stronger. Much stronger.”

A long silence followed as they reached the outer walkway of the alchemy chambers. Disciples had once filled the halls here, Chen Ren could tell from the setup—ventilation channels, fire-control arrays, but now, the place was undisturbed.

“I even wrote to the Emperor’s Office,” Hun Tianzhi added, almost absently. “Filed an official report. But… they don’t bother with things like this. Two cultivators fighting over a failed deal isn’t important enough for them. Not when no cities were razed. The City Lord’s office gave me the same answer.”

Chen Ren sighed. “I’m sorry that happened.” Truly, that was unfortunate. “Do you think… the Darkmoon Sect—”

Hun Tianzhi didn’t hesitate. He didn’t need to.

“I think so,” he said in a flat voice. “Too many things lined up. Too many things fell apart, one after another.” He looked back at Chen Ren, somehow his face felt older than before. “They didn’t just want to beat us in alchemy. They wanted to destroy us from the root.”

The story stayed with Chen Ren long after it ended, lingering like a bitter taste on the tongue. It stayed as a cruel and clear reminder on just how far the Darkmoon Sect would go to wipe their enemies from the map. Hell, they wouldn’t stop at crushing, but at burying every trace beneath layers and layers of shame and debt.

After that, they walked slowly and silently through the corridor that led into the alchemy chambers. He looked around, large cauldrons stood like statues, spaced out in perfect symmetry. They all showed signs of wear and history–proud and clear—burnt marks, inscriptions worn soft from years of use, lids that had been clearly mended more than once. It was quite the sight.

They blended well with shelves and shelves lined on the walls stacked with different bottles, herbs, dried roots, and racks filled with tools that Chen Ren saw for the first time.

He trailed his fingers across one heavy cauldron rim as he passed, feeling the deep grooves etched into the bronze. It was old—older than the sect itself, maybe. And well-used.

“They’re not bought, you know,” Hun Tianzhi said beside him, voice light with a hint of pride. “I earned every one of these.”

Chen Ren turned to glance at the old man, who had his hands tucked behind him, eyes half-closed like he was remembering something from far away.

“First one was won during the Firewind Alchemy Meet in Green Vale,” the old man continued, nodding at a squat red cauldron with strange spirals carved around its base. “That was thirty-seven years ago. That tall one over there? From the Pill Tower Invitational. Narrowly beat a Foundation establishment realm cultivator with a lotus-based restoration pill.”

Chen Ren raised a brow, genuinely impressed. “That’s… impressive, Sect Leader Hun.”

Hun Tianzhi gave a small shrug, but the pride in his voice said enough. “There’s one more. My best one. Silver-bodied, resistant to most things that could break a cauldron. But I keep it in my private chamber.”

Chen Ren caught the unspoken words easily. He nodded with a small smile. “Then I’ll look forward to seeing it someday. But even all of these have impressed me a lot.”

As he turned away from the rows of cauldrons, his gaze swept over the space again, mind ticking rapidly. Even if they didn’t have many disciples left, the chamber itself was worth keeping. With some refurbishing, maybe a stronger qi-gathering array, it could be converted into a proper research and refining lab. The location was a problem—it wasn’t exactly close to the Divine Coin Sect’s base—but for production purposes, it was perfect. It could work like a satellite branch, a supply and a research and development hub just for Broken Ridge City.

He mulled over that silently before turning to the old man again. “If I may ask… how many disciples are still here?”

“Ten,” Hun said. “Including Tau Liu.”

Chen Ren simply nodded, showing no change in expression. That wasn’t a problem—if anything, it made things easier. He didn’t have the space to suddenly house dozens of disciples, and those that had stayed must have belief in Hun Tianzhi, so he wouldn’t have to deal with any resistance that came from taking over a sect.

He stepped back from one of the central cauldrons, folding his hands behind him. “Your sect has impressed me a great deal, Sect Leader Hun. If I may be direct—what do you truly think of Divine Coin Sect acquiring Jadefire Hall?”

Hun Tianzhi didn’t answer right away. And Tau Liu looked between the two of them, clearly puzzled. His brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing, sensing this wasn’t a conversation meant for him just yet.

Hun Tianzhi, however, finally gave a small nod. “It does interest me,” he said slowly. “Though I’ll admit, I still have some… trepidations about how it might work.”

His gaze drifted out of the chamber window for a brief moment, as if pulled back to some far-off memory.

“My time in another sect, back when I was a younger man… It wasn't exactly pleasant. I’ll also have to ask for my disciples’ thoughts before I agree to anything. They’re few, but they’ve stayed through the worst. Their opinion matters.”

“Yes, that’s fair. I wouldn’t expect anything less. Before I leave, I’d like for us to sit and go over everything in detail—your sect’s debt, my plan for how the acquisition would work, and how we’ll take a slice of the pill market in Broken Ridge City.”

Hun Tianzhi frowned at that. “You’re very confident, Sect Leader Chen. You realize I haven’t said yes yet.”

“I know. I’m just very good at negotiations. You’ll see—within the next couple of hours.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

132. Negotiations over tea

Chen Ren hadn’t planned to stay three days.

Yet there he was, still in Jadefire Hall, sipping tea that had gone cold for the fourth time that morning, while Hun Tianzhi scrawled red ink across yet another clause of the contract. The old man wasn’t stalling. No, he was precise—disgustingly so. Every line was questioned, every vague word challenged. Chen Ren had half a mind to just toss the agreement out the window, but then again, each debate ended up improving the proposal.

Hun Tianzhi was too old to fall for sweet words. He wanted numbers, conditions and guarantees that things could work.

So he did what he did best—bargained without giving the full picture.

Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? Jadefire Hall was bleeding. Their pill revenue was nearly dust, their disciples were barely scraping by harvesting outside the border, and the debt was still chewing at the old sect’s bones. It wasn’t a fair trade—but it was the only one left.

Taking them in meant Chen Ren would be suddenly responsible for them. If he was honest, he had to dodge around the topic of how much wealth the Divine Coin Sect possessed. Alchemy was expensive, hence he knew Hun Tianzhi had expectations and with that came conditions that he insisted on having on the contract. That was fair in Chen Ren’s eyes but he didn’t want to say how much money they'd have right now.

Since it… wasn’t enough.

He had planned to succeed in the pill market and use that money to fund more in alchemy research, but he couldn’t tell it outright. The negotiations might have failed then and there, since it was necessary for Hun Tianzhi to believe that they would one hundred percent succeed. Hence, he simply agreed to the terms: Till they set up their pill business, relocation wouldn’t be necessary.

That provided Chen Ren enough room, and the old man didn’t seem to mind it, actually looking forward to it as having another go at the Jadefire Hall sect.

The debates didn’t end there.

“How will my disciples be ranked in your sect?” Hun Tianzhi asked.

“There’s no inner or outer system in the Divine Coin Sect.”

“What?” Hun Tianzhi asked loudly, almost shocked by what Chen Ren said.

“We sort them by realm.”

The silence that followed was long. The old man frowned like he was trying to understand whether he’d heard blasphemy or brilliance. Before he could respond, Chen Ren dropped the next stone.

“We also have mortals.”

Now that had made Hun Tianzhi sit up straight. His lips parted slightly, brows pinching as though he’d just bitten into something sour.

“You can’t be serious. Mortals? As full members? That’s absurd. They’d slow you down. Worse—they’d be liabilities.” The word was spat out like a spoiled pill. It hadn’t ended there, it continued with Hun Tianzhi weighing all the cons on why Chen Ren shouldn’t have mortals or give them responsibilities around the sect.

Chen Ren didn’t argue with his points, because he knew this was non-negotiable. He had just met his eyes and said that he wouldn’t throw them out. He also didn’t reveal about his guns—not yet, or the fact that mortals would be needed with the pill production.

Hun Tianzhi had muttered something about decorum and folded the sleeve of his robe tighter, but he didn’t bring it up again.

Chen Ren half-expected the man to have a heart attack once he actually showed him the process of what they were doing. The worldview shift was going to hit hard but that moment wasn’t here yet. For now, the negotiations had to continue.

And they did even after a dozen cups of tea, four long walks, two short naps, and with more back-and-forth than a coin caught in mid-flip.

To his relief, Hun Tianzhi proved easier to work with than expected—as long as the conversations were concrete. The old man didn’t care much for big dreams, but once Chen Ren began talking about modified pill recipes—especially ones that hadn't been brewed for centuries due to missing ingredients—Hun Tianzhi leaned in, elbow on the table, eyes practically gleaming.

That was when Chen Ren knew he had him.

They reached an agreement before the fourth day began. Hun Tianzhi would stay on as a researcher, focused solely on pushing alchemy forward, while Chen Ren would act as an investor of sorts—funding the operation, handling logistics, and taking care of every mundane necessity the old man didn’t want to deal with.

As for Jadefire Hall disciples, they would supervise the pill production Divine Coin Sect disciples performed.

Chen Ren had used the word “disciples” generously. He doubted Hun Tianzhi realized he meant mortals with no cultivation at all. But that was fine. Let him think there were alchemists back in the Divine Coin Sect—actual ones. By the time he found out the truth, the system would already be running too smoothly to question.

Besides, Hun Tianzhi wasn’t thinking about hierarchy. He was fixated on something else entirely.

“Recipes,” he’d said at one point, practically salivating over the old scrolls Chen Ren had casually mentioned. “Do you really have records of the Verdant Flesh Pill? And the Azure Draught?”

What he had was the recipes provided by Wang Jun, the ones the head had wanted him to use for the pill business.

“Fragments,” Chen Ren had replied. “Not complete. But with some work...”

Hun Tianzhi had waved a hand as if to say: Leave the work to me.

That ended that discussion.

Chen Ren’s plan was simple. Pour spirit stones into developing long-lost pills. Rebuild them using new ingredients, new methods—make them sustainable. And once that was done? Brand them as Divine Coin Sect exclusives.

He couldn’t rely on low-grade recovery pills forever and had to venture out in the future. He needed to plant the foundation of it now.

Fortunately, once everything was talked about, Hun Tianzhi was more than ready to agree to the cooperation.

Chen Ren expected the old man to visit the sect first, see things for himself before agreeing completely. But he’d been trusting. If Chen Ren held true to the promises, he’d assured things would go fine between them. Therefore he had agreed with a bow, knowing this kind of trust could go a long way if done right—especially considering Hun Tianzhi didn’t even insist on doing a qi oath. It was a calculated risk the old man took, but Chen Ren intended to make sure that he and his disciples wouldn’t have anything to worry about.

But even after they’d discussed everything, there was still one thing left—the debt.

It was honestly the most risk he’d taken in a business deal till now. Five thousand low-grade spirits stones. Enough to ruin most small sects, and the root cause of their disciples fleeing like startled geese. But it was the most necessary part of getting himself an alchemy hall and shop.

One thing for certain, he was confident in paying it back in a month or two of opening the shop. He knew that things could go wrong and his business wouldn’t do well as he expected, but he believed even the lowest estimation of it would make him breakeven. There was a problem, though.

If someone used the debt to try to strangle his business before they could pay back, it would ruin things and turn them into shambles.

From what Hun Tianzhi had shared, the money hadn’t just come from some neutral city lender. It had come from a man named Daoist Xu Leiyan, a retired foundation establishment cultivator and a member of the merchant guild in the city who, apparently, had traded pill bottles for pleasure houses. The man had a few mortal wives—or concubines, depending on how charitable one wanted to be—and a history of lending to struggling sects. Struggling sects that Darkmoon Sect conveniently ended up destroying.

Chen Ren didn’t believe in coincidence. He didn’t trust Xu Leiyan, and he didn’t trust anything even remotely connected to Darkmoon Sect.

Which was why, when the clerk at the office of Xu Leiyan handed him the transfer document and asked him to confirm the terms, Chen Ren cleared his throat.

“I’d like to add a clause.”

The young clerk, barely older than twenty and still smelling of fresh ink and nervous sweat, blinked at him. “Clause?”

Chen Ren nodded. “Yes. I want it in writing that for the next ninety days, you can’t claim or seize any properties or assets under my name.”

The clerk looked baffled. “You… want us to not be able to collect on the debt?”

“I want a buffer window,” Chen Ren said smoothly. “Ninety days. No asset collection. No pressure visits. No subtle threats. After that, all standard terms apply.”

The clerk frowned, looking at the scroll again, then at Hun Tianzhi, who sat beside him with a quiet, guilty look—like a man watching someone willingly step into the same trap he had once fallen into.

“I can’t change the interest rate,” the clerk warned, his tone slightly defensive. “This is one of the highest-risk debts on our books. Nine percent monthly is standard.”

Chen Ren raised a hand. “I’m not arguing that. Keep the rate. I’m asking for a clause in the new contract. The debt is changing ownership. That gives room for renegotiation. Ninety days is all I need.”

The clerk still didn’t look convinced. From the side, he glanced at Hun Tianzhi, who hadn’t said a word yet.

“Daoist Hun,” the clerk said carefully, “I’ve advised you before, haven’t I? Selling your shop, the cauldrons, even the land—those would’ve eased this months ago.”

“I wouldn’t be able to cover it,” Hun Tianzhi said suddenly. “Even if I sold both the sect grounds and the shop property in Broken Ridge City.”

Chen Ren turned his head slightly, listening.

“The shop might fetch a decent price,” the old man continued, “but the sect property? It’s worthless to most. Rogue cultivators don’t need a place like that, and every sect or clan already has their own lands.” He paused. “As for my personal artifacts and cauldrons… those aren’t for sale. Not now. Not ever.”

The clerk glanced between the two of them, then leaned forward on his desk. “But you’re handing your sect and its debt over to this man?”

“We’ve discussed the terms.” Hun Tianzhi folded his hands. “And they’re fair. He’s offering better conditions than any I’ve been given in the past two years.”

The clerk hesitated, then nodded. “Then I won’t ask further.” He turned back to Chen Ren. “You do know if you fail to make even the interest payments, we’re fully entitled to act?”

“I know. And I will pay the interest on time. All I’m asking is that no other actions are taken—no seizures, no forceful visits—for ninety days, as long as I make those payments.”

The clerk leaned back, squinting at him. “I don’t get it. If you’re confident about paying, why the buffer window?”

Chen Ren offered a faint smile. “You’ll understand in the next three months. I’m not asking you to take a loss. You’re getting your interest. I’m simply limiting the damage others can do if things go… unexpectedly.”

The clerk looked uncertain. “Still… it’s not up to me. I’ll have to speak to my father.”

“Your father?” Chen Ren raised a brow.

The young man straightened slightly, pride creeping into his tone. “I’m the twenty-ninth son of Daoist Xu Leiyan.”

Ah.

Chen Ren quietly adjusted the young man’s status in his mind. Twenty-ninth son might not hold much power, but it was still better than being some nameless clerk.

“Very well,” Chen Ren said. “Please speak with Daoist Xu. I believe he’ll see reason. What I’m asking won’t harm your business at all.”

The clerk frowned and rubbed his palms together. “Maybe. But he’ll still want to know your reasoning.”

Chen Ren didn’t answer with words.

Instead, he reached into his robes and pulled out a small pouch, placing it gently on the table. The clerk picked it up, gave it a careful sniff, and his eyes lit up.

“Are these pills?”

“Qi Replenishment pills,” Chen Ren said. “Each one tested at sixty percent purity. Consider it a small gift, for the trouble of presenting this proposal in the best light.”

The clerk weighed the pouch in his palm for a long moment. Greed flickered in his gaze before he cleared his throat. “Very well. I’ll bring this to him and start drafting the contract for transfer of ownership. I hope you won’t regret this.”

Chen Ren smiled.

“I won’t. This—” he tapped the scroll on the table “—might just be the most important part of everything I plan in Broken Ridge City.”

***

Thankfully, the clerk came back with good news. His father had agreed to the ninety-day clause Chen Ren asked for. This meant for the next three months, no one could try to take Chen Ren’s property or resources because of the debt—even if he hadn’t paid it off yet. It gave him a sense of relief and a clear deadline. He now had exactly three months to get his business up and running, and to start making money before anyone could cause trouble.

The pill shop that used to belong to the Jadefire Hall sect was still in great condition. Chen Ren had already looked through it and found that there wasn’t much work needed. They just had to remove any traces of the previous sect, clean the place up, and give it a new name. He asked Anji and Tang Boming to handle all of that while he focused on something more important—the production side of things.

Instead of setting up the pill-making in a new place, Chen Ren decided it would be smarter to use the old Jadefire Hall building. It already had enough space and all the alchemy tools were still there. He didn’t have to waste time or effort moving anything around.

To get started, he called for the mortals from Divine Coin Sect who had been training under Qing He. These people had been learning the standardized pill-making method, and within a few days, they arrived at the new location, bringing with them the materials they needed.

Chen Ren had picked three types of pills to start with. All of them were in high demand and used common ingredients, which made things easier. He also bought more ingredients from the local market in Broken Ridge City. Thanks to his method of standardization, they could make a much larger number of pills in each batch compared to traditional methods. In no time, they would have enough pills for a full-scale launch.

When Chen Ren explained the plan to Hun Tianzhi, especially the part where mortals would handle the actual pill-making, the old man was shocked. At first, he didn’t believe it and even got angry. How could mortals make pills without qi? It went against everything he had been taught.

Chen Ren didn’t want it to escalate into an argument. Instead, he asked Hun Tianzhi and his disciples to take a qi oath that they wouldn’t share the method with anyone. This was important because the method was easy to copy, and Chen Ren wanted to keep it a secret advantage. The disciples and the old man agreed—probably because they were too curious to say no.

And then came the real surprise.

When Chen Ren finally showed them how the mortals made pills using spirit water, set timing, and perfect measurements, it left them stunned. They just stood there, watching the whole process, silent. It was clear that everything they thought they knew about alchemy had been shaken.

In the end, some even looked like they were questioning their life choices.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

133. Names are too much trouble

Gao Moyue sat tall at the head of the long, polished stone table, his sleeves folded neatly over each other as his cold eyes swept across the elders gathered before him. One by one, they stood and reported.

Progress on training.
List of promising disciples.
Recent deaths.
Trouble from the insectoids.
Minor treasures discovered near the borders.

The words flowed through the chamber like a dull chant, but to Gao Moyue, it was all noise. He found some of them meaningless, just sprouting for the sake of routine, and predictable.

He had heard it all before.

Darkmoon Sect had existed for nearly three hundred years, and for over a hundred of those, he had ruled it from the top. Nothing surprised him anymore. The only time in recent memory when he had truly paid attention was seventy years ago, when the Empire had gone to war with the insectoids—after one of those monstrous things had actually formed a domain.

That battle had stirred something in him. But the thing had died, the threat passed, and since then, the world had returned to its slow, suffocating pace. The sect had continued to grow. Wealth had increased. His Cultivation had deepened.

Now?

Now he simply nodded politely as each elder took their turn. He stroked his long goatee with practiced grace, maintaining an emotionless face though his mind wandered.

How much longer would this drag on?

Unfortunately, there were always a few matters that forced him to speak.

One of the elders stepped forward, bowing slightly. His robes marked his standing as an outer sect elder. “Sect Leader Gao Moyue… There's a matter that requires your guidance. We've received a number of complaints from the outer sect disciples.”

At that, Gao Moyue squinted slightly—not in anger, but in thought. What was this elder’s name again?

He frowned inwardly. He couldn’t remember. Too much had changed in a century. Elders rose and fell like grass in the wind, especially out here at the Empire’s edge, where the wilds ate cultivators faster than time ever could.

Still, it would be rude to ask.

“Why the complaints?”

The elder visibly relaxed at not being rebuked. “It’s about the missions, Sect Leader. They claim the risk is too high, and the compensation is too low. Many have lost their lives hunting outside the city’s protection, especially since the insectoid numbers have started growing again.

“Recently, three dozen outer sect disciples had gone missing after taking a mission in the deeper regions of the insectoid lands. Word came back that they had been massacred—nearly all of them—by a peak-tier three insectoid. Only three managed to return, bloodied, broken, and shaken.”

He shook his head in lament and added, “Even though we sent everything those disciples owned back to their families—their savings, their robes, whatever they earned here—others in the sect feel it’s not enough. They’re demanding more compensation. And I believe there's merit in their words.”

Gao Moyue didn’t react immediately. He simply stroked his goatee in silence for a few seconds, then spoke calmly, reciting the same words his master had once said to him many decades ago:

“Cultivation is a long journey filled with endless trials. Each of them can take your life. To become immortal… one must learn to clash with mortality. Those who die have simply failed in that path. No one forced them to become cultivators. They chose this path. They must carry its weight.”

He watched the elder’s face. He didn’t look pleased. But the man nodded. That was the benefit of being the sect leader. No one openly opposed you. Gao Moyue had always liked that part of the job.

Then, one of the other elders, an inner sect one—he didn’t know his name either—gave a respectful nod and said, “Sect Leader is wise. These disciples should think twice before calling themselves cultivators. If they can’t handle the risks, they shouldn’t be out there.”

Before anyone else could comment, the elder who had started the topic frowned and said, “Of course you’d say that. Your great-grandson was the one who led them into the wilds chasing stronger beasts. And he was the first to run when they faced danger.”

The elder who had just spoken turned red and snapped, “And what’s wrong with knowing when to run? It’s why he survived. That’s wisdom.”

“He ran because he had an Earth-grade movement technique! The others didn’t. They didn’t choose to stay and fight—they had no way to escape!”

The room grew tense as the two glared at each other.

Gao Moyue wanted to stand up and leave the meeting then and there. This wasn’t new. He’d seen it many times before—outer sect elders clashing with inner sect elders, usually because of nepotism. Recently, it was growing more frequent, and it was getting boring.

Many elders had started pushing their descendants through the ranks. Gao Moyue had allowed it. After all, most of those descendants did have decent talent. But their personalities? That was another matter.

They were selfish and arrogant, living as though the heavens had blessed them and them alone. Still, he didn’t need to step in. As always, the argument defused on its own, ending with vague mentions of some future duel between their disciples.

And the meeting went on. More reports. More routine problems.

Gao Moyue listened without interest, nodding occasionally, offering short replies when needed.

He might be the oldest one in the hall, but these men were elders for a reason. They didn’t need his help to solve every little squabble.

At the end of the meeting, just as the elders began filing out of the hall, one of them lingered behind. Gao Moyue noticed it immediately. It was the same outer sect elder who had earlier brought up the complaints about disciple compensation.

He didn’t speak at first, just stood there with his hands tucked into his sleeves, a hesitant look in his eyes.

Gao Moyue raised an eyebrow. “Is there something else?”

The elder hesitated, then gave a slight nod. “I don’t know if it’s worth bringing to your attention, Sect Leader, but… I thought you should know.”

“What is it?” Gao Moyue asked, already expecting something trivial. “Another disciple trying to sneak pills out of the storage hall?”

The elder shook his head. “No. Not that. It’s about Jadefire Hall Sect.”

At that, Gao Moyue narrowed his eyes slightly. The name was familiar, but it took him a moment to place it. Jadefire Hall… one of those minor sects that had tried to make a name in the city but failed due to the competition. A promising one, if he remembered right, before they crashed and burned under pressure from the market. And little scheming from their side.

“What about them?”

“They’ve been bought out.”

“Bought out?” Gao Moyue repeated. “What does that mean?”

“Their sect grounds and city shop are taken over by someone else,” the elder explained. “Even the debt they owed has been transferred. All under the name of someone called Chen Ren. He’s from a sect called Divine Coin Sect. Not from around here—seems to be new in the city. I heard about it from the moneylender himself.”

“Divine Coin Sect?” Gao Moyue frowned. “Never heard of them.”

“They’re new,” the elder said, nodding. “But they seem to be awfully confident. From what I hear, they’re trying to make a move in the pill market. Planning to restart production in the Jadefire Hall sect building.”

There was a brief silence. Then Gao Moyue leaned back in his seat and gave a soft laugh.

“An Emerging sect trying to compete in the pill market? We see a few of those every two-three years.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Still, good you reported it. But I don’t think they’ll be much of a threat.”

“I think so too, Sect Leader,” the outer sect elder said quickly. “I just felt like you should know.”

Gao Moyue stroked his goatee and slowly rose from his seat. “It’s good you did,” he said with a nod. “But don’t worry. They won’t even be able to sell ten pills a day. Just focus on our own production.” He turned his gaze toward the elder, eyes sharp. “I heard in the meeting that sales dropped by five hundred spirit stones this month. You can do better.”

The elder bowed slightly. “We will. Thank you, Sect Leader Gao Moyue.”

With that, Gao Moyue gave a small nod and walked out of the room, hands clasped behind his back.

Another sect trying their luck. Another fool with dreams of taking over a piece of the market. He didn’t need to know who Chen Ren was. In a few months, the man would be just another name added to the list of sect leaders who tried and failed.

Everyone came to Broken Ridge thinking it was a treasure trove. And it was—but only if you had the power to control it.

And Gao Moyue knew, with the certainty of someone who had ruled for over a century, that Broken Ridge belonged to the Darkmoon Sect. No one else.

***

Chen Ren walked through the shop slowly as his eyes traced every corner of the space that would, in a few days, mark his official entry into the immortal market.

It was modest in size, but laid out well. Wooden shelves lined the walls, polished clean, with fresh lacquer still gleaming under the lamplight. Each row was now being filled by his mortal disciples—trainees from the Divine Coin Sect who had arrived just two days ago—working with quiet diligence. The air smelled faintly of mint, spirit herbs, and the dusty warmth of freshly cleaned floors.

This had once belonged to Jadefire Hall, and Chen Ren could see why it was so valuable. The location was ideal—just off the main street near the heart of Broken Ridge City, where crowds passed by from dawn till dusk. It wasn't tucked in a hidden alley or overshadowed by louder businesses. No, this spot saw foot traffic. And not just any foot traffic—Cultivators. The lifeblood of his future customer base.

There were other shops on the street, of course. One even bore the banner of the Darkmoon Sect, with its cold and towering presence. But Chen Ren spared it only a glance when he passed. They were dominant now, sure, but all he needed was a few weeks. Just a few weeks, and the cracks would start to show.

His gaze shifted to the shelves. Though he was starting with only three basic pills, the arrangement was deliberate. Qing He had helped him refine the process further, and now the pills could be produced in multiple purities through adjustments in the mixing method. That alone gave him variety.

But the shelves weren’t just split by purity—no, they had something else that would draw attention. Flavor.

Thanks to tweaking the binding agent, they’d managed to infuse two flavor profiles so far—cool mint and sweet honeyfruit. The moment he’d tasted the mint one, he knew it would leave a mark.

Even so, there was one thing nagging at the back of his mind: quantity.

They had enough pills for four days, maybe a week—but if demand rose too fast, they’d need to ramp up quickly. They had the production capacity, sure, but the logistics, the storage, the consistency of quality—it all needed attention.

Even now, as Chen Ren moved through the aisles, his gaze kept drifting to the empty shelves that lined the shop walls. Most were still bare, and he knew that wouldn’t change in a week. The plan was simple: fill the gaps with wooden bottles—emptied, sealed, and stacked—to give the illusion of stock abundance. A trick, yes, but a necessary one. Perception mattered in business, especially in a city where appearances sold trust.

In truth, their production couldn’t keep up with the look of a full shop. Jadefire Hall had adopted his pill-making method, but there was only so much they could create each day. And Chen Ren didn’t want to risk overproducing either—not until he saw the demand firsthand. Once he did, then he’d scale. Supply should follow demand, not the other way around.

Still, as he looked around the shop—at the rows of neatly arranged pill jars, at the young mortal workers who called him Sect Leader without a hint of hesitation—Chen Ren couldn’t help the small smile that touched his lips.

And as he passed by a shelf being dusted down by a mortal disciple, the shop door creaked open behind him.

Chen Ren turned to see Anji and Tang Boming entering. Both gave him a respectful bow before approaching.

“So, how’s it going?” Chen Ren asked, keeping his tone light but expectant.

Tang Boming was the first to speak. He had just returned from Jadefire Hall, and his robes still smelled faintly of spirit herbs and furnace smoke.

“Production’s going smoothly,” he said. “A few disciples made a face at the process, said it felt… ridiculous. I mean, I get it. Seeing mortals do what most cultivators train for years to do can be jarring.”

He gave a sheepish shrug before continuing, “But Tau Liu accepted the method early on, so the rest didn’t have much room to protest. And honestly, most of them seem relieved. I told them they can spend their time working on their own alchemy instead of basic pills, and that shut down any real complaints.”

Chen Ren nodded in approval. “Good. And what about Hun Tianzhi?”

Tang Boming gave a small grin. “He took to it better than I expected. Right now, he’s in his quarters, poring over the technique—probably trying to figure out how it works from an alchemical theory standpoint. He looked intrigued. Like it woke something up in him.”

Chen Ren smiled faintly, folding his arms. “Let’s hope he finds a way to make even more pills using our method.”

Then he turned to Anji, his gaze steady. “And what about you?”

She sighed, brushing some dust off her sleeve. “I handed out every pamphlet we printed. Stuck them at inns, talked to some vendors, even tried to stop a few passing cultivators near the southern plaza... but most weren’t interested. I’m worried. Marketing here might be harder than we thought.”

Chen Ren didn’t look surprised. “Marketing is hard everywhere,” he said simply. “But we still have to do it. If no one knows we exist, they definitely won’t buy from us.”

“Yeah, but the problem is... Cultivators around here have been buying from Darkmoon Sect for years. They’re used to their pills. Comfortable. Loyal, even. It’s going to be hard to break that habit.”

”We can change that—that habit.”

Anji looked at him, brows pinched. “How?”

Chen Ren didn’t reply immediately.

Instead, his thoughts shifted. Anji had made a good point—one that lingered. Marketing was something he could adapt in many places across this world, but marketing to cultivators… that was an entirely different beast.

They were proud. Sensitive. The kind who took offense at the tone of a greeting, let alone being handed a pamphlet. Even the wrong look could spark a duel.

But as his gaze swept across the shop—the neatly arranged shelves, the rows of bottles being filled, the faint scent of herbs in the air—an idea flickered to life. One that burned a little brighter with each breath.

“There’s one thing we can do,” he said at last, voice calm but certain. “One way to make sure cultivators notice us.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

134. A rogue cultivator

Jiek Wai stared into the basin, watching the rippling reflection of his face.

A frown tugged at his lips as his gaze landed on the scar slicing down his left cheek. Ugly thing. Should’ve known better than to try his luck with a giant slasher monkey. They were tier 2 beasts that weren't impossible to deal with—if you were an archer, maybe. But up close, with a sword and only at the second star of the qi refinement realm? It had been a stupid gamble, and he was lucky to come out with all his limbs still attached.

He’d tried to pass the injury off as a mark from fighting an insectoid, but the old-timers at the inn weren’t buying it. Hunters who'd spent decades in Broken Ridge City could smell a lie before it left your lips. They hadn’t called him out on it—just laughed into their ale and shared knowing looks.

Still, the scar had gotten him noticed.

Two nights ago, a small hunting party approached him. Three others, all around his realm, looking to team up and head beyond the borders together. It wasn’t much, but it was something. With a bit of luck, they'd bring in a solid haul today. Maybe enough that he could finally send a decent sum back to his clan—make sure his brothers got a proper education, maybe even some spiritual resources.

With that thought lighting a fire in his chest, he slung his sword across his back and stepped out of the cramped inn. The streets of Broken Ridge were already on the move with early morning life. He weaved past steaming food stalls and squabbling vendors, his boots scuffing against worn cobblestones slick with dew.

By the time he reached the border gates, the line had already grown long—rows of rogue cultivators waiting for clearance. He spotted a few uniforms in the crowd, Darkmoon sect disciples, a couple from minor clans. He adjusted his robes and settled at the back. Seeing them, made a weird feeling tug in his chest.

Well, that was part of the reason why he kept his distance. Sect disciples and clan-backed cultivators didn’t mix well with people like him, and the last thing he wanted this early in the morning was to be looked down upon. Instead, he leaned against a sun-warmed stone wall near the gate, arms crossed, listening to the usual gossip drifting from the crowd.

A new beast nest had been discovered near the eastern ridge. The insectoids were starting to counter-attack again. And, of course, yet another story of a young master dragging his party into a disaster that got them all killed. None of it surprised him. It was just a reminder of how risky this life was. But for someone like him—with barely twenty nine spirit roots to his name and a water aspect that no big sect cared for—there weren’t many other options. At least as a hunter, he was free. Free to make his own money. Free to die on his own terms.

Still, that didn’t stop the occasional sting of envy.

The sect cultivators always had better gear—reinforced armor, weapons embedded with runes, and endless pills to keep their energy up. His own sword had chips in the blade, and the only protection he wore was a stitched leather vest that barely counted as armor. He’d only been hunting for a month now, and every coin he earned either went into living costs or was sent back home. The black market was an option to arm himself, sure, but he wasn’t willing to gamble with that kind of money. Not when his little brothers still didn’t have warmer robes for the winter.

He sighed and rubbed the scar on his cheek, wondering how long it would take before he could finally afford something better.

That’s when a voice cut through the usual chatter. Not gossip—something else. “Free Qi Replenishment Pills and Bone Refining Capsules! From Divine Pill Apothecary! Just for today!”

His eyes snapped to the source. A man and a woman stood near the border gates, shouting at the top of their lungs. Curious cultivators were already gathering around them, drawn by the promise like moths to a flame.

He pushed off the wall, eyes narrowing. Free pills? That wasn’t something you heard every day. But Divine Pill Apothecary?

He’d never heard of them before. Were they some black market seller operating in daylight? But then… Why would they be giving out free pills? Even the border guards looked taken aback, glancing toward the commotion with mild suspicion, though none stepped forward to stop it.

Curiosity tugged at him. He wanted to know what that was about.

Well, my party members are not here yet, might as well go and see… He made sure to recheck if his party had arrived, and noticing how they hadn’t, he moved toward the jam.

The crowd had thickened already, with a handful of cultivators standing in front, asking questions in voices thick with doubt.

A silver-haired woman stepped forward from the crowd and raised her voice. “Why are you giving out free pills? Are they botched or something?”

The woman standing behind the stall shook her head. “No, they aren’t damaged in any way. We’re opening our shop in a few days and offering these as part of our promotional campaign. We want cultivators to try the pills for themselves, to realise these are the best pills in the city.”

The best pills in the city? He blinked at that. Even the Darkmoon Sect didn’t boast like that. Arrogance or confidence? He wasn’t sure. Could be both or just fake promises.

He let his gaze drift down to the table and eyed the pouches and a few pills sitting out of them. They were pale blue pills with a strange shine and a smoother texture than he was used to. The colors were odd, nothing like the typical dull greys or browns that were seen in standard Mortal grade pills.

He narrowed his eyes. “They don’t look authentic to me. The color’s off. The texture too.”

The man standing beside the woman gave a small smile. “We use our own recipes. These are flavoured pills—mint and honeyfruit. They’re designed to go down easy. Your taste buds will thank you.”

Flavoured pills? He nearly scoffed. What nonsense was that? Pills weren’t meant to be tasty—they were medicine, not sweets.

Despite the scepticism, people kept asking questions and with every answer that was thrown his way, his doubt grew thicker. Something about this didn’t sit right. Were they trying to poison people? Sabotage rival sects? But then… Why do it in broad daylight? Right in front of the gates, with guards watching?

If this was a scam, it was either bold or incredibly stupid. And either way, he couldn't walk away now. Not until he figured out what kind of fools gave away valuable pills for free in Broken Ridge.

So he stood there and watched for some more time while others continued crowding in, firing off questions at the pair—asking about purity, if there’d be hidden costs, or even where the shop was located. The answers came quickly. Purity? Fifty percent. Location? Just off the central street. Price? Lower than the market standard.

He almost laughed out loud.

Fifty percent purity wasn’t top-tier, but it was far better than he expected from a pair giving off free pills. And if the pills actually worked… Well, that kind of quality at that price was basically handing out spirit stones for free.

Still, there was ample doubt that began to creep.

Everything sounded too good to be true. But if he just walked away now, and the pills did work… wouldn’t that be like tossing money into a ditch? Did he want to do that? Kick something free when he couldn’t afford it?

With a reluctant grunt, he stepped forward, took the two pills being handed out, thanked the pair behind the stall, and slipped them into his pouch.

“Maybe I’ll visit your shop,” he said as he turned away. He wasn’t planning to. Not really.

As he turned, his eyes spotted the familiar figures of his hunting party walking toward him. They’d finally arrived. Three of them, all around his age, and just as new to the profession. He’d only met them last week, but they’d hit it off quickly. All from small cities, all with too little money and too much risk in their lives.

Their leader, a tall youth with a wild grin and a thick axe strapped to his back, gave him a wave. “What’s going on there?” he asked, nodding to the crowd behind him. “Someone selling pills?”

Jiek Wai shrugged, glancing back briefly at the pair still handing them out. “New shop giving free pills for promotion. I grabbed a couple too.”

“Free pills?” the axe-user barked a laugh. “They must be trash quality. Probably some spoiled batch.”

“Maybe,” he replied, not arguing. “But the wilds are harsh. Even trash might help out there.”

Behind them, the only girl in the group snorted, flicking her black ponytail behind her shoulder. “We’ll be fine. It’s just a hunt. We’ve been doing this for two months now, haven’t we?”

“She’s right,” the leader said, patting his axe proudly. “I’d be surprised if you even needed those pills. My axe will take care of everything.”

He glanced at the heavy weapon on his back and gave a noncommittal nod. “Right. Let’s go then.”

The group merged into the line leaving through the border gates. And as they walked, Jeik Wai reached down to pat the pouch at his side.

He could only hope he wouldn’t need those pills.

***

Jiek Wai felt the need to use the pills.

A deep gash tore through his left arm, blood running freely, and every breath sent sharp stabs through his chest. He was sure at least two ribs were broken. Worse, his qi was nearly gone. Just a flicker remained, not nearly enough to launch another proper attack.

In front of him, the swarm of kobolds snarled and circled, their yellow eyes gleaming with bloodlust.

How did it come to this?

He remembered the high from earlier—how he and his party had worked together, cutting down the beasts and harvesting their valuable parts. He’d finally felt like he belonged. Like he wasn’t just another rogue cultivator scraping by, but someone who could stand beside comrades and make a future.

And then greed ruined it.

They’d spotted the kobolds—two-legged, wolf-like creatures with coarse fur and jagged claws—and thought they could take them too. At first, they did well. Quick strikes, clean coordination. It was going so well that they pushed deeper, unaware that another kobold group had been stalking them from the shadows.

The ambush came swift and brutal.

The girl died first. Her head was gone before they even registered the attack. The second member barely got a scream out before he was torn apart. Their leader, the one who always smiled and boasted about his axe, fought like a man possessed—slaying three of the creatures in a blind fury—only to fall when a kobold ripped out his throat in a blur of red.

Now his body lay at Wai's feet, the blood soaking into the earth.

He was alone.

Each step back, each roll to the side, each shaky dodge brought him closer to the end. The scent of iron choked the air. The snarls grew louder. They were toying with him now. But he didn’t want to die.

He had responsibilities. Brothers to feed. A family that still thought he was going to make it big. He couldn’t let it end here—not in this pit, not like this.

As one kobold lunged, he twisted sideways using the last flicker of his movement technique and kicked it in the side, just enough to throw it off and did the one thing that he thought would save his life—he ran.

His water aspect was useless for speed, but the one thing keeping him alive was the Earth-grade movement technique he’d learned months ago out of a lucky encounter. It didn’t just make him fast—it made him burst forward like a charging bull, just enough to break through and keep moving. It had saved him once. It might do it again.

But with each step, he felt the weight piling up. His legs screamed. His ribs throbbed from when he’d smashed into a tree trying to dodge a kobold’s claw swipe. Blood soaked his robes, dripping from his torn hand. Behind him, snarls and pounding feet echoed louder and louder. They were catching up.

But fear kept his legs moving. Kept the qi pumping through his body even as his dantian began to flicker. He could feel it—his core was close to drying up. The pain was sharp, burning, and yet he couldn’t stop. Not now.

Then, in his desperation, his fingers brushed against something in his pouch. The pills. The two he had taken that morning. The free ones. From the strange stall he didn’t trust. He took them outside, and the pills felt warm in his hand.

He nearly laughed, breathless and mad. What choice did he even have now?

They could be poisonous. They could rot his insides or cripple his core. But he was already dying. If he was going to gamble on anything, it might as well be this.

Without hesitation, he popped both pills into his mouth and swallowed.

Immediately, a strange taste filled his mouth—not bitter or sharp like usual. Cool. Fresh. Mint? Before he could even to process it, the pills began to work.

Warmth spread through his gut, and then—Qi. Actual qi surged through his meridians. Not a flood, but enough to ease the ache in his legs. The pull on his dantian eased, and his breath steadied. At the same time, his bones gave a sharp crack, and he nearly tripped. The Bone Refining Capsule—he remembered the woman saying, was working too. He could feel the fracture in his ribs shifting, the sharp pain dulling as the healing started.

It wasn’t gentle. It hurt—it hurt like hell. But it was working. And with every step, his hope grew. He might actually survive this. Jiek Wai focused on just that—running.

He wasn’t willing to waste the chance the pills had given him. With each burst of qi, the distance between him and the kobolds widened. But he knew better than to relax. Just escaping a bit wasn't enough. He needed something drastic to shake them off completely.

Then he heard it.

The sound of water splashing against rock.

A river.

He honed in on the sound, pushing his legs harder, heart pounding in his chest. Trees whipped past him. He leapt over gnarled roots and low branches until finally, through the trees, he saw it—a river cutting across the land below a small cliff.

Behind him, the snarls were still there. He had no time to rethink his choices.

With a shout, he launched himself off the cliff, calling on his water qi the moment he hit the air. He braced as his body slammed into the river’s surface and felt himself submerged. The cold shocked him, but the current welcomed his element. It pulled at him, flowing fast and hard.

He let it take him.

With practiced instinct and desperate will, he maneuvered through the current, letting the river drag him away from kobold territory. His qi affinity helped him cut through the water like a blade.

Everything after that blurred together.

By sheer force of will, he crawled out onto a riverbank sometime later. He didn’t know how far he’d gone, only that he’d escaped. His limbs ached. His ribs throbbed. His skin stung with cuts.

But he was alive. Fucking alive.

The pills… They worked. There had been no side effects or backlash. Thank heavens. Still, his body ached, but he didn’t want to sit by and think about it. If he stayed in the wild lands any longer, some other beast would make him a meal.

Without another thought, he started walking.

He didn’t know how many hours passed before familiar rocks and broken trees led him back to the outskirts of Broken Ridge City. But the moment the border gates came into view, his heart felt lighter.

He staggered toward them, his robes torn and half-soaked. One of the guards at the post narrowed his eyes, then stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay? You went in with a party this morning, right? I saw you.”

Jiek Wai nodded, a wave of frustration and grief crashing through him. “They’re all dead… Kobolds got them. I managed to run and found a river.” His voice cracked. “Do you mind if I rest for now?”

The guard nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Just come tomorrow to file a report.”

Jiek Wai gave another nod, too tired to care about reports. He turned, dragging his feet toward the inn, heart pounding with a strange cocktail of sorrow and gratitude. He had survived.

And in his mind, one name kept echoing: Divine Pill Apothecary.

He’d have to thank them too. Without those pills… He would’ve been another corpse in the wilds.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

135. Bird catching

Zi Wen crouched beneath a thick patch of bushes, his eyes locked on the clearing ahead. Several beasts circled a large tree, their wings rustling and sharp beaks snapping as they guarded something high in the branches. Striker beaks.

After months of following traces and clues, Zi Wen had finally found where their nestling grounds were. But he knew that finding them was the easy part. His real challenge was just beginning. Striker beaks weren’t easy to tame. In fact, they were notoriously aggressive, especially when grown. One wrong move, and they’d tear flesh like paper.

But Zi Wen hadn’t come unprepared.

He had spent weeks buried his head in the bestiaries that Sect Leader Chen had given him, reading through every note on avian-type beasts. From diet to territory to temperament, he had soaked up every information and built a plan keeping them in mind.

And in theory, he knew his plan would work.

“If you’re planning to tame one by feeding it, that’s the oldest trick in the book,” came a male voice beside him. “But these beasts are grown, you can see that. They would attack you. Doesn't take a genius to know that.”

Zi Wen turned, his brows knitting at the sight of Hong Yi, crouching and looking like he’d rather do anything but be here. Zi Wen knew the man had no business being here. In fact, he had no idea why the cultivator kept leaving his workshop so often these days.

“You don’t know that,” Zi Wen shot back. “And I’m not feeding them just anything. This mix came straight from a recipe in the bestiary book. And it's something they actually like… uhh,” he looked at him sideways, questioning. “Why are you even here anyway?”

“I don’t want to be here. Trust me, I just need to study some birds,” Hong Yi muttered under his breath.

“What for?” Zi Wen asked back.

“I had a talk with Sect Leader Chen about puppets. He tossed out an idea, asking what if I made one that could fly? Normally, only meridian expansion realm puppets can do that if their materials are top-tier, but he said, why not base the structure off a bird instead? So, now I’m looking at birds.”

“Hmm. I could see that happening. You’re here, anyway. Do you know how birds fly?”

That made Hong Yi think. He went silent for a moment, and Zi Wen didn’t take his eyes off of the striker beaks.

“They flap their wings around and fly. That's about it, I don't know anything more. I always thought some beasts just used qi, but even ordinary birds fly. So it has to be something in their wings… right?”

Well, that answers my questions. Hong Yi might have knowledge on things related to his dao, but he should’ve probably done more research before coming down here. That thought itself made Zi Wen shake his head. He exhaled through his nose.

“Whatever, just let me do my work.”

With that, he slowly rose from his crouched position and pulled out a small pouch tied at his waist. He moved as quietly as possible and approached the tree, ignoring the sounds of leaves rustling overhead and the occasional warning cry from the beasts above.

He gave a brief glance behind to see if the puppet master was following him, but no, the man stayed back in the bushes, watching him closely.

Zi Wen didn’t stop until he was right beneath the massive tree. There, he reached into the pouch and scattered its contents onto the ground.

It was a recipe made mixed with dried herbs, fruits and crushed grain feed soaked in spirit water—all selected based on what the bestiary said the birds flavored.

Then, instead of retreating into cover, Zi Wen simply stepped back a few meters and stood in full view, keeping a respectful distance.

“What are you doing?” Hong Yi hissed from the bush, peeking over a low branch.

“They need to see I'm the one who left the food,” Zi Wen replied without turning. “They’re intelligent. If they don’t see me as a threat, they won’t attack.”

“And what if they do?”

“Then we run. I’m fighting beasts every day now. Some overgrown birds won’t do much to me.”

“We’ll see.” Hong Yi snorted under his breath.

They didn’t have to wait for long. One of the birds immediately noticed them. It gave a low, rumbling cry but didn’t alert the others. Instead, it flapped down from a thick branch and glided to the forest floor, talons clicking against the dirt.

It moved cautiously toward the pile of food.

Its gaze flicked between the offering and Zi Wen, who stood completely still, arms slightly raised to appear harmless. A quiet breeze stirred the trees as the beast’s feathers ruffled, the tension in the air thick as it paused at the edge of the feed.

Zi Wen held his breath.

The bird let out a low, sharp cry, its eyes narrowing at him in suspicion. For a moment, Zi Wen held still, just watching it, taking in the sight properly for the first time.

And what a sight it was.

The beast was magnificent, its feathers were a deep crimson, like fresh blood under the sun, with streaks of shiny silver running down its wings and tail like threads of molten metal. Its beak was curved and sharp, polished black, and its talons dug into the earth with a heavy authority that made it clear this was no simple avian. The wingspan was broader than most beasts Zi Wen had encountered, and its height nearly reached his chest. Larger than a hawk, leaner than an eagle—powerful, and clearly not done growing.

Striker beak. A rare avian-type spirit beast known for its aggressive nature and explosive aerial abilities. At full maturity, a striker beak could easily reach Tier 2, and judging by its size and the absence of the flame plumes adult ones grew along their crest, Zi Wen guessed this one was still a teenager.

That worked in his favor.

The younger ones were more curious. They were more open. More likely to be tamed—if you knew how. As he stood perfectly still, the striker lowered its head toward the scattered feed.

Zi Wen, heart hammering, screamed silently in his head: Eat it. Eat it.

The bird nudged the food with its beak once… then again. And then—finally—it took a bite. Zi Wen’s lips twitched into a cautious smile.

The striker didn’t recoil or spit it out. Instead, it pecked again. Then again. Larger, faster bites until the entire handful had vanished into its sharp beak.

When it lifted its head again, its golden eyes were fixed right on him.

“You liked it, didn’t you?” Zi Wen said softly, smiling now. “I’ve got more. Want some?”

The bird didn’t answer—of course it didn’t—but it didn’t fly away either, and Zi Wen took that as agreement.

Moving slowly, he reached into his pouch and pulled out another portion of the special feed. As he stepped forward, the striker tensed, wings twitching, but it didn’t retreat.

That alone was a victory.

He knelt and placed the food gently on the ground. The striker waited only a moment before strutting forward and digging in again, wings flapping lightly as if in approval.

Zi Wen couldn’t help but laugh under his breath. “I’ve got more with me, you know,” he murmured. “I’ll give it to you if you just let me touch you. Just for a moment. I won’t do anything. I just want to feel you.”

He extended one hand forward, fingers open, gaze calm.

This was the most critical step.

And whether this beast accepted or rejected him would determine everything that came next. Because it was one of the most crucial parts of beast bonding. Every book and manual Zi Wen had read made that clear—if a beast let you touch it willingly, even briefly, it meant something had shifted between the two of you. That a thread of trust had been formed. It wasn’t just about taming, but rather about acceptance. Alongside acceptance came recognition and bonding.

Zi Wen knew he was pushing it.

The bestiary he'd studied suggested that some beasts, like the striker beak, could be approached physically after a single feeding if done right. He’d followed everything down to the recipe, measured the distance, even kept his posture and breathing steady.

But despite all that, the bird didn’t move forward.

Instead, its sharp eyes flicked downward—toward the pouch hanging at Zi Wen’s waist.

Suddenly, its feathers bristled, body tensing. And then, with a piercing screech, it threw its beak skyward and let out a cry so loud it made Zi Wen take a step back instinctively.

Oh no.

Every other bird circling the tree turned toward him in an instant. Their shadows fell over the clearing like a wave. The one he had just fed shrieked again—and then lunged.

Fuck, this is bad. This is bad, the same thought became a mantra in his head as he barely dodged in time as the bird’s claws slashed right at his side, going straight for the pouch. The beast wasn’t bonding—it was robbing.

A crash sounded behind him as Hong Yi burst out of the bushes.

“I told you, idiot!”

“You can complain later!” Zi Wen shouted back, already pivoting on his heel. “Run!”

The forest exploded with the cries of birds, feathers whistling through the air as the entire flock launched into motion.

Zi Wen sprinted forward, darting between trees, his breathing was loud in his ears. Behind him, Hong Yi cursed and followed, keeping pace as the birds shrieked overhead. The one he had tried to bond with didn’t stop—it was flying just above the treetops, wings spreading wide as it let out a furious gust of wind.

The blast hit him like a hammer.

He stumbled, nearly smashing into a thick trunk. Leaves scattered everywhere.

Gritting his teeth, he twisted his body and regained balance just in time, barely managing to stay upright as more gusts followed, sharp and punishing.

“Where’s your bonding now?!” Hong Yi shouted.

“Shut up and keep running!”

And they did—straight toward the distant outline of the village.

“I should’ve brought my puppets!” Hong Yi cursed behind him as he ducked a low-flying bird. “At least they could’ve taken some of the hits!”

Instead, he yanked out a dagger, holding it up just in case one of the birds got too close. Zi Wen, meanwhile, was scooping up pebbles from the forest floor mid-sprint and flinging them backward at the screeching beasts.

Not that it helped.

If anything, it made them angrier.

The birds flapped harder, their cries rising as their wings cut through the air with sharper force. One dove low, its claws raking across Zi Wen’s shoulder. He grunted in pain but twisted, slamming his knee into its side and pushing a surge of qi into his legs to keep going.

His plan had worked at first. The bait. The feed. The calm approach.

But he hadn’t expected the entire flock to come down on him like this.

Still, there was hope. He could see it—the outline of the village palisade breaking through the treeline ahead.

The birds, fierce as they were, never followed anyone too close to human settlements. They kept to the wild. That was his last saving grace.

And thankfully, the birds seemed to know that too.

Just as he broke out from the trees and hit the open trail toward the village, their cries started to fade. He didn’t stop running until he crossed the outer path and collapsed onto a large flat boulder near the road.

That was too close. I’d have had to fight a flock if—

Hong Yi grunted loudly interrupting his thoughts as he slumped down beside him.

They weren’t physically exhausted—both had energy to spare—but mentally, they were wrecked. That tension of being chased by angry birds clung to their nerves like cold sweat.

Zi Wen looked up.

The birds were still there, hovering in the air above the treeline. The one he had fed hovered just a little lower than the others. It stared at him, sharp eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

Then, with a powerful flap of its wings, it turned—and flew away with its flock.

Zi Wen exhaled. “Well,” he muttered, “that could’ve gone worse.”

Next to him, Hong Yi glared and let out an annoyed huff. “I told you. We nearly became bird feed.”

Zi Wen just shook his head with a grin. “Calm down. Nothing like that happened. That one bird was just a glutton—it wanted everything in my pouch. I didn’t expect that.”

“Oh, beasts want more food and can get aggressive over it?” Hong Yi muttered dryly. “Who would’ve guessed?”

“Whatever you say. I’m going to try again.” Zi Wen only chuckled.

Hong Yi blinked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Why?”

“I need an avian companion,” Zi Wen said, brushing dust from his robes. “Little Yuze is great, but he’s not built for air. Those birds can fly long distances—they’d be perfect for surveillance. Sect Leader Chen said we needed something like that.”

“He says a lot of things when he goes off on one of his monologues,” Hong Yi grumbled, rolling his eyes. “He’s probably giving one of them right now back in Broken Ridge City.”

Zi Wen smiled at that. “Who knows.”

He stretched his arms, cast one last glance toward the retreating sky silhouettes, and turned toward the village. “Either way, let’s go. It’s nearly lunch, and I need something to eat.”

Hong Yi groaned as he stood. “You owe me lunch. Bird chase surcharge.”

Zi Wen laughed. “Fine, fine. One meal. But next time you follow me into the wild, bring a puppet.”

“Next time, I’m staying in the workshop.”

They headed toward the village, dust trailing behind their footsteps.

***

Chen Ren stood in front of everyone who had worked day and night to bring their pill operations to life. Tang Boming, Anji, and even Hun Tianzhi were there, along with a mix of disciples and mortals brought in from the Divine Coin Sect. They’d been handling everything—from production and quality control to packaging and logistics. Some of them still had dust clinging to their sleeves, others fidgeted like they were about to run into battle.

It was the first day.

He could feel it—the hum of nervous energy, the excitement just under the surface. First days always felt like the start of something grand. And for them, it was. This was their official entry into the immortal market. Even Hun Tianzhi had stepped away from his research to be here, which Chen Ren deeply appreciated.

He took a breath, then spoke loud enough for all of them to hear.

“Everyone, it hasn’t been easy getting here,” he said. “We’ve pushed ourselves these past few weeks—producing pills, refining processes, distributing fliers, dealing with doubters… and now, we stand here, ready to open shop.”

He looked around at each of them, letting his gaze linger.

“This city already has its favorites. People who’ve been buying from the same sects for years. But that doesn’t mean there’s no room for us. We’re not just here to survive. We’re here to thrive. To show Broken Ridge that a new player can not only step into the market—but do it better.”

He let the words settle for a moment.

“I won’t make this speech any longer. You all know your tasks. You’ve worked hard, and I’m proud of you. I truly am.”

A small smile touched his lips.

“Let’s show them who we are.”

With that, he turned and pushed open the doors.

Cheers rose behind him. Hands clapped, voices called out in excitement, and Chen Ren let the moment sink in before walking calmly to the front counter. The sign above them gleamed in the morning light—Divine Pill Apothecary.

Now came the real test. Would their gamble on quality, flavor, and marketing pay off? He exhaled, folded his arms, and waited.

Let the customers come.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

136. Open shop!

Chen Ren hadn’t expected the shop’s opening day to bring in waves of customers. If he did, that would mean that he hadn’t learned anything during his time in this world.

Selling perfume to mortals was one thing—impulse purchases, curious noses, a low-stakes decision. But pills? That was a different battlefield entirely. Cultivators didn’t part with their spirit stones easily, especially not for something as critical as a pill that might determine whether they lived through their next battle or not. Trusting a new supplier wasn’t just risky—it could be fatal.

Even if his pills had solid purity, even if he believed in them, what guarantee did a rogue cultivator have? Reputation mattered more than price in a place like Broken Ridge.

That was why he’d sent people to the border gates to hand out free pills. Let them try it. Let the pills speak for themselves. A taste of what Divine Pill Apothecary had to offer.

It wasn’t even that costly. Thanks to the pill standardization method he’d introduced, they could produce dozens of pills per batch with near-perfect success. Other sects spent five times the resources and still ended up with waste. Divine Coin Sect’s method? It was clean, consistent, and far more efficient.

He hadn’t expected a miracle—just a start. A few curious cultivators walking in. A trickle of sales. Enough to keep the fire burning while word-of-mouth spread. Get their foot in the door, become the go-to place for rogue cultivators. That was the idea.

But it seemed the heavens had other plans.

By the end of the first hour, the front door hadn’t creaked once.

By the second, Chen Ren had taken a seat behind the counter and cracked open an alchemy tome Hun Tianzhi had lent him. By the third, he had read through half of it.

He looked up from his book to see the shelves fully stocked. The counter was spotless, and his staff was prepared to serve customers. But the shop itself remained still.

Time ticked and Chen Ren buried himself in the books, and when he looked up again, it’s been six hours and nothing had changed.

Chen Ren closed the final page of the alchemy book and placed it down on the counter with a thud. Everything around him felt still.

He leaned back and glanced at the others.

Anji was by the window, arms crossed, pretending not to keep checking outside. Tang Boming sat on a stool near the wall, flipping a coin between his fingers. The three mortals who had followed them from the Divine Coin Sect were gathered quietly behind the counter, trying to look useful despite having nothing to do.

Hun Tianzhi and his disciples had left two hours ago, along with the workers from the supply line. They’d left with polite nods and awkward encouragements—“You’ve got this, Sect Leader Chen.” “We will come by to check in later.” and “Hope it all goes well!”

He wasn’t angry. He understood. No one wanted to be in the room when reality came knocking. When all the hard work turned up empty and it was a scary feeling overall. They didn’t want to witness it, and Chen Ren understood.

But he couldn’t help but sigh and mutter under his breath, “Maybe I messed up the marketing. Maybe they really don’t want flavoured pills after all.”

Anji turned from the window. “We did have three cultivators come in to look around.”

He gave a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. But they didn’t come because of our flyers or those pills we handed out. They just saw a new shop and wandered in. Window shoppers. They don’t count.”

The curious customers rarely turn into a sale, he thought to himself.

“Want me to head to the border gates again? Hand out more pamphlets?” Tang Boming shifted, leaning back in his chair until it creaked.

“No. The guards already gave you two warnings. I don’t want you getting chased off or worse. Let’s not poke that bear again so soon.”

Tang Boming grunted but didn’t argue. The coin in his hand stilled, and silence returned to the shop once more.

Outside, the street bustled like always. But inside the Divine Pill Apothecary, time dragged.

It was getting frustrating. Chen Ren exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. His thoughts were starting to spiral.

It’s just one day, he told himself. You don’t fold a business after one bad morning.

But the optimism he’d clung to earlier was thinning. Truth was—he had been excited. Genuinely. This had been his first real step into the immortal market, and he’d believed in every part of their plan. Now, sitting in the silence of a still-empty shop, that same excitement twisted into something heavier.

Business is like this, he reminded himself. Even if you do everything right, it doesn’t guarantee results. That’s just how it goes.

He forced himself to look at the positives. They had a good setup. A standardized process that other sects couldn’t replicate. Solid purity. Unique flavors. Low cost. If he kept at it… maybe it would still work. Maybe—

The door creaked open.

Chen Ren looked up, heart thudding just slightly. Four figures stepped in, their robes streaked with mud and dried blood, dust clinging to their boots and shoulders. His qi flared instinctively as his eyes caught the gleam of weapons and armor—but he stopped himself.

Their faces weren’t hostile, they just looked… tired and curious. But mostly, tired. And Chen Ren could already tell that they were cultivators.

The one at the front—a tall man with a longsword strapped to his hip—walked straight toward the counter. His eyes swept over the interior before settling on Chen Ren.

“This the Divine Pill Apothecary?” he asked. “The one that gave out free pills a few days back in the morning?”

Chen Ren straightened. “It is. Looking for pills?”

The man nodded. “Yeah. We tried the qi replenishment one on the field today. I swear, at first I thought it was just some sweet you’d handed out—but then I felt my qi bounce back. It was… strange. But good.”

He tapped a finger on the counter.

“If the price is right, we’ll take at least a dozen.”

Before he could even finish, Anji had already moved behind him, her hands working quickly. She reached into the storage drawer, pulled out a clean batch of qi replenishment pills, and placed the jars gently on the counter.

The man reached into the jar, pulled out one of the pills, and held it up to the light. He turned it in his fingers, gave it a cautious sniff, then looked back at Chen Ren.

“How much for one?”

“Three low-grade spirit stones,” Chen Ren replied. “Purity’s at sixty percent.”

The man’s brows lifted. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t lie to a customer. You’ve tried them already—you know how they work. A dozen will come to thirty-six, but I’ll give you a discount. Thirty-three spirit stones.”

The man turned to glance at his companions. One of them gave a small nod.

“Alright. Give me a dozen… and add three bone-refining capsules.”

Chen Ren returned the nod. “Right away.”

Behind him, Anji was already moving, nimble and practiced, retrieving the jars from their assigned shelf. As she placed them on the counter, the soft chime of the door opening rang again.

Another group of cultivators stepped inside—dust-covered, worn, eyes scanning the interior with cautious interest. One of them called out, “This the shop that gave out the free pills earlier?”

Tang Boming stepped forward to greet them in a friendly tone. Chen Ren watched as the conversation played out, just like before. Another sale, maybe.

He blinked, processing the shift.

Why now? Why not earlier?

Thousands of possibilities ran through his head but finally, one clicked in place.

They’re rogue cultivators.

Of course they hadn’t shown up during the day. Most of them would’ve been out in the wilds, pushing through dangerous terrain, scavenging beast cores, hunting. That armor they wore? Scratched, dented, bloodied. They hadn’t had an easy time out there. They’d only just come back to the city.

They were here now because their packs were lighter. Their pills were gone. And they needed more.

He had been foolish to expect a steady stream of customers throughout the day. Not yet. That would only come after reputation took root. Right now, this was the real start—the first trickle of the people he needed to impress.

These weren’t just any customers. These were the ones who would return.

And the next two hours passed in a blur.

One group came in, then another. Dust-caked cultivators, some walking with a limp, others nursing shallow wounds, stepped through the door with cautious eyes and curious expressions. Most didn’t linger long—some haggled, some scoffed at the limited selection, and more than a few left empty-handed.

But not all.

A good number bought. And with every clink of spirit stones exchanged across the counter, Chen Ren’s doubts thinned. Slowly, steadily, confidence returned to his stride. Maybe the marketing hadn’t failed after all. Maybe it had simply needed time.

By the end of the day, they’d sold nearly eighty pills. Nothing earth-shattering, but far more than he had expected. He allowed himself a small smile as he ate dinner that night—modest success, but success nonetheless.

What he didn’t expect… was that this was only the beginning.

The following day, they didn’t have to wait until dusk. Customers began arriving by noon, and by afternoon, the shop had a steady stream of cultivators filing in and out. Most were rogue cultivators—lone wanderers, small hunting parties, or mercenaries passing through Broken Ridge. They weren’t the type to hoard wealth. Their coin pouches were light, their risks high, and their reliance on pills absolute.

And Chen Ren’s pills were cheap compared to what was selling outside, clean and effective. Of course, it was pleasant to swallow.

It happened the classic way.

One cultivator tried them, found they worked, and told a friend. That friend told someone else. Curiosity bloomed into trust, and trust turned into sales. Word spread like wildfire through the rogue cultivators community, and the name Divine Pill Apothecary started floating in the air, moving onto the conversations at inns and border lines.

It was shocking to say the least, but by the end of the third day, the results were undeniable.

Every morning, the doors opened to waiting footsteps. Every evening, the shelves needed restocking. And by now, even the other pill shops had started to notice. Chen Ren could feel the shift in the air—the way passing cultivators glanced at his storefront longer than necessary, or how some men in grey robes took notes near their counter before slipping away without buying anything.

Divine Pill Apothecary was no longer just another new store. It was a contender.

Even when customers left empty-handed, the sight of a busy shop was worth its weight in gold. Foot traffic bred more foot traffic. Curious glances turned into steps through the door, and steps often led to sales.

With the way rogue cultivators operated—burning through pills faster than they earned spirit stones—it didn’t take long for a pattern to emerge. Within just a few days, Chen Ren noticed familiar faces returning. Repeat customers. But more than that, there was an increasing stream of new ones—fresh-faced cultivators who looked around Broken Ridge like they hadn’t quite figured out the rules yet.

That part wasn’t a coincidence. Chen Ren had made sure of it.

A few quiet bribes to border guards and innkeepers—the right people in the right places—had been enough to start a whisper campaign. He made sure it was nothing too obvious, just helpful ‘directions’ passed along to new hunters: If you’re starting out, check out Divine Pill Apothecary. Cheap pills. Good stuff. Might save your life.

It wasn’t illegal. He wasn’t buying customers—just… nudging them toward the truth.

The guards didn’t complain. They got a few pills for their patrol kits. The innkeepers earned a handful of spirit stones. And Chen Ren got exactly what he wanted: a rumor every rogue cultivator would hear within their first week.

Divine Pill Apothecary. Cheap. Reliable. Life-saving.

The same words echoed over and over.

Of course, not all of it was his doing.

Tang Boming had taken it upon himself to get drunk in every tavern he could find—loudly slurring praises about “tasty pills” and “healing like a sect elder spat qi into your mouth.” Embarrassing, yes. But effective? Definitely.

And with attention came customers. But attention also brought trouble.

By the fourth day, there was a steady stream of mischief. Nothing too serious—at first. A young master scoffing at the “peasant prices.” A rogue cultivator demanding free samples because “the heavens chose him.” Ego, entitlement, and more than a few overinflated senses of self-worth wandered through his doors.

Chen Ren took it in stride.

After all, business was growing. And if the worst that came with success was a few loud idiots, he’d take that trade any day.

Most of the arrogant ones came from far-off villages, where yes—they had been special. In a place where no one else had spirit roots, even the dimmest flicker could make someone feel like a chosen one. But Broken Ridge wasn’t a village. It was the real world. And here, the wild lands didn’t care about your childhood dreams. And out there, these men and women with inflated egos met sharp claws, venom and fangs.

Chen Ren didn’t need to humble them. The beasts would do it for him. Still, despite the occasional nonsense, he couldn’t help but feel satisfied.

The shop was working.

There was a steady flow to it now—spirit stones clinking into the register, pills moving off shelves, voices haggling just enough to feel like business was real. The stream of spirit stones wasn’t a flood yet, not enough to erase their debts overnight, but he knew it was growing. Therefore, he didn’t have to worry too much. Instead, take time to shift his thinking.

Chen Ren’s initial plan had been simple: focus on pills, perfect them, sell them and conquer the market. But Broken Ridge had more to offer than just cultivators needing healing.

So, after a week of running the shop, he turned his attention to the next step. Something bigger. Something riskier. An idea that would demand time, spirit stones, and manpower—but if it worked, it could bring in more than just profit that would help his sect massively in the long run.

And Chen Ren was nothing if not serious about it.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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137. Insured

Jiek Wai walked with a nervous tic in his step through the streets of Broken Ridge City. It had only been a few days since the kobolds nearly ripped his life apart, and the load of survival had settled heavily on his shoulders.

Recovery had taken time, not just for his body, but for everything that came after.

He’d spent the last few days gathering information on his fallen comrades from the innkeeper and finding everything they owned—tattered letters, half-empty pouches, a chipped blade. With trembling hands, he’d written a message to each of their families, sealing the words with the shame of someone who had survived when the others hadn’t. He handed their belongings to a traveling merchant, asking him to deliver what little remained to the villages they once called home.

Jiek Wai wondered, as he watched the city around him move as if nothing had changed, what it would be like if the roles were reversed. If someone sent word to his parents, saying their son had died somewhere deep in the wilds, and that they wouldn't even see his body.

It was a cruel fate.

But cultivation was never meant to be kind.

The path of heaven was riddled with thorns and betrayal. One didn’t walk it expecting mercy. One walked it because turning back meant being forgotten.

And so, Jiek Wai had made his choice.

He would return to the wild lands. Not just for the spirit stones, not just for the beast cores or relics that rogue cultivators scraped by with—but for something deeper. He needed strength. Enough to return to that cursed kobold territory. Enough to find what was left of his fallen companions.

He didn’t expect to find much—kobolds ate human flesh, after all—but even a shred of cloth, a blade, a broken pendant… it would be something. A way to say: I didn’t forget. I came back for you.

That, he believed, was the least a righteous cultivator could do.

Even if his knees trembled and fear still lingered in the marrow of his bones, Jiek Wai kept moving.

Because for him, survival wasn’t the end. It was the beginning. But before heading back into danger, Jiek Wai had one more thing to do—something he couldn’t ignore.

Resupply and thank the people who had saved his life.

The two pills he’d taken that day—the ones handed to him for free near the border gates—had made all the difference. Without them, his bones would have remained broken, his qi hollow, and his corpse food for kobolds. He owed them more than spirit stones. He owed them his life.

He retraced the address the girl had given at the border. The name echoed clearly in his head, Divine Pill Apothecary.

It didn’t take him long to find it. The board was clear, bold letters painted in bright red against a lacquered wooden sign that stood proudly above the shop’s entrance. A soft herbal fragrance drifted from inside, strangely pleasant for a pill shop.

Jiek Wai stepped through the doorway—and froze.

The place was full. No less than a dozen cultivators stood inside, all in various states of chatter and trade. Some leaned over counters inspecting pills. Others discussed dosages and purity. A few were simply lounging and laughing, clearly regulars.

So many customers? He was confused.

He remembered the shop being new—not even open when he’d first gotten those free pills. Now… it was thriving. Morning light poured in through the windows, glinting off glass jars filled with colourful pills and orderly shelves stacked to the brim. He hadn't expected this much activity so soon.

Then again, the pills had worked. Better than expected. His wounds had closed, his qi had recovered, and unlike every other pill he’d ever taken… these had actually tasted good. No bitter aftertaste, no gut-wrenching kick.

He stepped further in, scanning the shop for the young man and woman who had been giving away pills that day. But neither of them were in sight.

So he approached the counter, where a middle-aged man with kind eyes sat sorting receipts. No qi emanated from him—likely a mortal—but his bearing was calm and inviting.

As Jiek Wai approached, the man straightened up and smiled.

“Honoured Cultivator, welcome to Divine Pill Apothecary. Are you looking for pills before heading to the wild lands?”

Jiek Wai gave a respectful nod. “I am. But first… I’m looking for someone.”

“Oh? May I ask who?”

“There were two people giving out free pills near the border gates a few days ago. I wanted to thank them. Those pills saved my life out in the wild lands.”

The man blinked in recognition. “Ah—you must mean Manager Anji and Daoist Tang. Wait here. I’ll get one of them for you.”

As the man disappeared into the back, Jiek Wai let his eyes wander around the shop again. The shelves were full, the scent of herbs and spiritual ingredients rich in the air, but what caught his attention most wasn’t the pills—it was the people.

Almost everyone in the shop was with a group. Small teams. Hunting parties. Friends.

He was the only one standing alone.

A dull weight pressed against his chest. He tried not to think about it. Tried not to picture the broken bodies of his comrades. But the memories rose anyway—the twisted limbs, the blood, the screams. He shuddered.

I have to get stronger. I can't let that be for nothing.

He said that to himself over and over.

Thankfully, the sound of footsteps broke through the storm in his head. Manager Anji returned, the same neutral expression on her face as when he had first seen her near the gates.

“You wanted to see me?” she asked.

“I don’t know if you remember me, but I was one of the people you handed pills to near the gates a few days ago.” He bowed deeply, then straightened and continued. “I just wanted to say thank you. If not for those pills, I wouldn’t be standing here. Your shop saved my life. Please… allow me to repay you for them.”

Anji raised a brow at that, then gave a small smile—genuine and a little amused.

“You don’t need to worry about it,” she said. “We don’t charge for what we give freely. But… if you want more, we have plenty in stock.”

Jiek Wai slowly raised his head, a furrow of confusion still etched between his brows. “But… I don’t know how else to pay you.”

“We didn’t give those pills to make anyone feel indebted. You don’t owe us anything.” Manager Anji said with a kind tone in her voice.

That caught him off guard. He’d expected some offer to buy more, at the very least—a pitch, a gentle nudge, something. But this?

He stood there, unsure what to say, unsure how to act. In his world, nothing came without a cost. Kindness, especially.

Still, he nodded slowly. Maybe he couldn’t pay them back, but he could support them. He could buy from them. Their pills were good—damn good—and judging by the murmur of conversations around the shop, their prices weren’t bleeding anyone dry either.

As he mulled over his thoughts, a voice cut through from beside him. Another cultivator stepped up to Anji, this one dressed in a reinforced leather vest and boots still stained with wild dust. He gave Jiek Wai a quick glance, then turned to her.

“I heard Divine Pill Apothecary is recruiting for a hunting party.”

Anji nodded. “That’s right.”

“But,” the man continued. “What’s this thing… insurance? One of your workers mentioned it earlier. You’re offering insurance to cultivators?”

Jiek Wai blinked, surprised. Insurance? That was a word he’d never heard in all his years wandering between villages and danger. The shop was recruiting—and giving… insurance?Anji’s expression didn’t change as she answered. “It’s a term our sect leader came up with. What it means is simple—if something happens to you out in the wilds—if you’re killed or seriously injured—we’ll send money to your family. Enough to keep them afloat. And if you're wounded, we’ll cover the cost of healing you. Pills, treatments, whatever you need.”

She smiled faintly.

“All of it would be covered with no cost to you.”

The shop quieted just a bit. Or it could be just him. Words like that didn’t belong in a cultivator’s world. No one cared what happened to you once you were gone. That was the unspoken truth. Families starved. Orphans begged. Parents buried children with empty hands. And here was a shop… saying they’d change that?

He wasn’t sure if he believed it. But damn if it didn’t make him want to. Too good to be true.

If something like this had existed earlier, maybe… his comrades wouldn’t have been reduced to memory and letters. If he’d been able to send their families spirit stones instead of torn satchels and scribbled words… It wouldn’t have brought them back, but at least their deaths would’ve left behind something more than grief.

He knew he would’ve wanted the same for himself.

The other cultivator spoke up before he could. “It sounds too good to be true. Why would you do that?”

Anji gave an understanding nod, as if she understood where the question came from and why. Or maybe there were people who’d asked the same thing over before.

“Because we believe hunters deserve a real platform. One where they can risk their lives without having to worry what happens after. The basic coverage is free for anyone selected to join our hunting party. But yes—if you want more than that, extended protection, we take a larger share of your earnings from the wilds. Simple.”

The man rubbed his chin, intrigued. “And how much does this… basic insurance cover?”

“We can only share those details once your name’s on the registry.”

There was no hesitation in the cultivator’s next words. “Then where do I sign?”

She turned to one of the mortal attendants nearby. “Please assist this cultivator with registration. You’ll have to pass a few tests, but if you do, you’ll be under our care.”

The man nodded and followed the clerk deeper into the shop, disappearing behind a curtain. Jiek Wai watched them go, something stirring in his chest—hope, maybe.

A party with insurance.

It sounded like a dream. But it was also… exactly what he’d been looking for.

He hadn’t forgotten what it felt like to lose everything in a heartbeat. The wild lands didn’t care how righteous or prepared you were—they chewed through cultivators like beasts through bones. And going alone again? That would be asking to die.

Still, some part of him hesitated. He didn’t want to repeat the past.

Anji’s voice pulled him from the spiral. “So, should I show you some of our pills?”

He blinked, then nodded. “Yes… please. Also…” He took a breath, then spoke with more resolve than he felt. “I’d like to register too. For the party.”

***

Chen Ren sat behind the low lacquered table, one leg crossed, the other foot resting on the cool wooden floor of the inn room. Flickering lamplight showed the parchment in front of him, the columns of the steady numbers.

Three thousand pills.

He traced the digits with his eyes again. It was clearly not a mistake, rather, a solid, recorded fact.

Across from him stood Anji and Tang Boming—both silent, both visibly trying to contain the satisfaction on their faces. Tang Boming had abandoned his usual half-sleepy posture, standing upright with arms loosely folded, while Anji had her hands clasped behind her back, a quiet glow of pride dancing in her eyes.

Chen Ren leaned back slowly, fingers interlaced as he exhaled through his nose.

They had done it.

They’d sold over three thousand pills in just two weeks.

Each one priced at three to four low-grade spirit stones—depending on purity, repeat buyers, and negotiated bundles—and that meant nearly nine thousand spirit stones now sat in their reserves.

He didn’t want to smile while the ink was still drying.

The numbers were impressive, but what made them incredible was how little they had spent to get here. Around two thousand stones. Most of it on raw materials. Supervising cultivators took their share, of course—but the mortals?

He glanced at the lower entries. They were working for silver wens. And that was an extremely small amount compared to how much he was earning.

Normally, the pill trade was known for slow profit margins. Between failures, bottlenecks, and the high cost of refinement, most alchemists considered it a grueling pursuit more than a business. But not him.

His method worked. His gamble had paid off.

A shame, really, that most of the stones were already spoken for. He reached into the side drawer, pulling out a second scroll—the debt ledger. His eyes scanned it with clinical precision. The numbers weren’t as pleasant here, but even they couldn’t darken his mood.

Two more months. That’s all he needed. Maybe less, if their momentum held.And then… he could really start and shift resources into what mattered, research and development, expanding cultivation support, trialling new pill types, and investing in the progress of his disciples. Hun Tianzhi would approve once he saw the numbers.

Going basic was the right move, Chen Ren thought.

He double-checked the latest entries for discounts given to returning customers, then rolled up the scroll, tying it neatly with twine. Finally, he looked up at the two before him.

"It seems," he said, allowing himself a small smile of satisfaction. "We've managed to get quite a haul."

“Not bad for a shop everyone thought was going to fold in a week.” Tang Boming smiled back.

Anji agreed with a nod. “We have people coming in constantly now. The rumours are spreading fast—cheap, effective, flavoured pills? That’s all cultivators need to hear. Our marketing’s already doing its job without us needing to push it anymore. And since we haven’t had a single complaint, it’s building real trust. Word of mouth is working better than we expected.”

Tang Boming gave a satisfied grunt. “And don’t forget the hunting party. We’ve had a good number of interested folks. Most are newbies fresh to the city, but a few are solid—Qi refinement realm, battle-ready. If we play it smart, this’ll pay off in more ways than one.”

Chen Ren tapped a knuckle lightly on the desk. “It does bode well for us. Once we clear the debt, we’ll have room to breathe. Then we can start outfitting the team properly—gear, backup supplies, maybe even proper uniforms.” He paused, voice dipping slightly as he muttered, “And then, we can officially launch the insurance system.”

The thought of it settled in his mind. It wasn’t just about protecting their hunters—it was about changing the way rogue cultivators lived and worked. Giving them a future. A fallback. Something most had never dared to hope for.

But that wasn’t all.

“I’ve got other plans too,” he added, straightening up. “We could start a system of incentives. Discounts for regular customers. Something simple to track—buy ten times, get a heavy discount on your next purchase. That’ll make people want to keep coming back. The other pill shops don’t do anything like that. If we do… we won’t just be competing—we’ll be setting the standard.”

And that was only the beginning.

Chen Ren had already mapped out dozens of ideas in his head. A membership system for big spenders. Special pill bundles for teams or sects. Seasonal promotions tied to festivals. Referral discounts. Reward tiers. The list went on.

He knew they couldn’t launch everything at once—not while still paying off debts and managing staff—but some of these could be tested early.

And over the next hour, the three of them discussed the future in earnest. They made plans and focused on priorities. Not everything was feasible right away, but they could tell what mattered now and what could wait a few months.

By the time their voices fell quiet again, the room felt different. The air carried momentum.

More than momentum, they had clarity.

They had a direction now—not just a goal, but a path.

Anji looked toward Chen Ren, eyes gleaming. “At this rate… I believe in just a year, if we follow through with all this, Divine Pill Apothecary won’t just survive. It’ll dominate.”

Chen Ren didn’t speak right away. He looked back down at the ledger, remembering the numbers he’d written and smiled.

“Let’s make that year count.”

Tang Boming, who had been leaning back with a look of satisfaction just moments before, rubbed his jaw. “Yeah… but I’m also worried.”

“Darkmoon Sect?”

Tang Boming let out a short breath and nodded. “It’s only been two weeks, but I’d bet spirit stones they’ve already heard of us. Maybe not the full extent—but enough.”

Chen Ren’s fingers drummed on the side of the ledger. He’d been thinking the same. While most sects would ignore a small shop in its first month, Darkmoon Sect was different.

“They’re the only ones I’ve been watching out for,” Chen Ren muttered, then looked back up. “But have you heard anything yet? Any movement?”

“Not yet. No spies. No thugs sent our way. But that’s exactly what worries me. It’s quiet.”

-“Then they’re watching.” That thought itself made his gut clench. But it was a reality, he couldn’t run away from it. So, he faced it. “But they’ll act soon. They always do. Darkmoon Sect doesn’t let competition grow big enough to matter. If they think we’re a threat to their share of the market… they’ll move.

“I give them a week. Maybe less. So we will prepare.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

138. Shadowy plans

Tiefang sat with his back straight looking at the dozen scrolls that lay open in front of him like ribs of a beast. They were all marked in crisp strokes, so fresh, he still smelt the ink. Broken Ridge City sales counts. Profit margins. Ratios of loss. Pill fluctuations. He scanned each line without pause, his mind calculating faster than his hand could move.

To his left, the incense burned, the smoke curling lazily around the still room.

Every fifteen days, this was the ritual. Every fifteen days, the numbers passed through his fingers like water, and the lifeblood of the Darkmoon Sect’s pill trade flowed where he pointed.

On the floor before him, three disciples knelt in silence—Ningkai, Quen, Udang, ready to answer any question that might arise.

As the most powerful outer sect elder of the Darkmoon Sect, he was responsible for their pill business since the majority of the alchemists that worked to make those pills were outer sect disciples. It angered him to even think about how those disciples worked day and night just to keep the sect running and prosper, yet the real benefit was taken by the inner disciples and those nepotistic products.

He was still enraged by the fact that Sect Leader Gao Moyue hadn’t done anything about the problem, but he had done his part. Everything else rested with the upper echelons of the sect.

He was an important figure within the sect—after all, he had reached the peak foundation establishment realm and was the only one at that level serving as an outer sect elder. But some matters were better left untouched.

Tiefang shook his head, attempting to shrug his thoughts and picked one of the scrolls, glancing at the disciples from above the parchment.

Huh… Their breathing was quiet. Postures discipline, but he knew that something was off. It was so obvious with all the sleeve tugging, how Quen completely avoided his gaze and how Udang kept looking at Ningkai.

Now that he noticed how nervous they were—was something wrong? Had they made a mistake?

He reached for the scroll without a word, his fingers steady even as his thoughts swirled like a storm-tossed sea. Questions pressed against his throat, but he swallowed them down. There would be time for that.

The soft rustle of parchment accompanied each flip as he moved through the monthly sales records. Familiar numbers greeted him. Regular pills—consistent. One line dipped slightly—expected fluctuation from Ironroot Defense Pill. Another had climbed, a pleasant surprise. Golden Vitality Pill. He gave a faint nod. So far, everything was within the bounds of normalcy.

The Sect Leader’s words echoed in his mind. “The sect bleeds when silver slows. Fix it.”

He opened the next scroll.

His pupils contracted the moment the inked numbers came into view.

A sharp breath slipped from his nose. He blinked once, twice, then let a pulse of qi wash through his meridians, clearing his senses. Trying to see if what he saw was real. Still, the numbers mocked him with their permanence.

The two best-selling pills—the ones their sect was famed for, Qi Replenishment pill and Bone Refining Capsules—had plummeted.

Not dipped even, dropped.

A quiet tremor passed through the air as his qi surged uncontrollably for half a breath. His fingers curled tighter around the edge of the scroll. A crease formed.

The disciples stilled. One shuffled backward as if distance might shield them from what they already knew was coming.

He lowered the scroll with measured grace, setting it on the desk as though it were fragile porcelain.

“...I see,” he murmured.

He closed his eyes briefly, swallowing the bitterness building at the back of his throat. They had chosen silence. Perhaps out of fear. Perhaps out of shame, but there was no time for games, he needed answers.

“Explain.”

The word landed like a stone in a still pond.

His eldest disciple, Ningkai stood from his seated position and walked forward, robes brushing the stone floor as he bowed deeply. “It’s not the Darkmoon Sect's fault, master. We've maintained the same refinement schedules, same selling points. Our distribution routes are untouched. Production quality remains consistent.”

“And yet,” Tiefang interrupted, “we’ve lost twenty percent of our core sales in two weeks.” He couldn’t help but glare at them. “Did the entire city suddenly decide they’ve cultivated enough? Did enlightenment striked the masses overnight?”

Ningkai’s lips thinned and he looked down. “No, Master. The shift wasn’t internal. It’s—external. Beyond our influence. It's another shop.”

That again? Was he trying to shift any blame? A slow dread crawled down his spine, coiling tighter with every beat of silence. He exhaled, flicking his sleeve aside and narrowing his eyes.

“What’s the name of this new competition? I didn’t hear anything about a new sect moving into the city and the dip is too huge for a green sect to do so.”

Udang stepped forward, eyes lowered. “It’s a new sect, Master. They call themselves the Divine Coin Sect. Their storefront is known as the Divine Pill Apothecary. It’s all over the city right now. And every cultivator heading into the town is moving there to stock up.”

With every sentence, his eyes widened as he realised what was going on. The name was vaguely familiar… Where did I hear it? Where…

As he thought for a moment, it clicked.

Jadefire Hall. That failed husk of a sect, swallowed by debt and left to be abandoned. Recently, someone acquired it. He had dismissed them at the time, assuming they'd drown under the debt and the expenses of keeping a sect alive. But they’d taken a large share of spirit stones from Darkmoon Sect when he hadn’t been looking.

But how?

He made direct eye contact with his disciples, and they straightened as if yanked by invisible strings.

He didn’t speak the question. But they understood it anyway.

How?

Ningkai grimaced, as if the words themselves tasted bitter on his tongue.

“They’re selling their pills… for three spirit stones each.”

Three? That was barely above cost.

“And that’s not all,” he continued, voice tight. “They’ve introduced a new type. A variant of the Qi Replenishment Pill, but it leaves a lingering taste in the mouth.”

“Taste?” he echoed, narrowing his eyes. “What taste?”

Udang stepped forward, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I… tried one, Master. It worked just as well as ours. And it tasted like… mint.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Mint? Are you speaking of dessert or cultivation pills?”

Ningkai didn’t flinch this time. Instead, he dipped his head and reached into his robe, retrieving a small pouch.

“I brought some for you to examine, Master. Please… see for yourself.”

He took the pouch slowly, weighing it in his palm. The drawstring was silk, not standard hemp, and a faint scent clung to it—cool and herbal. His brow creased as he untied it and drew out a single pill.

The surface was smooth, almost waxed. It was of a completely different colour and its texture felt strange, something he’d never seen on a Qi Replenishment Pill. He placed it on his tongue.

A moment passed. Then it melted. Coolness spread across his tongue. His pupils shrank.

The qi came rushing in—refined, efficient, smooth as flowing water. His meridians lit up as if soothed by a healer’s touch. And then came the aftertaste. Just like his disciples had said, it tasted like mint.

He stared at the pouch.

Then picked out another and placed it on his tongue.

The same reaction. The same burst of clean qi, the same flavor threading through his senses. His throat tightened.

This wasn’t some cheap gimmick. These pills weren’t just real—they were good. The purity was slightly lower than the sect’s own, but the structure was stable, the dissolution perfect. And the flavor—he couldn’t ignore it. It left an impression, one that would make first-time users remember and return.

He felt his hand tightening around the pouch as the question ‘how’ rang in his mind.

Alchemy recipes weren’t playthings. They were legacies—refined over decades, centuries. It took years to even adjust ratios, much less reinvent a pill entirely. Yet here it was. A pill that worked… and tasted good.

And if they had done this with Qi Replenishment Pills, they could do it with other pills. His thoughts spiraled.

He looked up, the dread now fully nestled behind his eyes.

“How?” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “How in the name of the heavens did they manage this?”

No one answered because clearly no one knew the answer. And that was the most dangerous part.

Were they preparing for this for years?

His thought gnawed at him as he stared at the pouch in his hand.

Was this why Jadefire Hall had folded so quickly, why their sect leader hadn't left despite there being nothing left in his sect?

Too many questions, but there was no answers.

Only one truth remained, a new force had entered Broken Ridge. And it wasn’t leaving quietly.

He turned to his disciples.

“They’ve taken the first strike,” he said. “We must strip them of every advantage they hold. Have you uncovered anything about their pill recipe?”

Ningkai bowed again, shame creasing his brow. “No, Master. We attempted to break down the components… tested it with flame separation, talisman arrays, even spiritual resonance. Nothing yielded. Whatever they’ve done… it’s beyond standard alchemy. You know how hard it is to find a pill recipe by breaking down a pill.” He paused, hesitating. “But there is something else—something strange.”

Tiefang raised an eyebrow. “Speak.”

“It’s the price, Master. They’re selling them at three spirit stones. That’s just enough for us to break even. Yet they’ve given away hundreds already. No signs of scaling back. If anything, they’re increasing output.”

That… was indeed a question that raised so many others.

“You believe they have a backer that's giving them a treasure chest worth of resources to keep the low prices going,” Tiefang said slowly as the realisation dawned upon him.

Ningkai nodded. “We suspect so, we weren’t able to figure out more information on the Divine Coin Sect. But… There’s also the possibility, Master… that their recipe is simply more advanced than ours. Streamlined. Efficient enough to profit even at that price. If that’s true… the entire market in Broken Ridge will collapse.”

He exhaled slowly. “If cultivators grow used to lower prices,” he murmured. “We won’t be able to sell our pills at current rates. Not without bleeding the sect dry.”

“Precisely, Master. Word’s already spread through the lower halls. The junior alchemists in our workshops—they’re panicking. They think the apothecary’s rise will put us all out of work,” Ningkai said.

A pulse of irritation flickered through him.

“Then calm them down,” he snapped, but the anger quickly gave way to weariness. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “We’ve barely recovered from the unrest after the deaths of the outer sect disciples. If another ripple starts now, the inner elders will begin to whisper behind closed doors.”

He didn’t need to say more. Everyone in the room knew what happened when whispers turned to accusations. Positions shifted. Heads rolled. And his wouldn't be the first—but it would be the most visible.

This cannot be allowed to continue.

He clenched the pouch tight enough to make it crinkle.

If the Divine Pill Apothecary is allowed to grow, the Sect Leader himself will peel the skin from my bones. Slowly.

It wasn’t enough to beat them in price. That ship had already sailed. He had to strike quickly—cripple the fledgling business before it took root. And more importantly… he needed their recipe.

His eyes narrowed.

They don’t have a backer, he thought. If they did, they wouldn’t have needed to swallow Jadefire Hall. Guardian sects haven’t meddled in Broken Ridge in generations, and the royal family wouldn’t touch us—not unless they’ve gone mad.

That only left one answer.

They made the pills themselves. Improved the recipe. Somehow.

He needed it.

No, he corrected himself, we need it. Or we’ll be obsolete before the year ends.

But how?

They had withdrawn all embedded spies from Jadefire Hall months ago when it collapsed. Anyone sent now would stick out like a sore thumb. The Divine Coin Sect would be wary. And every movement from there would be tracked.

He glanced at his disciples, knowing full well that any of them sent in could be caught… or worse. It wasn’t a risk he could justify. Simply analyzing the pills wouldn’t work either. They needed to learn it by seeing it for themselves. And for that, he needed to find a different approach.

Maybe rumors in the market and some hooligans breaking their shop would sabotage their business. Another faint thought stirred in the back of his head. The debt. He remembered now. Jadefire Hall had been drowning in it before they sold themselves to this upstart sect. And debts didn’t vanish with a name change. They lingered.

They’re still bound. They must be. And if that’s true…

One meeting with Xu Leiyan—the moneylender whose coffers ran deeper than most sects—and this little upstart sect might find itself crushed under paperwork rather than martial techniques.

But that was just one angle. The recipe… that was the real prize.

Without it, they'd always be chasing shadows.

His eyes flicked toward his disciples. “Do you know where they’re making the pills?”

Ningkai gave a short bow. “I believe it’s still at the Jadefire Hall grounds, Master. I’ve seen carts moving from there toward the apothecary early in the morning.”

“Do you want us to sabotage it?” Quen asked, stepping forward and speaking for the first time ever since he’d started to analyse the sales, eagerness tucked just beneath the surface.

He shook his head. The young man was always ready to throw hands.

“No. They’re too close to the city walls. And Hun Tianzhi may have fallen in rank, but he’s still an expert cultivator. We risk too much sending anyone in.”

The room fell quiet.

“I’m willing,” Quen spoke up again. “If that’s what it takes, Sect Leader.”

A flicker of regret flickered through his eyes.

He didn't doubt the boy’s loyalty—but this was no test of courage.

It was a game of shadows.

He stood up and turned away from them, folding his hands behind his back, and let the silence stretch. Ideas spun through his mind, some complex and fragile. He’d spent decades outmaneuvering rival sects, bleeding them dry with fake scandals, fake clients, even fake breakthroughs. But that had always been to break.

This time… he needed to take. You couldn’t just burn a house and expect the recipe inside to survive.

If I destroy them too fast… the formula dies with them. No alchemist worth his salt will part with a recipe under pressure. And if they do… it’ll be fake.

He exhaled for the nth time today, out of frustration at the growing thorn at their side. Then lifted his chin as something struck his mind.

“I have a plan. You’ll need to do it perfectly. One mistake, and we’ll have a lot of problems sniffing down our necks. Worse, we might lose the chance entirely.”

His disciples dropped to one knee in unison.

“Command us, Master.”

Tiefang turned to face them fully now.

“Well, here’s what I’m thinking…”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

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139. Soul contact

Anji had never imagined a life like this. Not only was she busy to the point of her whole day being scheduled, but to feel the most content she’d ever been.

Morning to night was a blur of stock-taking, customer requests, and counting spirit stones. There were moments when she barely had time to sit, yet the sense of purpose, of doing something that mattered, brought a quiet warmth that lingered even in exhaustion. Was this what her father had felt, years ago, when he stood at the peak of the Void Blade Sect, wielding power and responsibility in equal measure?

He had likely envisioned her on a very different path—sword in hand, robes fluttering, climbing the stairway of soul cultivation with steady pride. Certainly not standing behind counters and counting pills.

And soul cultivation was what she started her day with—a lesson with her master.

She knocked once on the old wooden door before sliding it open, already bracing herself.

“You’re ten minutes late,” came the familiar bark from inside, gruff and sharp. “A good disciple arrives five minutes early, not ten minutes late.”

The corners of her lips twitched. It wasn’t irritation—not really. She had once believed it was. In truth, her master always sounded as though she had offended his ancestors simply by existing. But after a few weeks, she'd seen through the act. The frown was performative and was just how he spoke.

He liked pretending to be a strict master. She had nearly burst into laughter the first time she realised it mid lesson—that he was just pretending to be a strict master and had empathy towards her.

“I was checking the supply records one last time,” she said as she stepped inside, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “With business booming, Sect Leader Chen wants us to ensure production remains ahead of demand.”

Wang Jun scoffed at that, his upper lip curling. “That man does nothing but give orders. I haven’t seen him for three days. Is he even cultivating, or has he decided to become a merchant prince instead?”

She looked down to hide her grin. He wasn’t scolding Chen Ren—at least, not truly. That was just his way of asking, Is he well?

It’s cute, Anji thought and looked up when the grin was wiped off her face.

“He spends a few hours each day in the shop,” she said casually, brushing invisible dust from her robes as she walked around him to place the incense tray. “Checks in with the mortals, talks to the Jadefire Hall disciples. Make sure no one's slacking. And now, apparently, he and Tang Boming are digging through every record they can find on how the Darkmoon Sect screwed over their competitors. Even the techniques they teach their disciples and their pills are under review.”

Wang Jun huffed, nostrils flaring. “If only it were like the old days. Back then, you had a problem, you picked up your blade and gutted a sect before noon. There were no games or paperwork involved. Now you people just must make everything so complicated.”

Anji knelt before him, placing his head—his literal severed, talking head—on the silk cushion laid out on the mat. She said nothing in reply. She wanted to. That sounds barbaric, was on the tip of her tongue. But there was no point. She had learned early on that rebuking the old ways never got her anywhere in these lessons.

Besides, she wasn't here to argue history. She was here for another lesson in soul cultivation. She’d finally managed to achieve the first step of the soul cultivation which was to sense her soul and today, they would begin on the second step.

She pushed all her thoughts aside and looked at the incense that had begun to burn, curling wisps of pale smoke rising toward the rafters. Her eyes went back to Wang Jun and she took her position across from him.

She folded her legs beneath her, back straight and closed her eyes just to feel the scintillate of her consciousness drop inward.

The murmurs and the outside noise faded almost in an instant.

“You’ve sensed your soul,” Wang Jun finally said. “But don’t get ahead of yourself. Sensing it is the first step—and frankly, the easiest. I don’t care if you were born without spirit roots. Now that you’ve begun, I’ll treat you as any other cultivator under the heavens. You remember the first lesson?”

Anji’s hands tightened in her lap. “Yes, Master. The Nine Steps. The path to mastering the soul. To temper the soul until it may confront any technique, suppress any illusion, and strike fear into any cultivator.”

The head gave a dry huff, eyes narrowed like he was still searching for a reason to scold her. Instead, he said, “Then what’s the second step?”

“Soul Contact.”

“Mm,” he grunted. “At least you remember names. Now tell me—what is it?”

Her lips parted, but she hesitated. He never liked unsteady answers. Still, she tried. “It’s the act of... touching your soul with your thoughts. Feeling its shape.”

“Its name is its meaning.” The head’s tone was flat, as though quoting a line she should have memorized from scripture. “You’ve sensed it, yes. A flicker behind your chest, a presence that tugs your thoughts when you’re quiet. But sensing it is nothing. A child feels the wind and calls it profound. What matters is contact.

“You must reach it. Touch it with your intent. Not qi. Not your body. Your intent.”

Anji frowned slightly, brows drawing in. “But... how?”

A snort escaped him. “Do I need to teach you to breathe too? If you can't think for yourself, you’re better off doing something else other than learning soul cultivation.”

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t speak. The insults were his way of teaching. But more than that, she couldn’t find sense in every word he said. That had been the same situation when she had tried to grasp the first step. It eventually came to her, and she could only hope that it wouldn’t take a month this time.

“You’ll figure it out,” he muttered, confirming her thoughts. “You figured out the first step. This one’s no different. Sit. Breathe. Still the mind. Then reach.”

Anji bowed her head, murmuring a soft “yes, Master,” before letting silence claim her.

She shifted her legs beneath her, placed her hands in her lap, and closed her eyes. The incense continued to burn, its scent making its way into her lungs with each breath. She let it carry her inward, falling into the pattern he’d drilled into her body over the last weeks. It had been the hardest thing for her—to get into the state, but now, it took only half an hour.

Inhale. Four counts.

Hold. Eight.

Exhale. Ten.

Her breath tugged her deeper into herself, like drifting down the layers of a still lake. Her thoughts slowed. Frantic pieces of the day—ledger tallies, pill shipments, the drunken nonsense of Tang Boming—began to fade. Even the gentle grumble of the head, now reduced to a faint echo and slipped away.

She no longer felt the floor beneath her. The stone tiles, the cool still air, even the faint scent of old herbs clinging to the room—all of it was gone.

There was only stillness.

She drifted, unanchored, suspended in a void not of darkness but of silence. Thought faded, leaving behind only awareness.

And there—within that stillness—she sensed a presence again.

It wrapped around her, thin as mist, clinging to every inch of her body. It wasn’t bound to her core, as she had once assumed. It wasn't hidden deep within chest or behind her mind. No—this presence spread across her skin, beneath her bones, within her breath. It was everywhere.

Her soul.

Not one part of her.

But all of her.

The realisation came like a slow ripple across water. Anji inhaled, steady and shallow. She tried to hold on to the sensation. Tried to brush it—just lightly—with her thoughts.

Nothing happened.

She frowned, inwardly.

Intent, Wang Jun had said.

Not qi. Not muscle. Not even willpower.

Intent.

So she focused. Thought of reaching. She imagined her thoughts rising from her mind like misty fingers, stretching outward to touch the presence surrounding her.

Again, nothing.

She tried harder. Shaped her intent more clearly. Willed her thoughts to press against the soul-skin that cloaked her body. She imagined the sensation—what would it feel like? Would it be warm? Cold? Would it tremble beneath her thoughts like water?

Still, the soul did not stir.

Time passed in silence. How long, she didn’t know. Minutes? Hours?

Her thoughts blurred. The focus she had built so carefully began to crack at the edges, and the void that had welcomed her now pushed against her like a tide.

A sharp ache bloomed behind her eyes.

Her breathing faltered and she felt her throat close up, stopping her airway.

Too much. She had gone too deep. Too long.

With effort, she pulled herself back—like swimming against a current—and let go of the soul’s presence.

Slowly, her senses returned.

The stillness gave way to sound. The weightless void became the cold press of stone beneath her. Her back ached. Sweat clung to her robes.

She blinked her eyes open, and the room sharpened into focus again, she took it all in.

Across from her, Master Wang Jun just stared at her.

She swallowed, wiped the back of her hand against her forehead, and met his gaze.

A long sigh broke the silence.

“So.” Wang Jun said sharply, but not unkindly. “Can’t touch it, huh?”

Anji opened her eyes the rest of the way, blinking away the staleness. She shook her head once.

“No.” Even she was surprised by the frustration that layered her voice. “Not yet.”

She didn’t expect mastery in a day—she wasn’t naive—but still… to fail at even brushing the surface left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“I’ll keep practicing.”

“You’d better,” the head grunted. “You won’t last long out there without the second step. Not if some bastard with a whiff of qi decides to come for you.”

Anji nodded. “I won’t disappoint you.”

She rose to her feet, brushing the back of her sleeve across her forehead. Her legs ached from sitting so long, but the moment she reached for him, her fingers moved gently, placing the head back down on his small embroidered pillow like setting a relic on an altar.

She was nearly at the door when his voice floated out again, dry and complaining.

“Send me more books.”

She paused.

“I already finished the ones you brought last time. Sitting here with nothing but my thoughts is a recipe for madness.”

Anji turned her head, guilt flickering across her face.

“I’ll bring as many as I can today.”

“You’d better,” the head muttered. “Or next lesson, I’ll have you reciting alchemy manuals backward.”

A smile ghosted over her lips.

She stepped into the corridor, pulling the door shut behind her with care. The quiet click echoed in the stillness of the inn. For a moment, she simply stood there, staring at the wood grain of the door.

He was bored.

Of course he was. He had no body, no hands, no way to move through the world but through her, and even then only in conversation. They hadn’t dared risk moving him through the city streets. Too many risks. Too many eyes. Even so, she had tried—once—to arrange a tour of the inn.

It hadn’t worked out.

“I should ask Hong Yi again,” she murmured. “Maybe he really can make him a body.”

But that was for later.

Right now, there was work.

Anji moved down the wooden corridors through the inn. The inn bustled faintly, sounds of other tenants stirring, but she didn’t stop. The door swung open, sunlight washing over her face.

The street was already alive as she moved through it.

It was alive in every form one expected it to be. There were carts that rolled past vendors who shouted, trying to get the attention of any customer that walked looking at their stalls.

And through all the business, she saw cultivators in travelling robes speaking in excitement, pointing to the left. Some men and women stopped in the middle of the road, just to figure out what was going on.

Just ahead, two guards were struggling to hoist up a large silk banner over a polished wooden frame. The fabric rippled in the morning breeze before unfurling with a sharp snap. Bright golden letters gleamed against the dark red silk,

Flames of Merit Trials.

Her eyes narrowed as she read the name and from the whispers around the banner, she understood what was going on and wondered if Chen Ren knew about it. After taking another look at it, she put it to the back of her mind and focused on getting to work.

The Divine Pill Apothecary was right across the street. A cultivator opened the gate and she saw the state of the shop inside.

She frowned as she realised—she was late.

The shop was already buzzing.

One thought went through her mind: Hopefully… no chaos had decided to show up this early.

She crossed the street immediately, walking toward the shop.

The chime above the door rang lightly.

At first glance, all seemed well.

Cultivators milled through the aisles, inspecting shelves, murmuring about discounts, purity, and taste. The herbal aroma and the faint shimmer of qi-rich powders hung in the air. But her gaze snagged almost immediately on the far side of the room.

Zushi stood stiff and awkward, shoulders bunched as though trying not to shrink. Before her stood a young man with ornate sleeves and a golden clasp in his hair—rich, probably. Spoiled, certainly. His stance screamed entitlement. His chin tilted upward, his fingers tapped impatiently on the counter.

Anji's lips thinned. She was already moving before she consciously decided to.

“Is there a problem here?” she asked as she approached, trying to sound as polite as she could.

The young man turned, one brow raised as though the mere sound of her voice offended him.

“And you are?”

“Anji,” she said. “Manager of this shop. What can I do for you?”

Finally, some recognition flickered across his face. He straightened, a pleased smirk settling on his lips.

“Finally, someone important enough to speak to.” He gestured lazily at Zushi. “This mortal refuses my request. I assume you’ll handle it better.”

“Hmm, I’ll see what I can do about it. So, what is it?”

“I want Flavoured Essence Pills,” he said, rolling the words around like they were pearls. “The ones I’m using now are awful. Bitter, bland… unacceptable. I sent someone yesterday to place an order for a private batch. You people refused.”

She inhaled through her nose, slowly. Of course they had.

“I see. Unfortunately, we don’t manufacture Essence Pills. Not currently.”

He waved a hand. “Then start. I’ll pay for it.”

Anji arched a brow. “And how much are you offering?”

“Ten spirit stones,” he said, puffing his chest slightly. “And the chance to do business with someone important.”

Ah. There it was.

Her eyes didn’t narrow, but her silence shifted. That same heavy, blank expression she’d learned from watching Chen Ren talk to anyone important began to form on her face.

Ten spirit stones?

Essence Pills of average purity sold at fifteen. Even the low-grade ones went for twelve, and this man was offering ten—and calling it generous? And that so-called ‘chance’? She’d heard all about what these young masters offered. Mostly trouble, never profit.

She folded her hands in front of her.

“We don’t make that pill,” she said. “And flavoured or not, modifying a recipe isn’t like changing robes. It takes time. It takes years. What you’re offering wouldn’t even cover a quarter of the cost.”

His lips twitched, but it wasn’t amusement—it was fury creeping up his face. The false charm faded like paint in rain.

“Do you even know who you’re rejecting?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said in the most polite voice she could manage. “What you’re asking isn’t something we offer. If you need that pill, there are other alchemists in the city.”

His nostrils flared. “That doesn’t matter anymore. What matters—” He stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening.

Color drained from his face in seconds. His hands, which had been gesturing wildly, dropped to his sides. His legs stiffened.

Anji frowned in confusion—Is he okay?— but the answer walked in. Yalan, flickering her tail, walked in with grace. Beside her, Chen Ren walked with the same calmness he carried into business meetings, but Yalan’s amber gaze glinted.

An aura technique.

The young master was shaking. He looked like he was about to get on his knees.

Before he could collapse, he bowed—barely—and rasped, “No—it’s fine. I was just leaving.”

His voice cracked like a snapped reed as he half-walked, half-stumbled out the door.

Only after it closed behind him did the tension ease from the room.

Anji exhaled. “Thank you,” she said, glancing between the two.

“Another idiot trying to act like he owns the place?”

“One of many,” she said with a nod.

“How many has it been now?” he asked, frowning.

“Dozens.”

Chen Ren scoffed, muttering, “Prosperity draws out more vermin than sunlight.”

Then his gaze shifted—serious now, all the ease draining from it. He looked at her like he was measuring something beyond the present.

“What?”

“Come, let’s talk in the back.”

Her steps faltered. “Something happened?”

Chen Ren’s eyes flicked toward the customers and the counter staff, checking—always checking. Then he leaned closer, voice quieter than a breath.

“Yes. Darkmoon sect’s played their hand.”

Anji’s stomach tightened. “How?”

“They sent a spy.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

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140. Secret games

Chen Ren stepped into the back room with Anji and Yalan in tow. The wooden door clicked shut behind them, muffling the noise of customers and their conversations. Inside, the room was quieter than a grave, the only sound a soft creak as they took their seats.

Anji’s eyes were already on him, wide and awaiting an explanation. Her knuckles brushed the edge of the desk, fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to reach for her ledger.

Chen Ren didn’t blame her. He knew that having a spy in their midst was a disaster.

They had built everything on secrets—the flavour-infused recipes, the refining techniques, the uniform purity. If even a piece of that leaked to Darkmoon Sect, they wouldn’t just lose business. They’d be finished.

Though that would have only been the case if Chen Ren didn’t already know about it.

Anji broke the silence. “What spy?” she asked. “And when did the Darkmoon Sect send one?”

“It’s one of the mortal workers,” he said. “Han Fei. I don’t know when it happened. But I know that he was replaced by a disciple of the Darkmoon Sect.”

Anji blinked. “Han Fei’s been working diligently since we opened the shop. Had it been a spy all along?”

“Not the same person. I noticed it two days ago. His soul felt off. Warmer than it should be, it was much stronger. He's a cultivator pretending to be him,” Yalan said. “He’s at the peak of qi refinement. Not bad at acting, but not good enough either, and obviously he could act only so much. He’s just too proud in how he moves. Too straight in the back. The man can’t even carry crates like a proper mortal—doesn’t hesitate when he should, doesn’t sweat when he must. I had my suspicions.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly. “Most likely one of their outer sect disciples. Strong enough to defend himself, but not valuable enough for the sect to miss if he’s caught.”

“A throwaway,” Yalan muttered.

“Exactly,” Chen Ren said. “And poorly trained. And clearly someone sent in a hurry and not bred for infiltration.”

Chen Ren took a glance around the room to notice Anji’s brows knitted together.

“It still doesn’t make sense. Did the Darkmoon Sect have something like Hong Yi’s artifact?”

Chen Ren shook his head once. “No,” he said. “It’s not an artifact. He’s using a pill. You remember how Tang Boming and I were looking into the sect’s techniques and specialties, right?”

Anji nodded.

“We spoke to anyone who would talk—rogue cultivators, old hunters, wandering peddlers. Honestly, anyone who’d seen their disciples in the wildlands. Most of them repeated the same thing—they were extremely good with the shadow arts. Their whole sect leans on it. But that wasn’t all.

“There were mentions of how they were really good with esoteric pills that were centered around stealth.”

It wasn’t really easy to get that information. A lot of people weren’t comfortable talking like that. It was even harder to link that information to them sending a spy. But he and Tang Boming were able to put two pieces together.

When they were researching, not every lead made sense and most of the rumors were false. But when a sect’s been around for long enough, and the sect was big enough, one would see the patterns, even through the noise.

Out of all the pills he could think of that were centered around stealth, what made the most sense were ones that could change someone’s appearance. It was an effective way for the Darkmoon Sect to go, since they wouldn’t be able to overpower them with the debt for a while.

They confirmed it when they moved through pill shops that the Darkmoon Sect owned. Tang Boming had requested different types of stealth pills before coming to the shapeshifting ones and the shopkeeper had frozen, saying he needed to speak to someone. Those weren’t available on the shelves and one needed to shell out a lot of money and be strong enough to get their hands on them. Just to confirm, Tang Boming offered over a hundred spirit stones for it and a little extra for the employee and manager, but they only said that even though the pills existed, they weren’t available to outsiders.

“So… they sent someone to steal our recipes,” Anji said, sounding as if she was in deep thought.

Yalan nodded. “They’re trying to figure out how we’re making these pills cheap—and how we modified them without losing purity.”

“Yes, and I spoke with Zixin earlier,” he said, recalling the conversation he’d with one of the new mortal workers. “He mentioned that Han Fei was asking about the next pill run—said he wanted to go up to Jadefire Hall to ‘help carry the load.’”

Yalan’s brow twitched. “To snoop around.”

Chen Ren gave a slow nod. “Most likely. He’ll try to look into ingredients, methods—anything we don’t have out in the shop.”

Now there was only one question left about the situation.

“What are we going to do about it, Sect Leader Chen?” Anji asked. “Should we banish him?”

Chen Ren didn’t answer right away. His eyes narrowed as he considered the whole situation from a distance. He didn’t want to act rashly on an issue this serious—one wrong move could affect them all.

“No,” he said at last. “That won’t teach the Darkmoon Sect anything. They’ll just send another. And then another.”

“They’ll think we’re weak,” Yalan added.

“Then what if we capture him?” Anji probed again.

“They’ll claim he’s not theirs,” Chen Ren said. “Too many disciples. One disappearance won’t even ripple their pond. That spy likely knows it, too.”

Silence stretched as Anji fell into thought. She straightened her back and began pacing the room. Chen Ren watched her think for a solid five minutes—until her eyes suddenly widened, and she turned back to him.

“You’ve already thought of something, haven’t you?” she asked.

Chen Ren’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Naturally,” he said. “But this time, it won’t be us defending. It’ll be them bleeding. But before anything else, we need to be sure the real Han Fei is alive. If they’ve killed him…”

Then it was a tragedy. One that they weren’t able to stop.

“I’ll trail the imposter,” Yalan said, rising to her paws. “If he’s dead, I’ll find the body. If not, I’ll find the cell.”

Chen Ren gave her a nod of trust. “Do it quietly. If they sense we’re aware, we’ll lose our chance.”

Then Chen Ren looked back at Anji, eyes gleaming now.

“Now,” he said, folding his hands before him. “Let me tell you the plan.”

***

Yeqing had thought—naively, it now seemed—that he’d long moved past the days of standing behind a counter like some outer disciple desperate for merit. Yet the heavens, in their twisted sense of humor, had brought him full circle. Once more, he found himself surrounded by shelves of pills, ink-stained ledgers, and the mind-numbing chatter of haggling cultivators.

In front of him, a group of rogue cultivators—dusty robes, half-dulled blades, and the stench of beast blood still clinging to their boots—stood bickering like fishwives in a market.

“For the third time, esteemed cultivator,” Yeqing said, voice as smooth as aged tea, “we cannot offer a discount on those pills. They are already priced far lower than market standards.”

He even bowed slightly, pressing palms together, lips curled in the gentlest smile he could muster.

The leader of the group, a burly man with thick wrists and a body-forging realm aura that made Yeqing's skin itch, slapped his hand against the wooden counter.

“But last time we got ten percent off,” the man growled.

Yeqing’s smile twitched.

If he’d been wearing his real face—if he were dressed in the black and grey of the Darkmoon Sect—this brute wouldn’t have dared raise his voice. But alas, he was a mortal today. A helpful, cheerful little shop assistant with no cultivation to speak of.

He forced his shoulders to relax. “That was a one-time offer,” he said gently. “A promotion for our grand opening. Now that operations are smoother, we’ve returned to standard pricing. If there are discounts in the future, you’ll certainly be among the first eligible.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Tch. I still want an extra pill.”

Yeqing resisted the urge to scoff. These low-level mongrels barely had a grasp on etiquette, let alone tact. He thought briefly of snapping the man’s wrist just to hear it crack.

But instead, he dropped his gaze to the tray of pills and conjured the soft humility he had once wielded years ago while managing his sect’s peripheral shops.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, glancing up. “You buy these now, and I’ll speak with our manager on your behalf. Since you're one of our regular customers, perhaps next time we can offer something a little more... generous.”

That did the trick.

The man puffed up, clearly pleased to be offered a promise of discount. He turned to his companions and gave a nod. “Fine then. We’ll take it for your price.”

Yeqing bowed again. “A wise choice.”

Yeqing’s fingers moved as if he’d done this many times, tucking the bottles into a cloth pouch and tying it shut with a crimson string. The rogue cultivator snatched it from his hand, popped open the seal for a cursory sniff, then tossed a bundle of spirit stones across the counter.

They clinked like coins at a beggar’s feet.

Yeqing waited until the group had disappeared through the shop doors, their rough laughter fading into the streets beyond, before slumping forward with a silent exhale. His arms braced the counter. Sweat beaded at his brow—not from fear, but from restraint.

He closed his eyes for a moment. Just a little longer. Endure this farce a little longer. The pill was worth it.

A single pill. That was all he needed. The one Elder Tiefang had promised him upon success. With it, the bottleneck standing between him and the foundation establishment realm would shatter, and he would finally crawl out of the mud these people forced him to wallow in. If that happened… even a core elder might look his way and take him as a disciple.

“Rough one?” a voice called from behind.

Yeqing’s spine stiffened. He turned, plastering the same gentle smile he had used on the cultivators.

It was Zixin—one of the mortal staff who worked alongside him. He didn’t like talking to them amiably, because it was far beneath him, but he had to keep up his act.

Yeqing nodded with a weary sigh, wiping fake sweat from his brow. “Entitled types,” he said. “I was almost certain he’d start swinging.”

Zixin chuckled and leaned against the side of a display shelf, glancing toward the door. “If he did, Sect Leader Chen would’ve dealt with him. I doubt any of these troublemakers could give him much trouble.”

Yeqing’s smile tightened.

Chen Ren? That so-called “sect leader”? A half-baked cultivator in the middle stars of qi refinement, with neither strength nor reputation to back his title. The very idea made Yeqing want to laugh aloud.

But of course, he couldn’t.

So he nodded again, playing his role. “Still, wouldn’t be good for business if a fight broke out.”

“True.” Zixin scratched the back of his head, then looked at the empty shelves near the front. “Anyway, I think we need to restock the shelves. Those rogue cultivators cleared out most of the Qi Replenishment Pills.”

For the first time since stepping into this disguise, Yeqing’s eyes shone. But his face remained neutral.

“Really?” he said mildly, dusting off the corner of the counter.

“Yeah,” Zixin replied, glancing toward the shelves. “With the way pills are flying off the racks, we’ll be empty by tomorrow. Better to restock early than get caught scrambling. Jadefire Hall should’ve finished brewing another batch by now.”

Yeqing tilted his head, seizing the opening. “Do you want me to go get them?”

Zixin scratched the back of his neck. “You sure? Last time you went up there, you passed out halfway up the hill.”

Yeqing stiffened. He hadn’t known that.

Recovering quickly, he forced a sheepish chuckle. “That was a bad day. I think I’ll be fine now. Staying behind this counter isn’t exactly good for my body. Might even help me stretch my legs.”

Zixin narrowed his eyes, then seemed to shrug the thought away. “Alright. I’ll talk to Manager Anji. If she says yes, both of us can head up there tomorrow.”

Yeqing smiled faintly. Not alone, then. Things would be much easier if he went alone—but well, it was only a small setback, not a dead end.

“Sure,” he said. “Let me know.”

With that, the conversation drifted off, and the two of them fell back into their routines—sorting, packing, guiding, smiling. Yeqing buried himself in the rhythm of work, though every second itched against his nerves.

He hated to admit it, but the shop… was doing well. Exceptionally well.

Pill shops rarely had steady traffic even in core districts, yet here, they had cultivators coming and going like flies to spirit honey. New customers. Repeat customers. Guards. Cultivators. Merchants. Wandering clansmen.

And every pouch sold was another stone chipped off the Darkmoon Sect’s mountain of influence.

No wonder Elder Tiefang was worried about this.

Yeqing glanced at the long line forming again by the doorway. The name “Divine Pill Apothecary” was already spreading like wildfire across the city. If it wasn’t stopped, this wasn’t just going to be a competition.

It was going to be a war. And Yeqing was here to stop that. Give Divine Coin Sect a big blow before the tide could rise.

Because despite how hard life was, the only reason Darkmoon sect disciples were able to get a lot of resources was because of them maintaining a monopoly.

Yeqing worked diligently until the sun dipped low, his smile never faltering as he handed out pills and answered questions with the tone of a humble shop worker. But as soon as the final customer left and the shutters were drawn, he bowed out early with a yawn and a polite excuse about the bathhouse.

His steps, however, carried him nowhere near warm water or steam.

Yeqing slipped into the flow of the city’s main road, only to veer off toward the crumbling edges of Broken Ridge. His robes gathered dust, and his pace quickened. He had ten minutes. If he didn’t reach in time, his face might begin to melt like wax under heat.

He brushed past the crowds—elbowing a merchant, nodding at a guard—and then, suddenly, his heart skipped.

His instincts, honed from a decade of harsh sect life, screamed.

Yeqing stopped.

Am I… being followed?

His head turned, sweeping over the crowd behind him. He squinted his eyes, trying to see anyone suspicious.

Nothing.

A false alarm? Or was someone actually watching?

His jaw tightened. He had been too focused lately—too upright in his role. That was dangerous.

He resumed walking, slower now, scanning alleys and rooftops every few steps. But no shadows moved with him. No qi signatures followed.

The house appeared five streets later—a mold-ridden shack pressed between two collapsed tenements. Its door was warped, the tiles overhead cracked. Yeqing slipped inside, and only once the door creaked shut behind him did he release a slow breath.

Then, his face began to change.

With the quiet squelch of shifting flesh, his nose narrowed, cheekbones sharpened, and jaw grew lean. The dull look of the shop worker melted away, revealing him—shrewd eyes the color of black jade, a thin scar running from his brow to the bridge of his nose, and the usual downward smile on his lips that never made it to his eyes.

Yeqing stared at the mirror nailed crookedly to the wall, rubbing his temples as he muttered, “Four pills left. Four days to get the recipe and bolt.”

He turned toward the wardrobe in the corner of the room. Pulling it open, the scent of sweat and faint fear rolled out. Inside, bound with layered ropes and a gag, was the true owner of his stolen face—a gaunt man with frightened eyes and blood crusting at the edge of his mouth.

The captive—Han Fei stirred, and his eyes bulged as Yeqing crouched beside him.

“Still alive,” Yeqing said lightly, plucking a pill from a pouch at his waist. He flicked it into his palm, then leaned in close. “You should thank the heavens. If I were any other cultivator, you’d be floating down the city’s waste river by now.”

He opened the gag just to force the pill into the man’s mouth and made sure he swallowed.

The mortal coughed as the pill scraped down his throat. His bound limbs twitched, and his eyes—already ringed with exhaustion—fluttered as the drowsy effect of the concoction began to settle in.

Yeqing watched dispassionately, then clicked the wardrobe shut.

“Be grateful,” he muttered, brushing off his hands. “You won’t need food after that pill. And you’ll sleep for longer than you’d like.”

He turned, letting his shoulders sag slightly as he surveyed the small space that had become his den of lies. A cracked lantern flickered on the table. A chipped basin stood unused in the corner. The thin mattress on the bed creaked beneath him as he sat down heavily, resting his head back against the rough pillow.

The day had worn on him.

He had assumed this mission would be a simple one—pretend, observe, report. But every interaction drained him. The fake smiles, the bending of pride, the forced respect toward mortals.

He hadn’t been on spy quests before and he realised why it was so hard. But maybe tomorrow would be the last day he’d have to preserve.

His eyelids lowered as he let his breath even out. He wasn’t going to cultivate, just wanted the mindless quiet of meditation to numb his thoughts.

It was perhaps because of that numbing silence that he didn’t feel it; didn’t feel the subtle pressure of a gaze.

Someone was watching him through the cracks of his window.

Yeqing, unaware of the presence, fell into the darkness of his meditation.

***
A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

141. Master of disguise (?)

Yeqing had come to the conclusion that the worst part of being a spy wasn’t the danger.

It was pretending to be weak.

To bow his head before every passing cultivator with a gleam of awe in his eyes. To speak like he was a speck of dust in the world, grateful for scraps. To fake exhaustion when not even his heartbeat had changed.

And today, dragging a wagon up a mountain pass as a mortal servant, he was forced to lean into every bit of that act.

The mountain bull brayed, hooves scraping against the dirt as the wagon rocked violently—its back wheels stuck in a shallow pit carved by old rain. Beside him, Zixin—one of the few mortals who spoke to “Han Fei” regularly—braced his shoulder against the wagon frame and grunted, “Damn thing’s stuck again.”

Yeqing stepped up, carefully gauging the pressure in his limbs, pushing just enough to seem strained but not suspicious. Together, they forced the wagon forward with a lurch and a creak of old wood.

Zixin wiped his brow with a sleeve. “I’ll fill the hole on the way back. Only an hour left until Jadefire Hall.”

Yeqing nodded, saying nothing. He couldn’t afford to ask questions—Han Fei had apparently made this trip before. All he could do was follow Zixin’s lead, respond with vague affirmations, and pray the man didn’t ask for memories he didn’t have.

The wagon rolled forward again, pulled by the snorting bull, its iron-tipped hooves clacking against the stone. Yeqing walked alongside, every step outwardly casual, but internally, he ran through every contingency.

The mission was simple—slip away when they reached the hall, find the alchemy lab or the storage space, observe whatever he could of the pill crafting process, and leave. The sect’s survival might depend on it.

But if he was caught?

He doubted Jadefire Hall had powerful detection arrays. They were too poor, too downtrodden.

Still, if they did… he'd have no choice but to fight his way out.

And then the real problems would begin.

Last he had heard, Jadefire Hall was deep in debt. Even with the Divine Pill Apothecary now working well in the city, word from Elder Tiefang was that most of their profits were still being funneled into repaying creditors.

Still, debt or not, this was their main sect ground—there had to be protections around the alchemy halls. He was certain of it.

That said, he had his own ways. Stealth techniques. Methods passed down by the sect that allowed him to slip through detection without alerting basic qi arrays. But even then, Yeqing didn’t want to risk it unless it was absolutely necessary. His orders were clear—he didn’t need the full recipe, not every step or stirring method. Just knowing the ingredients they used would be enough. Darkmoon Sect had more than enough skilled alchemists to reverse engineer the rest.

That made things easier. Not simple. But easier.

The next hour passed with the dull ache of stone under his shoes and the creak of wheels behind the snorting mountain bull. And finally, the gates of Jadefire Hall came into view.

Modest was the first word that came to his mind.

Two dark wooden gates bound by strips of reinforced metal stood in place. No guards in ornate armor, no spirit beasts perched atop the walls. Just a single bored-looking man in simple robes leaning against a spear.

The wagon stopped, and Zixin jumped down first, raising a hand in greeting as he walked up to the guard. They exchanged a few words—clearly familiar—and the guard waved them forward.

“Keep the wagon by the usual spot,” the guard said. “Senior Brother Tau Liu will come out to receive the batch.”

Yeqing gave a respectful nod and silently followed Zixin’s lead as they passed through the gates.

He tried not to wrinkle his nose as they walked deeper into the sect grounds.

The Darkmoon Sect wasn’t perfect—he knew that better than most—but Jadefire Hall felt worse. The qi here was barely above average, the soil dry, the gardens unkempt, and the buildings functional but utterly bland. There was no sense of pride, no grandeur that a sect should have carried.

No wonder they fell into debt, he thought.

They soon reached a squat, two-story structure of faded red stone with an attached pill storage annex, and Zixin pulled the wagon to a stop beside it. He moved up the stairs and knocked on the side door.

It swung open almost instantly.

A short man came out. Long black hair, half-tied back with a silver clasp. His robes were red, with the five elements woven above his chest. His posture was straight, too straight, and the way his beady eyes swept over them in an instant made Yeqing tense. He had the look of a man used to being obeyed.

Yeqing didn’t need to sense his cultivation. The moment he saw the clarity of his eyes, the stillness in his breath, he knew. This man was a strong cultivator. Mid qi refinement realm at least.

And unfortunately, one that didn't look half as lazy or distracted as Yeqing had hoped.

And Yeqing could tell this man held a place of importance in the sect because of the familiar arrogance that crept in.

Zixin, ever the loyal employee, gave a respectful bow. “Cultivator Tau Liu, it’s nice to meet you again.”

Tau Liu gave a polite nod, his eyes flicking over both of them with a look too sharp to be casual. “Please, come in.”

Yeqing knew that cultivators didn’t have the warmest aura, and it was fine. Because it didn’t matter.

The three entered through the side door into a modest but well-maintained waiting hall. There were no grand decorations—just clean mats, a simple wooden table, and a shelf stacked with scrolls and storage slips. It was what one would expect from a sect like Jadefire Hall—functional and plain.

But yes, it was just a waiting room.

Yeqing followed without a word, keeping his eyes sharp. He sat down silently and reached for the teapot on the table, pouring everyone tea. He didn't drink it himself.

Beside him, Zixin was already making himself useful, chatting with the young cultivator as if this were just another friendly transaction.

“Business is going well,” Zixin said. “Plenty of customers. Even the hunting party is gathering quite nicely—” the man went on for some more minutes.

Tau Liu gave a small, approving nod. “That’s good. It’s important to be self-sufficient, especially with the market shifting so fast. The pills are selling better than we expected. I saw the sales record.”

It was mostly useless chatter—things Yeqing already knew. He kept his head slightly bowed, playing the quiet helper role while listening for anything useful.

Then the conversation took a more interesting turn.

“I’m sorry the supply is taking longer than usual,” Tau Liu said. “We’re doing a final inspection on the latest batches. They should be delivered shortly.”

“That’s alright,” Zixin said easily. “We can wait. Did you make a bigger batch this time?”

“Yes,” Tau Liu said, placing his cup on the small table. “With the demand rising, we scaled up production accordingly. Master Hun Tianzhi has also been making strides in his research. I believe there will be good news soon.”

That caught Yeqing’s attention. Finally, finally… Something useful. Thought they’d go back and forth between the boring.

“What kind of research is it?” he asked as curiosity got the best of him. But as soon as he did, he partially regretted it.

Tau Liu’s eyes snapped to him. He might have probably misstepped.

“Apologies, but that’s not something we can disclose. Master Hun hates speaking of his work before it’s complete. Even Sect Leader Chen Ren isn’t fully aware of all the details.”

Yeqing dipped his head in a polite bow. “Forgive me. I was out of bounds.”

“It’s alright,” Tau Liu replied, sipping his tea. “I understand the curiosity. These are exciting times—not just for the sect, but for alchemy itself.”

Yeqing gave a tight nod. “I only wished to know more about the things I help sell.”

“That’s an admirable attitude.” Tau Liu’s eyes twinkled just slightly.

But Yeqing wasn’t listening anymore. He already knew he’d messed up. Even if Tau Liu wasn’t suspicious, the conversation had made it clear—he wasn’t going to learn anything else just sitting here. They were being kept in this room until the batch arrived. After that, they’d be sent straight back.

No chance to observe. No chance to snoop. So he did what he had to do.

In the middle of Zixin’s newest update about hunting permits, Yeqing suddenly stood and bowed. “Apologies, may I ask where the bathroom is?”

Tau Liu raised an eyebrow but didn’t object. “Out the door, take a right. You’ll find it along the corridor. Ask anyone if you get lost… Han Fei.”

That pause before his name—it stuck in Yeqing’s ears. He bowed again, gave a quick “I’ll be back shortly,” and slipped out of the room.

If he had turned back, he would’ve caught the small smirk on both Zixin and Tau Liu’s faces. But he didn’t.

He was already focused on where he was headed—definitely not towards the bathroom. His steps carried him quickly and he took time to look around.

The sect’s inner grounds were quieter than expected, most likely because most disciples were holed up in the alchemy halls. That worked in his favor.

It was time to get to work.

They had spies infiltrate Jadefire Hall in the past, so Yeqing was already familiar with most of the sect’s layout. He just had to hope they hadn’t made any major structural changes.

Without wasting a second, he activated a movement technique, his figure blurring as he darted across the inner grounds toward the building where they stored most of their alchemical materials. He had half a mind to look at the alchemy halls, but he didn’t want to risk too much. Tau Liu already looked a bit suspicious.

It didn’t take long to find it. Though his heart thudded in his ears, he observed sharply.

Crouched behind a tree, he spotted a lone disciple seated at the entrance. From the man’s posture and the faint aura he emanated, Yeqing could tell—body forging realm. Nothing to worry about. He could simply take him out, or sneak past him. But there was a problem: he didn’t know if there was a rear entrance or even a window he could use. He wanted to use brute force only as a last resort.

He shifted through the bushes to the right, using a stealth technique to suppress his presence. When the disciple looked away, Yeqing sprang into motion—dashing toward an adjacent building, leaping onto its roof, and then silently traversing it until he reached the top of the warehouse.

From there, he had a clearer view of the sect grounds. No cultivators in sight.

Good.

He crept to the edge, peering down. He spotted a window. But it had metal bars.

Grimacing, Yeqing hung off the edge with one hand, his body suspended midair as he reached forward and clenched his other hand around the bars. With a quiet exertion of force, he crushed them one by one. Fortunately, the metal didn’t make too much noise.

The space was narrow, barely wide enough for his shoulders. He wriggled through, careful not to make a sound. When his feet finally touched the floor, he landed in complete silence thanks to his movement technique.

The room was dark.

And he was surrounded by crates.

Yeqing crouched low between the crates. He steadied his breath in case, but managed to take a look around. Fortunately, there was no flicker of spiritual light, no humming resonance in the air—no formations, no seals, not even a simple preservation talisman. Either Jadefire Hall was burning through their stock at an absurd rate, or they were growing far too confident for their own good.

So he stood up and got to do what he was here for.

He slipped his fingers beneath the lid of the nearest crate.

A soft creak echoed through the dim storage room. Inside, bundles of dried herbs lay packed in straw. He reached in, fingers brushing the familiar texture of Jadeveil Root—its surface smooth and slightly cool to the touch. Next to it, Starpetal Leaf, thin and brittle, already shedding faint specks of silver-green dust. And at the bottom, rough chunks of Blackscale Bark, reeking faintly of burnt wood and ash.

So far, nothing unexpected. He moved on. The third crate gave him pause.

Nestled between usual leaves and powder sat a bundle of darker herbs—sharp-smelling, venom-tinted. He recognized them instantly. Nightsting Vine and Hollowberry Pulp. Even a withered stalk of Fangshade grass. Not medicinal—poisonous.

His brows twitched.

Further in, he spotted glass vials, their contents thick and dark red. Beast blood. Fresh enough that the glass was still fogged on the inside. He didn’t know the beast it came from—but the qi inside pulsed faintly, which meant it was valuable.

He slipped one vial into his robe and began memorizing the rest. No time to waste.

Crate after crate, herb after herb, his mind spun with details. When he finished, he replaced every lid with care, retraced his steps to the barred window, and slipped out, silent as a shadow.

He landed softly on the packed dirt and darted through the bushes. He had to circle around the buildings to reach where the wagon and he could already fear faint clang of crates and low voices grew louder.

He straightened his back and approached, turning the corner.

Here they are.

Zixin was already loading the one of the last two crates onto the wagon, sweat plastering his shirt to his back.

The mortal’s eyes narrowed when he spotted Yeqing. “Where were you? We needed help.”

Yeqing didn’t miss a beat. He grabbed a nearby crate and heaved it into the cart. “Sorry. I got lost.”

“Lost?” Zixin barked a laugh. “The privy was twenty steps away. What, were you sightseeing?”

Yeqing just shrugged, wiping his forehead. “Didn’t know this place was so big.”

Zixin muttered under his breath, turning back to the cart. “Good thing you didn’t wander into somewhere important…”

Yeqing didn’t say a word. Let Zixin stew in his own theories—it only made things easier for him. Together, they finished keeping everything in order inside the wagon. He noticed the qi of Tau Liu coming from behind, and they both turned around.

Tau Liu stepped forward for a final check, eyes scanning over the goods before offering a small nod.

“Seems good to go. Give my regards to Sect Leader Chen.”

Zixin gave a polite dip of his head. “We will. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Yeqing followed suit. The cultivator only gave a mere nod in return.

With that, they turned towards the gate. Two disciples—both early star qi refinement cultivators—followed and climbed onto the wagon without a word. They were guards, clearly, there to make sure the batch reaches the city. That suited Yeqing just fine.

He held his breath as they passed through the sect gates, half-expecting a shout about the broken storage window. But nothing came. No alarms, no suspicious glances. Just the rumble of wheels and the fading hum of disciples behind them.

The sun was sinking now, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose. Their wagon rattled down the dirt path, back toward the city.

Zixin stayed quiet, his expression unreadable. No idle chatter. No complaints like usual. Just the occasional sigh as he kept his eyes on the road. Maybe he was upset that he wandered off. The two cultivators muttered to each other now and then, but none of it mattered to Yeqing. The less anyone spoke to him, the better.

By the time the city gates came into view, twilight had crept over the rooftops and street lanterns were beginning to flicker to life. As the wagon turned into a familiar road near the shop, Yeqing stirred and looked at Zixin.

“Can I come back later?” he asked, already stepping off.

Zixin shot him a look. “Why?”

“I need to go somewhere.”

“You’re acting weird,” the mortal muttered, brows furrowed.

Yeqing just smiled, easy and calm. “I’ll explain everything when I come back!”

He didn’t wait for permission. He turned and disappeared into the crowd, weaving between vendors and pedestrians like water slipping through cracks.

He didn’t look back.

Every second mattered now. The disguise wouldn’t hold forever—and he didn’t plan to be around when it failed.

The Darkmoon Sect awaited, and Elder Tiefang was going to be very pleased.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

142. Changing tones

Yeqing sat in front of Elder Tiefang, a wide smile stretched across his face as he took a long, satisfying sip from the cup in his hand. The herbal tea—made from mountain-grown leaves around the sect—was leagues above anything he’d tasted during his days impersonating Han Fei. The bitterness was just right. It was clean, sharp, and it felt real.

Finally, finally! He was done pretending.

As soon as he’d returned, he’d gone straight to the elder’s chambers, even if his robes were still dusty from the road.

Elder Tiefang leaned back in his seat, hands folded in front of him. “Judging from that expression, I assume you were successful.”

Yeqing nodded, still holding the cup close. “I was. But it wasn’t easy.”

He set the cup down and leaned forward slightly.

“I managed to infiltrate the Jadefire Hall sect grounds. They didn’t suspect a thing. I didn’t get to witness the pill-making process directly… but I did make it inside their storage warehouse.”

A glimmer of satisfaction flashed in the elder’s eyes.

“I saw the herbs gathered there,” Yeqing continued. “And I’m confident, we’ll eventually be able to replicate their flavoured pills ourselves.”

That was when Elder Tiefang smiled.

Yeqing stilled for a second, eyes fixed on the man across from him. In all his years under the elder, he had barely seen a smile on his face—maybe, once or twice. It was the clearest sign that he had pleased him.

“What ingredients?” Tiefang asked.

Yeqing didn’t hesitate.

“Alongside the usual herbs—Jadeveil root, Starpetal leaf, Blackscale bark—I found others. Ones that didn’t belong in any medicinal formula.”

He reached into his satchel, drawing out folded parchments and laying it open on the table.

He pointed to the notes and sketches he had drawn—thin strands of a creeping vine, purple-tinted berries, and a grey, almost petrified stalk.

“Nightsting Vine. Hollowberry pulp. Fangshade grass. All of them are poisonous. None of them are medicinal.”

Elder Tiefang’s eyes narrowed slightly but said nothing.

“And this,” Yeqing added, pulling out the small sealed vial of dark liquid. “Beast blood. I don’t know what kind, but…”

He passed it forward.

The elder took it, opened the cap, sniffed it briefly, then tilted it and let a drop fall to his fingers. He rubbed it between his thumb and index, eyes closing in thought.

“It’s thick,” Tiefang murmured. “And the smell is… unusual. Hard to say what beast it came from, but it won’t take long to identify.”

He set the vial aside carefully.

“Very good, Yeqing.”

Yeqing allowed himself a breath of pride. He had done what was asked and more.

“But why would they use herbs associated with poison?”

Yeqing shook his head slowly. “I have no idea, Elder Tiefang. I only found them tucked between the other herbs in their storage. My guess is that those poisonous herbs have some kind of property that enhances the pills. Maybe they use them in such small quantities that the toxicity is neutralized by other ingredients.”

“It’s possible,” Tiefang said, though his voice remained unreadable. For a moment, he couldn’t tell what the elder was thinking. “But we won’t know for sure until we begin experimenting.”

He leaned back slightly and gave a soft exhale through his nose.

“Give the list of everything you found to my disciples. They’ll know what to do with it.”

Yeqing nodded.

“I’ll examine the vial personally,” the elder continued. “Having beast blood in these types of pills is… unusual. But then again, we’re dealing with unusual opponents here.”

Yeqing finished the last of his tea, placed the cup down with care, then stood up and gave a respectful bow, but he didn’t turn to leave. Not yet.

An expectant look settled on his face, subtle but clear enough. Elder Tiefang noticed, of course. A faint sigh slipped from the elder’s lips.

“You’ll receive your reward by the end of the day. I’ll also make sure your name and accomplishments reach the ears of all the inner elders. I’m certain more than a few will take interest in a capable disciple like yourself.”

Yeqing’s lips curled into another smile of genuine pride. “Thank you, Elder Tiefang. I’m honoured to be of service to you and to our glorious sect.”

With that, he bowed again, deeper this time, and finally took his leave.

His steps were lighter than they had been in weeks. The ache in his legs, the strain of pretending, the humiliation of bowing like a mortal—all worth it.

He had carved a clear path toward the foundation establishment realm. And maybe even beyond. It hadn’t even been that hard.

Tiring? Yes.

Headache-inducing? Absolutely.

But not once had the Divine Pill Apothecary’s people suspected his identity. Not even that Chen Ren. They hadn’t noticed a thing.

Yeqing couldn’t help but wonder—just how would they react when the Darkmoon Sect began flooding the markets with their own version of the flavoured pills?

A smirk danced on his lips as he disappeared down the corridor.

Let them find out the hard way.

***

Yeqing sat across from Elder Tiefang once again—but this time, there was no tea. No smiles. No praise. Even the air felt hostile.

It turned out that the Darkmoon Sect never figured out the recipe.

He didn’t understand it at first. Not until Elder Tiefang summoned him just a week after his return—a week that had easily been the best of his life.

He had finally gotten the Myst Core Pill, the one that would help him ascend. And not only that, he’d received things he’d never received in his lifetime.

Whispers of his exploits had swept through the sect like wildfire. None of the outer disciples knew exactly what he had done, only that it was dangerous and important, and that he had succeeded.

For the first time, he felt seen.

Even a few female disciples had taken notice. Asked to "study cultivation methods" together.

Everything had been perfect. So perfect. Or maybe, it really was too good to be true.

Because now, Elder Tiefang was staring at him like he had defiled his granddaughter and then thrown her off a cliff.

“What kind of ingredients did you list?” the elder snapped, his voice barely restrained.

Yeqing felt a shiver run through his spine. “Elder, I—”

“Half the disciples working on that pill are bedridden,” Tiefang cut him off, voice rising with every word. “And those we sent to hunt that kirin blood beast to extract its blood nearly died from the poisonous fog it released! They barely made it back! Are you trying to sabotage your own sect?”

Yeqing’s stomach twisted.

“I don’t understand,” he said quickly. “I swear I told you everything I saw. I wouldn’t lie to you, Elder Tiefang. Not after everything you've done for me.”

The elder slammed a fist down on the table with a crack, shaking the incense burner at the edge.

“Then what is it?!” he barked. “Why is this list of yours worthless? Why haven’t we managed to craft even a decent pill from it—forget about a Qi Replenishment one!?”

Yeqing opened his mouth but no words came. He had seen those herbs with his own eyes. Every leaf. Every bark. Every carefully stacked crate.

So how in the hells had it all gone wrong?

Just then, Elder Tiefang threw a pill and it hit his palm with a soft thud.

Yeqing frowned and looked down.

The pill was cracked along the edges, like dried mud under the sun. Its supposed glossy sheen was replaced by a dull, uneven surface riddled with grainy patches. It smelled faintly metallic—like something sour left in the rain—and there was a bitter aftertrace in the air, the kind that stuck to your tongue even without tasting it.

No warmth. No shimmer of mint. Just… rot.

“What does this even do?” Yeqing asked, brow furrowed as he turned it over in his fingers.

Elder Tiefang leaned back, face stiff with anger. “Gives someone a stomach worse than and send them wishing for death worse than any poison pill could,” he said dryly. “That’s if they’re lucky. It is horrible!”

Yeqing gasped quietly. What the hell?

“Impurities,” the elder snapped. “Too many to count. The moment the pill dissolves in the system, it floods the meridians with trash. And worse—whatever little qi it does generate… it clogs. Slows down cultivation. Forces the body to spend days, weeks cleansing itself before any recovery starts.”

He rubbed his temple, like he had a growing headache.

“And no matter what combination we tried, no matter how we adjusted the ratio, we only got variations of this damn pill. The beast blood too—the one you handed over—it belongs to a thing that releases poisonous gas after it dies. One disciple almost lost his lungs. Do you have any idea how hard that is to cure?”

Yeqing’s grip on the pill tightened. His jaw locked.

“I did everything you asked,” he said, trying to choose his words carefully. “I infiltrated Jadefire Hall. I snuck into the storage hall. I took notes. I saw those ingredients myself—Jadeveil Root, Starpetal Leaf, Blackscale Bark… the poison herbs… the beast blood. There wasn’t anything else. I swear it.”

Tiefang stared him down. “Then explain how this happened.”

Yeqing said nothing.

“Explain,” the elder barked, “how you did everything right—yet we haven’t even touched the first step of replicating those flavoured pills. Are you saying you had it wrong? Or that you were lying to me?”

A heavy silence dropped between them. Then, Elder Tiefang’s voice dropped a note.

“Or did you… give away your identity?”

Yeqing’s heart stuttered.

He hadn’t. He was sure he hadn’t. No one had looked at him strangely. No one had confronted him. He hadn’t gotten a single alarming thing. Nothing—But now, with the elder’s glare drilling holes into his skull… the doubts crept in.

Did someone see through him?

But… but he had done everything right. He had locked his qi tight, dropped his posture, acted like a trembling mortal for weeks. He had faked weakness, faked awe, faked ignorance. Even that cursed wagon-pulling trip up the mountain—he had played the part to perfection.

Hadn’t he?

The seed of doubt wriggled deeper.

That day on the street…

That flash of intuition, the prickling sensation at his nape. He’d dismissed it, brushed it off like a nervous tic. But what if it hadn’t been a mistake? What if that was the moment someone was following him?

Was I already known then?
Did they follow me? Track me all the way to my hideout?

His fingers twitched at the memory of the bound man in the wardrobe.

Had they found him? Freed him? Or worse… were they watching me the entire time?

No. Worse than that. They had let him walk into the storage room. Left it unguarded without any wards or arrays. Fuck, there weren’t even a preserving talisman. It hadn’t been a lapse. It had been bait. A stage.

They wanted me to see those ingredients.

His breath caught. But before he could spell it out, Elder Tiefang scoffed from his seat, pulling Yeqing from his spiraling thoughts.

“You were fooled,” he spat. “We were fooled. And this…” He waved at the ruined pill on the table. “This is the biggest insult I’ve suffered in five decades.”

There was a pause in his words, but the man didn’t stop. He narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, Yeqing, what do you want to do about it?”

For a brief second, Yeqing didn’t answer, because he didn’t know how to.

What could he even do? Go back? Infiltrate again? They’d been waiting for him to infiltrate, and if they’d let him go once, it was because they wanted to. And that mercy wouldn’t repeat.

If he stepped foot near the Divine Pill Apothecary again, it wouldn’t be with false smiles—it would be with swords pointed at his throat. His throat tightened.

“I…” he started, but no words followed.

The elder rose without a sound. He walked to the shelf by the window. Opened a drawer.

A large bottle emerged.

Without a word, Elder Tiefang uncorked it and drank straight from the neck.

Yeqing watched in stunned silence as the old man drank. Not a sip. Not a swig. A gulp. One that didn’t end until half the bottle was gone.

When the elder turned back around, his expression wasn’t angry anymore. It was tired.

“What?” Elder Tiefang growled, eyes bloodshot and half-lidded. “You want a sip too?”

Yeqing quickly shook his head. “No, Elder Tiefang. I wouldn’t dare.”

The elder scoffed, wiping the corner of his mouth with the sleeve of his robe.

Yeqing hesitated for a second before lowering his gaze again. “I… I will try to make it better. Somehow.”

That earned him a wet, guttural laugh.

“Try?” Tiefang spat. “And what will you do, huh? Make another trip and ask them nicely this time? Maybe hold your begging bowl out in front of their gates?”

Yeqing clenched his fists but said nothing.

“You think this is just a failed mission?” the elder continued, pacing now. “Do you know how much we’re losing every day? The sales of our best-selling pills are bleeding out, and those Divine Pill bastards just won’t stop! And you know what happens when the Sect Leader gets wind of this?”

Yeqing bowed deeper. “He’ll have our skin?”

The elder snorted. “He’ll have my skin. What’s he going to do with yours? Your skin’s not worth anything.”

Those words hit harder than they should have. Not because they were cruel—Yeqing was used to that—but because they were true. His head lowered further, a sinking weight settling in his gut. Not just because he’d failed. But because he knew what that failure cost him.

He hadn’t taken the pill.

That one, precious, foundation-setting pill Elder Tiefang had handed to him. He’d waited, stupidly, thinking it wiser to build up his qi base first. Set the stage. Perfect his breathing. Plan his breakthrough.

He should’ve just swallowed it the moment it touched his fingers. And now… there was no way the elder would let him keep it.

He looked up slowly.

Elder Tiefang was still standing, glaring at nothing, while chugging the drink like it was his last line of life.

He waited for a few seconds, but the silence only grew, and the only noise was of gulping. Yeqing swallowed, “Is there… is there no other way, Elder Tiefang?”

The old man huffed like he hadn’t even heard the question—then glanced sideways. That glare made him shrink further, maybe he would die today. No, not maybe. He would definitely die today.

The elder opened his mouth. “None that I could think of,” he muttered. “Whatever strings I could pull, I already pulled. Even the debt angle didn’t bite. Didn’t work. That bastard Chen Ren had planned for it from the beginning.”

Yeqing felt his chest tighten.

“We have no choice left but to inform the sect leader about it.”

Elder Tiefang tried to take a sip out of the bottle at hand. He puckered his lips, but nothing came—the bottle was empty. He looked down at the empty bottle in his hand.

Then, with a snarl, hurled it at the wall behind Yeqing.

This time, Yeqing shuddered, his hands clutched tighter.

The bottle shattered.

Glass splinters sprayed across the floor. The elder’s breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling as silence settled thick in the room once more.

“Raise your head,” Tiefang said. “Raise. Your. Head!”

Yeqing obeyed.

He looked up slowly, meeting the elder’s gaze. His eyes were glassy, slightly bloodshot—half from drink, half from fury barely held back. There was no trace of warmth in them.

“You’re going to come with me,” Tiefang said.

Huh? Yeqing blinked. “Where?”

“To the Sect Leader,” the elder replied, turning towards the door.

And just like that, the world around Yeqing seemed to tilt.

“To… the Sect Leader?” he repeated, barely more than a whisper.

Tiefang didn’t even glance back. “If I’m going down for this mess, I’m not going alone. You’re going to walk in there, look him in the eye, and tell him everything you saw while playing spy. Every crate. Every herb. Every failure.”

Yeqing went pale.

His lips parted, but no words came. His heart thudded loud in his ears, drowning out the elder’s footsteps as he made for the door. One thought echoed in his mind.

I’m not coming back out alive.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

143. Sect leader agressions

Gao Moyue looked over the collection of artifacts he had gathered across the centuries. Once a month, without fail, he devoted time to cleaning them purely out of reverence.

His gaze first landed on the dark, weather-worn armor mounted along the wall. It was made from the hide of a gravemaul beetle king, a monstrous insectoid whose carapace had once resisted fire, blade, and qi alike. Gao Moyue had worn it throughout his foundation establishment years, carving through broods of beasts with such violence that the name Beast Killer had clung to him ever since.

Next came the rings. Twelve spatial rings, each inlaid with different metals, each unique in size and make. Most still held untouched resources—spirit stones, beast cores, rare herbs. But that wasn’t why he kept them. Every single ring had been won in a blood duel. Back when Darkmoon Sect was lawless, and power was justice, Gao Moyue had stood victorious on countless bloodied arenas. The rings were his silent trophies.

Then there was the cauldron.

It was a massive, crimson vessel with deep-set runes attached into its interior walls. They were painstakingly carved to enhance the pill purity, stabilize flames and refine flow. It was a Molten-Heart Cauldron, peak Earth-grade, and the only one of its kind in the entire sect. For two centuries, it had sat in the core of his alchemy room, serving him without fail. Even after stepping back from cultivation and ceasing his alchemical breakthroughs, he had never neglected to wipe it clean each month.

Today, as always, his hand reached for the cauldron first.

He unsummoned its stasis seal and laid it before him. A soft hum pulsed from the runes as they glowed faintly in greeting. He soaked a cloth in a basin of qi-rich solution and began circling the rim carefully.

That was when he heard light footsteps.

He turned his head without needing to ask. One of the servants stood in the doorway. Her eyes widened despite clearly preparing herself before coming. She tugged on the sides of her dress for some forsaken reason.

Gao Moyue straightened and frowned, displeased at being interrupted during an activity he genuinely enjoyed

“Do you have a good reason to disturb me?”

The servant bowed low, her head almost touching her knees. “It wasn’t my wish to do so, Sect Leader Gao Moyue. Elder Tiefang and a disciple have come to meet you on an urgent matter.”

Gao Moyue narrowed his eyes. “Tiefang?” The name didn’t strike immediate recognition. He cleared his throat. “Describe them.”

“The elder wore outer sect robes and had a beard that reached his neck,” she replied. “He looked… stressed. Kept looking around and asked for you repeatedly.”

“And the disciple?”

“He was in outer sect robes too. Short hair. He had his head lowered the whole time, like someone being dragged to an execution. He kept begging the elder to let him go.”

Gao Moyue fell into thought, his annoyance giving way to mild confusion. The description wasn’t much help—at this point, half the elders had started growing their beards like it was a competition. But the urgency was unmistakable. Either the elder was important enough to bypass channels… or the matter at hand was that pressing.

He sighed. Either way, he would have to hear them out.

“If this turns out to be stupid,” he muttered under his breath, “I’m plucking that beard off myself.” Looking at the servant, he straightened. “I’ll go meet them.”

“I will lead the way, Sect Leader,” she said quickly, turning to guide him through the quiet halls.

They made their way through the quiet corridor, footsteps muted against polished stone. When the servant opened the doors to the meeting room, Gao Moyue stepped in and immediately, it clicked.

Elder Tiefang.

He remembered now. The same man who had whined about the outer disciples who’d been killed. Was he here to complain again? And this time, he’d dragged along a sorry-looking disciple who seemed like he’d been slapped around by an inner disciple trying to flex?

A dull throb started at the back of Gao Moyue’s head.

Still, he kept his face composed. He was a sect leader, after all. At least this time he remembered the man's name.

He entered with the air of a mountain, and the moment he did, both Elder Tiefang and the disciple dropped to their knees, bowing low.

He gestured toward them with a flick of his fingers. “Raise your heads.”

They obeyed. The disciple’s face was pale and drawn. Elder Tiefang’s beard was a little more frazzled than last time.

“Why are you here?” Gao Moyue asked. “I believe I made myself clear before. Cultivation is a test of the heavens. If someone dies, it is because their strength was insufficient. No one else is to blame.”

But the elder quickly shook his head. “We’re not here for that, Sect Leader. This is something else. A much bigger problem. One that could ruin Darkmoon Sect for years to come if we don’t act fast.”

Gao Moyue stilled, his brows lowering. Ruin? He hadn’t heard of any such crisis. If the insectoids were rallying again, there would’ve been signs. His scouts would’ve sent word. And if it were an invasion, he would’ve been the first to know.

So what could it be?

“Explain,” he said curtly.

Elder Tiefang reached into his robe and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper, his fingers trembling slightly as he held it forward.

“Please take a look at this, Sect Leader,” he said.

Gao Moyue took the folded paper, noting how both the elder and the disciple tensed. Elder Tiefang’s shoulders rose slightly, held stiff like a man bracing for a strike. The disciple—barely keeping still—glanced at the door, foot shifting as if calculating the number of steps it would take to run.

The sect leader’s brow arched faintly. What could possibly be written here to warrant that kind of reaction?

He unfolded the paper, the parchment whispering against his fingers.

At first glance, it was nothing alarming. Columns of numbers. Inked rows of names and figures. But then, his eyes lingered. A line dropped. Then another.

His gaze sharpened, flicking back up. The patterns didn’t lie.

The sales had cratered.

The top three pills—ones that brought in almost a third of their monthly income—had suffered a drop so sudden, so steep, it looked like sabotage.

His fingers curled tighter around the parchment.

Side effects? Contamination? A rival’s scheme?

He scanned the rest of the data, lips pressing into a thin line. The numbers screamed, but the reasons didn’t write themselves.

He looked up, eyes locking onto Elder Tiefang.

“You’re in charge of our alchemy shops. Correct?”

Elder Tiefang nodded immediately, his eyes moved up from the floor.

“Then explain,” Gao Moyue said. “Explain to me why I’m looking at the single worst drop in sect revenue since I took leadership.”

Tiefang bowed low. “Yes, Sect Leader. I will.”

And then he began to speak.

For the next hour, Gao Moyue listened. He said nothing without moving an inch. He didn’t even move when a servant knocked gently to ask about lunch. The door remained closed.

As the elder laid out the story—from the rising success of Divine Pill Apothecary to the failed infiltration, the botched ingredients, and the disciples poisoned by their own attempts—Gao Moyue’s silence turned heavy.

By the halfway point, his mind was already spinning.

A new sect, rising within weeks, and now had strong enough products to steal their clients?

It was absurd. Unprecedented. It was unacceptable!

And yet, the records were real. The names, the amounts, the spirit stones lost each day. Falsifying them would be a death sentence. And Tiefang… he may have been a fool, but he wasn’t suicidal.

Even so, one question churned in Gao Moyue’s mind—How had they failed even in infiltration?

He simply stared at the disciple who had failed them all, though his silence wasn’t meant for him alone. His thoughts twisted inward, far deeper than the room they sat in.

How had they known?

That was the only question that mattered.

The spy had been competent, by all accounts. As far as he knew, the spy had been careful, quiet and committed to play his part. That much was obvious by now. Yet, they’d known—they’d known, and they’d played them.

One hand curled under his chin as his gaze slid down to the report again, but the numbers stayed the same, staring up at him like accusations.

Had they used an expert? Perhaps someone skilled in stealth or illusions, someone capable of sensing intrusions?

No... it had to be more than that. No Emerging sect—no unknown sect—should have been able to rise like this without powerful backing. Gao Moyue was many things—apathetic, indulgent, slow to act—but he wasn’t blind. There were always games behind the stage. Shadow hands pulling strings. But this? This felt like a direct slap.

Sending back a disciple alive—with false ingredients—wasn’t just a counterintelligence tactic. It was a mockery.

The air turned brittle.

When Elder Tiefang’s tale ended, Gao Moyue didn’t offer any of the usual phrases—no lazy admonishments, no philosophical quips about hardship building foundation.

He said nothing.

Because he couldn’t.

Tiefang had already done everything. And everything had failed.

He couldn’t just wave it away, couldn’t dismiss the problem with a flick of his sleeve and go back to wiping down old treasures.

Because this was about prestige and money.

And both were bleeding out.

If the numbers kept falling, he could already imagine the chain reaction—inner elders demanding more resources to compensate, then hoarding what little they had left. Disciple morale would slip, outer sect loyalty would crack, and complaints would pour in like floodwaters through a broken dam.

And what if the Divine Coin Sect made more pills? What if they expanded? Created body-strengthening pills? Ascension pills? Rejuvenation elixirs? All flavoured for the taste buds of cultivators.

His temples throbbed.

For a brief, deeply satisfying moment, Gao Moyue thought about going down the mountain himself. About walking into that flashy little shop, ripping the door off its hinges, and planting his boot on whatever smug face led their sect.

And get him to leave or be killed. But he had moved past such tacts. If he was right, the sect had an expert or two. And a battle in the city would be the worst thing possible for him.

His influence only stretched so far, and the City Lord was already irritated with the recent chaos near the southern borders. One fight in the streets and the man would turn on Darkmoon faster than he’d turn his tea cup.

No, this needed tact.

He lifted his gaze toward Elder Tiefang, who stiffened under the weight of it. “Has the reputation of our pills changed since this… Divine Pill Apothecary opened?”

“It has, Sect Leader. I’ve already begun hearing complaints. Not about quality, but…” He hesitated, lips thinning, “...about taste. Prices, too. They say our pills are bitter. Harsh on the tongue. Some even joke that swallowing ours is like chewing bark soaked in vinegar.”

Gao Moyue’s jaw clenched.

“They’ve been taking our pills for a century without complaint.”

“Yes, Sect Leader. But now they want every pill to taste sweet, to melt on the tongue like candy. The cultivators are acting like spoiled nobles.”

“They’re losing trust in us,” Gao Moyue muttered.

“They are. The only way I can see to restore it is to prove—to remind everyone—that our pills and our alchemists are leagues above theirs. That Darkmoon Sect stands at the pinnacle for a reason. Cultivators forget quickly. We must make them remember. But I don't see a way to do it, Sect Leader.”

Gao Moyue leaned back, tapping a finger against his armrest, thinking. Despite all of Tiefang’s earlier blunders, the man’s instincts weren’t wrong. A show of superiority, of undeniable skill and refinement… that might just do it.

Still, a part of him itched to lash out. They had failed. Lost face. But punishment could come later. First, they needed a solution.

He exhaled slowly. “Then we remind them.” But how?

How do you crush an opponent you can’t strike? How do you reclaim pride in a market of smiling shopkeepers and sweet-tasting pills?

He couldn’t get them in an honorary duel. Because brute force wouldn’t prove their point. This was about pills.

There must be something that I could think of… Something…

Gao Moyue’s thoughts spun tighter and tighter in his mind until a distant thread of memory snapped taut. A courtyard roaring with cheers. Flashes of red flags and bright golden letters. The scent of freshly refined pills. The Flames of Merit Trials.

He froze.

A younger version of himself stood at the center of that memory, robes billowing, cauldron blazing. Pills so pure they shimmered. He hadn’t just won that year—he had conquered. That one victory had changed the way the city spoke his name. He had become the pride of the Darkmoon Sect.

He slowly turned back toward Elder Tiefang, a gleam behind his tired eyes.

“What season is it?”

The question threw the elder off. “Season?”

“Yes.” Gao Moyue waved vaguely toward the distant windows. “Last I left my chambers, I recall… chilly winds. Is it winter now?”

“Yes, Sect Leader. The beast risings have started across the empire. Many border provinces are already reporting attacks. It’s a perilous time. Do you wish me to bring you the latest reports?”

Gao Moyue scoffed, waving his hand.

“Why would I want that? Let the other sects deal with it. Our duty is to the insectoids, not stray tigers and wolves. No… I’m asking because winter also means…”

He trailed off, eyes narrowing.

“…the Flames of Merit Trials. The citywide alchemy competition. It happens every three years.”

He raised a single brow, looking at Tiefang.

“It should be this year… if my memory still serves.”

Before the elder could even answer, the disciple beside him—head still lowered—spoke up.

“It is, Sect Leader Gao Moyue. They’ve started putting up the banners already. It’ll be announced formally soon.”

Gao Moyue smiled. And for the first time since they had entered the room, neither Tiefang nor the disciple could meet his eyes.

“Perfect,” the Sect Leader said, his voice deep with satisfaction. “We will not crawl back through the shadows like rats. We will step into the light and shatter their little illusion of superiority.”

He turned toward the wall, where a portrait of the Darkmoon Sect's founders hung.

“They made a fool out of us. They stole from our market, insulted our name, and laughed behind our backs.”

He looked over his shoulder, the smile still on his lips but something colder now in his gaze.

“We’ll see who’s laughing once the flames rise.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

144. Flames of merit trials

Feiyu stared at the diagrams tacked onto the board in front of him, a rare smile tugging at his grime-streaked face.

Rifles were scattered across the workshop—some complete, while others cracked open mid-modification. Bullet casings rolled underfoot, and gunpowder hung faint in the air. But none of it held his attention now. His eyes were fixed on the lines and curves sketched before him—the final schematic, the culmination of weeks of sleepless nights and forge-burned fingers.

This was it.

The breakthrough.

He could feel it. The pulse of qi gathering in his dantian, coiling with anticipation like a storm ready to break. Months of relentless forging, of pushing steel and soul into each weapon, had taken his cultivation soaring to the peak of the qi refinement Realm. Qing He hadn’t expected it. He hadn’t expected it.

But Feiyu knew now.

The forge was his dao. His rebellion against convention. It gave him more qi because what he was creating was revolutionary. It challenged even the heavens.

Sometimes, when midnight silence pressed down on him, he’d wonder, Would the heavens punish me for it?

But no tribulation had come. No divine backlash. Only progress. And now, just one more refinement—one final, perfect mechanism—and he would step into the foundation establishment realm.

And after that…

Feiyu’s smile deepened, softer this time.

Maybe, just maybe, he could return to Ashen City and ask out Lingyan. Properly. He’d heard enough to know she hadn’t given up, she was still waiting for him. He had made use of anyone who was on the supply wagon to Ashen City to get him more information, and he was even able to exchange letters with her.

Like he’d expected, her family had tried to marry her off—said she was too naïve, too distracted by childish thinking.

But she’d resisted.

Closed-door cultivation, that’s what she did. She came out only when the wagons arrived.

“Just a little more,” he muttered. “Let me break through… and I’ll come find you.”

Fortunately, no one had found out yet. But Feiyu knew better than to trust luck for long. They were skating on thin ice, and each passing day added weight.

He needed results and fast. The diagrams pinned before him might just be the answer.

His conversation with Sect Leader Chen still echoed in his ears. That man… either he was a once-in-a-century sage or had stumbled upon the tomb of one. Every casual observation, every offhand remark over dinner, felt like enlightenment in disguise.

And that night, when they'd been discussing guns, Chen Ren had spoken of a design that made Feiyu’s heart race. After pestering him with questions and sketching it out on scraps of paper, Feiyu knew he had to build it.

Something that could give the sect an overwhelming advantage. Something that could kill from beyond a hundred paces with a single shot.

He moved to his metal stockpile, dragging out bars and rods while muttering design tweaks to himself when the workshop door creaked open behind him.

Qing He stepped inside, walking with her painstaking shuffle—the one she claimed got people to “respect their elders and do their chores.” Ever since she’d said that with a straight face, Feiyu could never take her seriously.

Her eyes swept the chaos of the workshop. Tools scattered. Half-built guns. Burnt blueprints. She grunted, then squinted at the diagrams still pinned to the board.

“What’s this?” she asked, snatching a parchment like it owed her money.

“A special gun,” Feiyu replied.

Qing He sniffed. “What’s this weird thing stuck on the back?” She jabbed a finger at the long tubular structure etched on the rifle’s spine.

“That’s a scope,” he said, brushing some dust off a gear. “It’s to help the shooter see far. You look through it and you can fire a bullet at targets from way further than usual. But…The bullets we’ve got now won’t cut it. They drop too much at long range, and their force fades too fast. We need something sharper, faster, and heavier. Or maybe even… something entirely new.”

Qing He stared long and hard at the diagram again, then muttered under her breath, “Another one of Chen Ren’s ideas, huh?”“Yeah. He just casually mentioned it. I picked it up and started to work on it.” Feiyu didn’t even try to hide his grin.

“You’re such a kid.” Qing He scoffed at him.

“Huh?”

“He knew you’d latch onto it. He probably wanted you to work on it.”

Wait… What? Feiyu couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He raised an eyebrow. “You mean that all this time, I’ve been working on something he wanted done? So why not tell me directly?”

Qing He shrugged, then began to pace, her hands behind her back like a grumpy elder in a marketplace. “Because you’re already handling too many things. You’ve got mortals helping you now, yes, but that doesn’t mean the weight on your shoulders is lighter. He’s probably trying not to dump more on you. But that doesn’t stop him from planting seeds in your head.”

“So he feels bad, but still wants me to do it?”

“Exactly,” she said, as if it were obvious. “That’s why he just… talks. Throws ideas around and sees what grows.” She turned back to the diagram, squinting. “What are these guns called again?”

“Sniper rifles,” Feiyu replied, straightening the edges of the paper. “Sect Leader Chen said that’s what they’re called. I think it’s a cool name. I’ve never heard of a word like ‘sniper’ before.”

Qing He gave a small nod. Names didn’t interest her much unless they meant something functional. Her eyes scanned the diagram again. “You planning to add any arrays to this scope?”

Feiyu exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Aside from the runes we’ve already etched into the other guns for stability and recoil… I don’t have the knowledge to add anything new. I’m thinking I’ll make the model first. Test it. Then see what kind of runes can be added later. As for array, I don't know if I will find a suitable one.”

Qing He narrowed her eyes, then looked at him. “Give me a paper.”

Feiyu blinked, surprised. His heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get emotional on me. Just pass it.”

He practically shoved a parchment and quill into her hands, and for the next five minutes, Qing He scribbled in absolute silence. Her strokes flowed from memory like water. Feiyu could only watch in awe as the page filled.

Finally, she handed it to him.

“Make sure you carve these into the inside of the scope,” she said.

Feiyu took the parchment, his eyes scanning the tight, fluid scribbles that Qing He had written out so effortlessly. At first glance, it looked like a small, simple formation—one that might be used for basic reinforcement or sight enhancement—but something about the layering of runes caught his attention.

“What is it?” he asked.

Qing He leaned closer, tapping her finger against the central glyph. “An array that lets you see far. Real far. Assassins used to craft small viewing tools with this etched into the lenses. With just a slight adjustment, they could see near or distant targets. But that’s not all.”

Feiyu’s eyes widened slightly. “There’s more?”

She nodded. “It doesn’t just enhance sight—it can pick up signs of movement. Life. Qi fluctuations from humans and beasts across a wide radius. Not perfectly, but enough to mark heat or motion over terrain.”

“That’s…” Feiyu struggled for the words. “How’s that even possible?”

“There’s a lot of things array masters have made over the centuries. Most of it is forgotten. Some of it buried on purpose. These kinds of devices were discovered after a demonic sect was destroyed in the north. The cultivator who led the charge razed their libraries, but a few items slipped through. One ended up in a wandering cultivator’s hands. My master had a book that mentioned the designs.”Feiyu stared at her. “And you never told me?”

“I just did,” she said flatly, walking toward the door.

“But—”

She raised a hand, cutting him off without even turning back. “Use it well.”

And then she was gone, the workshop door creaking shut behind her.

Feiyu stared at the array in his hands, a dozen questions rising and falling in his chest like a tide he didn’t know how to stem. Who was Qing He, really? She acted like an old woman at times, shrewd and difficult—but then she’d turn around and drop things like this in his lap. Secrets from fallen sects or forgotten arrays used by assassins and warlords. And she knew them like bedtime stories.

But the questions faded quickly, replaced by the gleam of invention—the itch in his fingers.

This array…

It changed everything.

He gently laid the parchment beside the diagram for the sniper rifle. His eyes roved between them, the pieces falling into place in his mind like puzzle tiles finding their shape. It wouldn’t be easy. Carving this array into something as small and delicate as a scope would take precision, patience, and more qi than he was used to spending in a single session.

But it would work.

And if he succeeded, this wouldn’t just be a long-range weapon.

It would be a hunter’s eye. A scout’s dream. A god’s finger stretched across the battlefield.

Feiyu couldn’t help his mind. His hands moved with renewed energy as he reached for the metal components.

He had work to do.

And somewhere just beyond this breakthrough, he could feel it—his cultivation trembling, pushing against the limits of the qi refinement realm. He was going to break through by building a weapon even cultivators would fear.

***

Chen Ren sipped his tea with a beam on his face. The taste was bitter, spiced just how he liked it—an acquired taste, much like victory. He leaned back in the chair in his office at the Divine Pill Apothecary.

It had been a week since the spy left.

He could only imagine the state of the Darkmoon Sect now. A part of him wondered if the spy was still alive. Knowing what kind of men ruled that sect, it was unlikely. Chen Ren wasn’t particularly concerned, nor did he feel sympathy.

If the bastard was dead, then so be it.

The man had pretended to be Han Fei. Had used his name, his face and tried to steal things that weren't his.

And Han Fei had paid the price.

Chen Ren’s smile faded slightly, the tea losing its flavor as memories surged forward. The real Han Fei, when they’d finally found him tucked away where the spy had left him drugged, had looked more like a corpse than alive. His entire body was pale, his hands trembled and he’d been fed sedative pills, and the worse part—the effects lingered.

They’d almost broken him.

Chen Ren's knuckles tightened around the teacup before he set it down gently.

He hadn’t made a decision yet, but he intended to send Han Fei back to the sect for recovery—far from all this. He deserved that much.

As for the Darkmoon Sect…

They wouldn’t take this lying down. For them to send a spy so quickly, so early into the apothecary’s rise, meant one thing, they were already feeling the heat. Their pill sales were falling. Their name was starting to lose its weight. He had taken a bite out of a behemoth, and now, the beast had noticed.

His eyes flicked to the small letter on the corner of his desk.

A merchant had just requested exclusive rights to stock and sell their Qi Replenishment Pills in bulk outside the city.

That was the fifth such request this week. So yes, he understood why Darkmoon was rattled.

The grin returned to his face as he leaned back again. The spy had been bait, and they’d taken it. The ingredients they’d thought the Divine Coin sect used were enough to brew a disaster if anyone tried to mimic the process. He almost pitied whoever had the job of testing those pills, almost.

But there was another concern that lingered in his mind, since sending a spy didn’t work out, they might try something even more desperate.

Assassins were a real possibility. But he doubted it would go beyond that. Proper sect wars in the empire were rare, and an Established sect that had been the pinnacle of the city for ages going against an Emerging one in broad daylight was embarrassing.

In the shadows? That’s where most sects died.

But can it be something else? Would they send more spies? Or try a scheme like the one they’d used against Jadefire Hall?

Chen Ren doubted it. The disciples that had stayed with Hun Tianzhi after the sabotage were the loyal ones—the kind who wouldn’t budge no matter how enticing the offer. They had already made their choice, and Chen Ren respected that.

He tapped his cup gently on the table, letting his mind wander through possibilities. Poison? Sabotage? Assassins? He wouldn’t put any of it past Darkmoon Sect. His fingers curled tighter around the porcelain as he took another sip—just as the door creaked open.

He glanced up.

Anji stepped through first, followed by Tang Boming, who looked a little less guarded but still serious. There was a piece of parchment in Anji’s hand, the paper folded tightly and sealed in a dark wax that bore no crest.

His focus moved to the parchment.

Anji raised it slightly. “The receptionist at the inn handed it to me on my way here,” she said, walking forward. “Apparently, it’s from the Darkmoon Sect.”

Chen Ren’s jaw tightened. His hand rose instinctively, and Anji placed the parchment in his palm.

He cracked the seal immediately.

The message was shorter than Chen Ren had expected. He thought it’d be a message threatening him to leave the city or belittling him in any way. Instead, it was simply a declaration for a challenge. It was a duel but not the common kind.

He scanned the lines again just to be sure, then set the parchment down on the desk. “Flames of Merit Trials?” he said aloud. “I think I’ve seen banners about that around the city.”

“It’s all over the streets. The inn’s discourse is starting to shift towards it too. Seems like the whole city is getting ready,” Tang Boming said.

“We overheard a few merchants talk about it too. Apparently, the competition only happens once every three years, and the top sects and clans use it to show off their alchemists and gain reputation. Not only from Broken Ridge City, but nearby ones too,” Anji added. “It seems they want to challenge us in the field we are fighting over—alchemy.”

Chen Ren agreed. “It seems like it. But we need to learn more on this trial before accepting it. I’m assuming it’s almost akin to a city festival.

Tang Boming nodded. “It is. Basically, it’s like any other city tournament—meant to entertain the mortals and give cultivators a chance to prove themselves. It started about fifty years ago. The City Lord at the time thought the city was too stagnant. Everyone either stayed cooped up or ran off to the wildlands. Being an alchemist himself, he understood the importance of alchemy to Broken Ridge. So he founded the trial—got sects, clans, and even rogue cultivators involved. Turned it into a full event. Rewards are massive. Even just showing up gets you a cauldron. That’s why people flock to it.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly, thoughts drifting to Cloud Mist City's tournament. He remembered the chaos but also how many people have travelled from the nearby villages and towns just to spectate.

Darkmoon Sect wanted to crush them and win the competition, just to tell the city that they still had the best alchemists in this part of the empire.

Even if they couldn’t fully recover their business, a strong win would tilt the city’s trust back toward them. And trust was currency to cultivators. They would see Darkmoon Sect bask in a wave of renewed glory and wonder if they had judged them too soon.

And worse?

They’d probably slash prices—temporarily—after the win, just to bleed Chen Ren’s operation dry. Especially with the debt looming like a sword over their heads. The bastards definitely knew about the three-month period.

They’re going for a killing blow, Chen Ren thought. It was clever. Annoyingly clever.

He sat there, frowning at the parchment, the implications weighing heavier by the second.

Then Anji’s voice cut through his silence.

“What are we going to do, Sect Leader Chen?”

He only looked up.

What were they going to do?

He could refuse the challenge. It wasn’t mandatory. But that would be seen as cowardice. Worse—admission of inferiority. Their reputation would plummet harder than if they lost. The sect might survive, but the business would be gutted.

Well, what could he do now?

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

145. Structure of the trial

If Chen Ren was being honest, he preferred this kind of war.

There was always something refreshing about knowing where your enemies were, when they’d strike and how. It was exhausting to keep looking over his shoulder, always wondering if there would be an attack or not.

This way, at least for the time being, he knew that the Darkmoon Sect was going to focus on the Flames of Merit trials. That meant, fewer assassination attempts (if they planned on it), fewer ambushes or fewer headaches. And it was a temporary break he welcomed.

And if he played right, if he could actually win this competition or at least do well enough to reach the finals, he knew that the reputation of the Divine Pill Apothecary would skyrocket.

The base they’d managed would be cemented in the city—prove the city and others that they were here to stay.

But…There was a problem. He had no clue what the trials actually were.

Did they just stand around and brew pills? In front of a cheering crowd? That seemed… dull. And suicidal, frankly. Their disciples wouldn’t be able to show their real method of making pills.

No, there had to be more to it.

And before replying to the Darkmoon Sect’s challenge, Chen Ren needed answers. The last thing he was going to do was walk into a trap just because it had the word “trial” written on the envelope.

So, after his discussion with Anji and Tang Boming, he left the apothecary.

There was one man who might know what the trials truly entailed—someone who had been part of Broken Ridge City long before Chen Ren ever arrived. Hun Tianzhi. Ex sect leader of Jadefire Hall. Now Elder of the Jadefire Hall Division under the Divine Coin Sect banner.

Chen Ren stepped into the Jadefire Hall grounds. He knew Elder Hun Tianzhi had buried himself in research. He had heard rumours about strange flames lighting up the sky from his window at odd hours and disciples getting chased off for simply knocking too loudly.

Still, he had hoped to catch the man without too much trouble. Unfortunately, that was wishful thinking.

“He’s been locked up for days, Sect Leader Chen,” said Tau Liu as they moved towards Hun Tianzhi's workshop. “Hasn’t left since the apothecary opened. Says he’s close to a breakthrough, but he said that last week too.”

They stopped in front of a heavy wooden door, darkened by ash and scorched at the edges. Tau Liu knocked gently. “Master? Sect Leader Chen is here to see you. It’s… important.”

No response. The disciple turned with a sheepish expression.

“I’m sorry, Sect Leader. He often forgets the world exists when he’s like this.”

Chen Ren waved him off. “It’s fine. I’ll go in myself.”

“But, Master might get angry. Are you sure?”

“It’s important,” Chen Ren repeated, already pushing the door open.

A rush of dense, spiced air hit him—smoke and ash mixed with the cloying sweetness of burned herbs and something else… was that meat?

His eyes watered slightly as he stepped inside. The room was dim despite the sunlight trying to break through the soot-stained windows, and herbs lay scattered across every surface. Roots dangled from the rafters. Several meats—unidentifiable, mostly charred—hung from string hooks tied to the ceiling. Whether they were ingredients or snacks, he had no idea. He wasn’t about to ask.

The temperature was stifling, and a soft hiss filled the air—qi reacting with heat.

Then he saw him.

Elder Hun Tianzhi, hunched over a massive silver cauldron. His long hair was tied back in a frazzled knot, and his robes looked like they’d been used to wipe spills more than worn for comfort. Smoke and spiritual energy curled around him like a second robe, and the man didn't move as Chen Ren stepped in.

He was simply too engrossed in what he was doing. So Chen Ren kept his silence, his arm crossed.

Fwoosh!

It didn’t take more than five minutes for the cauldron to blast qi, giving off flames that licked the ceiling, blackening it.

Instinctively, Chen Ren almost turned his defensive technique on and took a step back.

When the cauldron finally calmed, he saw Hun Tianzhi’s shoulders droop with frustration. The elder let out a long, guttural sigh.

“Heavens…” Hun Tianzhi muttered, moving to the blackened rim. “Why are you so cruel? These ingredients were decades old. And wasted in five minutes!” He reached into the still-warm cauldron and sifted through the ashy remains with his bare fingers, rubbing a bit between his calloused thumb and forefinger before letting it drift back down like burnt snow.

Only then did Chen Ren speak. “Elder Hun Tianzhi.”

And the man turned around, soot clung to his cheek like war paint, but his eyes—sharp despite the exhaustion—lit up with recognition.

“I thought I felt someone behind me,” he said, wiping his hands on a cloth. “But I figured it was just one of my disciples who came to nag me about dinner.” A crooked smile pulled at his lips. “Have you been waiting long, Sect Leader Chen?”

“Not long,” Chen Ren replied smoothly. “Only long enough to witness a minor explosion and some ash whispering.”

Hun Tianzhi chuckled. “Alchemy is often closer to a battlefield than people like to admit.” He gestured behind him. “I was trying to recreate one of the pill recipes you gave me. The Flameheart Revival Pill, remember? The one that called for the phoenix feather as a catalyst.”

Chen Ren nodded. That was one of Wang Jun’s creations—powerful, potent, and rare enough to be worth a fortune.

“I tried substituting phoenix feather with fire-horned roc and giant crows’ feathers,” Hun Tianzhi continued, “both fire-aspected, both theoretically compatible. But I think I overestimated the spiritual density… or maybe undercooked it.” He looked back at the cauldron with a faint scowl. “It’s all ash now.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Chen Ren said with confidence.

“I’d better,” Hun Tianzhi muttered. “I only have three roc feathers left.”

Chen Ren stepped forward, pulling the letter from his sleeve. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

Hun Tianzhi turned fully now, his brow arching. “Has something happened?”

Chen Ren pointed at the doorway with his thumb. “Why don’t we move to your chambers? I need your advice on something.”

“Let’s go then. Not like the cauldron’s going to blow up again… I hope.” Hun Tianzhi gave a tired grunt and nodded.

They left the smoky, herb-littered workshop behind and walked through the quieter streets to the former sect leader's chambers. Along the way, Chen Ren gave the elder a full rundown—what had happened with the spy, the fake ingredients list, the sedated disciple and the aftermath.

It turned out that Hun Tianzhi hadn’t even known the details.

“My disciples mentioned something about a mole,” he admitted as they climbed the wooden stairs. “But I told them to handle it. Been too busy trying to decode this Master Wang Jun’s notes. Every time I solve one page, it throws ten more questions at me. You need to let me meet this elder one day.”

Chen Ren chuckled. “Sounds like him. As for a meeting, I will ask him.”

Hun Tianzhi nodded with a smile and Chen Ren felt the old man was enjoying his life as an elder who could research the whole day without needing to worry about the future of the sect, or how to keep the cultivators well behaved.

After that, Chen Ren began to talk about the Darkmoon Sect sending a challenge to participate in the Flames of Merit trials. The elder’s whole demeanor changed to serious.

They reached the elder’s chambers—a wide, warm space with shelves full of worn manuals and dried herbs hanging from every corner. The moment they sat down, Hun Tianzhi leaned forward.

“So,” he said, fingers tapping against the tea table. “From what you’ve said, this challenge… It's not just pride. Darkmoon Sect is going for blood. They want to use the Flames of Merit Trials to erase Divine Pill Apothecary’s legitimacy.”

Chen Ren nodded. “That’s what I thought too. They’ll try to make sure we don’t even pass the first round. If that happens, the gossip will write itself—saying our pills are made by novices. It might stick, especially if they lower their own prices to our level to drive us out completely. And If we don't participate, they would try to make us look like novices.”

Hun Tianzhi’s eyes sharpened like whetted blades. “And if any of those things sticks, then all the groundwork you’ve laid will start to crumble. You might survive the debt term, but your name will never recover in this part of the empire.”

“I know,” Chen Ren said. “That’s why I won’t back down. I’ll participate.”

Hun Tianzhi leaned back, arms crossed. “Good. You shouldn’t. Backing down now would look worse than failure.”

Chen Ren gave a half-smile. “That’s why I came to you. I want to know more about the competition. I’m guessing Jadefire Hall participated in the past?”

“We did the last time… and even the time before that. But unfortunately, my disciples weren’t quite at the level to win any rewards. Tau Liu reached the final round—but he was crushed in it. Brutally,” The elder grimaced at the memory.

“So only disciples can participate?”

“Not necessarily,” Hun Tianzhi said, waving a hand. “There’s no rule barring elders or higher-level cultivators from entering. But doing so is a matter of face. Imagine a peak foundation establishment cultivator walking in to compete against early qi refinement disciples. Even if he wins, the crowd won’t cheer for him—they’ll sneer. It reeks of desperation.”

“But Darkmoon Sect has foundation establishment elders, right?”

“They do,” Hun Tianzhi said, “but I doubt they’ll risk them. The number of foundation establishment cultivators in the city is low—Darkmoon included. But more than cultivation, what really matters in the Flames of Merit is alchemical skill. Most participants are Mortal Grade. Sometimes an Earth Grade slips in, though not often. And Sky Grade…” Hun Tianzhi chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Sky Grade alchemists don’t come to this kind of trial.”

Chen Ren let the information settle, recalling how alchemists were ranked in the Empire. Mortal, Earth, Sky, Heaven. One could achieve the grade only if they could make one pill of that grade. Sky grade alchemists were dime a dozen and the ones that were there were all taken by the Guardian sects and the royal family. By that standard, he was firmly in the Mortal Grade. He could make Mortal Grade pills with reliable success. But that wasn't much.

Darkmoon Sect wouldn't hold back. He was certain they'd send Earth Grade alchemists they had—especially after the embarrassment they had suffered. They wouldn’t rely on cheap tricks anymore. They’d try to outshine him in broad daylight.

Which meant that he needed to find a way for his own sect disciples to do better than them.

“Who did Darkmoon Sect send last time? Was it core disciples?”

Hun Tianzhi moved a hand through his beard—Chen Ren only now noticed that the ends were slightly singed, probably from his last explosive failure.
“A sect can only send three disciples, and they usually go with their outer sect ones,” he said. “Once, I saw a core disciple, but that was rare. He was someone who was participating on a bet.”

“Why? Wouldn’t sending a core disciple improve their odds?”

“They function like two different sects. The outer sect is packed with alchemists running pill workshops, handling city logistics. The inner sect trains combat cultivators. From what I’ve heard, the place is riddled with nepotism. Every elder has a dozen grandkids, and they all get slots in the inner sect whether they have talent or not. So the outer sect disciples are the ones who do the real work.”

Chen Ren folded his arms, thinking. “And they win with just those outer sect disciples?”

“Every single time I’ve seen them participate,” Hun Tianzhi confirmed. “It’s also a power play. A message to the city: ‘Even our outer sect trash can outdo your elites.’ Makes their sect look untouchable.”

Chen Ren nodded. If they pulled the same tactic again—and won—then people would surely say that even Darkmoon Sect’s low level disciples were better than Divine Coin’s best. The implication alone could poison their reputation for years.

But knowing who they might send wasn’t enough. Chen needed to understand everything.

So he began to ask specific questions, one after another.

“How is the competition structured exactly? Where does it take place? Who attends? Are there judges?”

Hun Tianzhi, to his credit, answered all of them patiently. Chen Ren sat still, going over everything he had just learned.

The structure of the competition was more or less what he’d expected. The first round tested their knowledge of herbs—recognizing them by sight, smell, even age. The second was about consistency—brewing multiple pills in a single batch, all identical. Then, there were rounds about creating pills with limited ingredients, creating a specific pill and so on. And the final round, the most important, was creating a unique pill, something that stood out.

The scale was far bigger than he thought. The city lord would attend. Officials, sects, clans, hunting teams—everyone with influence in the region would be watching. And that made it even more dangerous.

Chen Ren leaned forward slightly. Their sect wasn’t ready.

Not one of their disciples came to mind as a surefire win. Even Tau Liu, who Hun Tianzhi claimed was one of their best, had only reached the final round before losing. That wasn’t enough, especially not this time when there was so much at stake.

If they entered and lost, Darkmoon Sect would spin the story however they wanted. They’d say the Divine Pill Apothecary was a fluke. That their pills were flashy but unreliable. That even their best couldn’t match an outer disciple from a real sect.

Reputation mattered in alchemy. Maybe more than anywhere else in the empire. So he couldn’t trust Tau Liu to win this time. But he needed to win if he had any hope of cementing the Divine Pill Apothecary’s reputation. Which meant he needed tricks up his sleeve.

Chen Ren sat calmly, thoughts whirlwinding through his mind.

He had schemed his way through the tournament in Cloud Mist City—he had to do the same here. Because if anything, that was his expertise, and he had no remorse for doing so.

In this world, cultivators were harsh, brutal, and unforgiving—the worst kind of opponents to have, and at times like this, you had to use everything to get to the top. Especially when it was a sect like the Darkmoon Sect who stood on the other end. A tyrant.

But what could he use? A way to make sure he was going to win—no matter what.

He stayed quiet for a moment longer, thinking it through.

Then, a face came to mind. Right.

And with it, a plan started to form.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

146. Helping head

"After all this time—shoving me in this less-than-affluent room like some forgotten trinket—you come crawling back, begging for my help to win an alchemy competition? You really are shameless,” Wang Jun said, huffing at him.

“First of all—yes. I’m shameless. Second—stop acting like an abandoned lover. You know why you were kept here. I told you before we left the sect.” Chen Ren folded his arms in front of him.

Wang Jun scoffed.

“It’s not like we’ve sealed you in a coffin. You can go out sometimes, but we can’t parade you around in a big city. You’re a severed talking head, not exactly subtle. Besides, Anji was here every day to keep you company.”

Anji, seated quietly to the side, gave a respectful nod. The head turned his sharp glare toward her.

“She’s my disciple. Of course she comes to learn. That doesn’t count as a company. I don’t remember seeing you or that mangy cat in here.”

“I had better things to do than chat with a decapitated ego.” Yalan drawled from her perch on the windowsill, lazily grooming a paw.

Chen Ren sighed. “I was busy setting up operations. You know that.”

But even as the words left his mouth, guilt stirred beneath his ribs. He had been avoiding the head. Not because he didn’t need him, but because every conversation was like chewing glass. Sharp tongue, endless judgment, and the head always acted as if he could say nothing wrong.

“And yet,” Wang Jun said with a mocking smile, “here you are wanting me to help with the competition. But unless you plan to wheel me out in a gilded cart, I’m not much use like this, am I? And what you’re planning… It reeks of cheating. Once it comes out—and it will—you’ll be neck-deep in trouble. And me?” He bared his teeth. “I’ll be snatched up by whichever bigwig cultivator wants to study the talking head with secrets from a forgotten era.”

“That won’t come to be,” Chen Ren said. “You’ll stay in a crate packed with herbs. We’ll lay concealment arrays around it to make sure no one looks twice. You just have to sit there and talk.”

The head blinked. “And no one will hear my voice, I suppose?”

“That’s easy to fix,” Yalan said. She turned her amber eyes on the head, and something shifted in the air—subtle, like a ripple beneath still water.

The head’s eyes widened a fraction. For a moment, he was silent. Then he muttered, “I thought you only knew one soul technique.”

Chen Ren watched and could guess what Yalan was doing.

“I’ve clearly underestimated you,” Wang Jun admitted almost bitterly, sounding as if he didn’t want to accept it.

Yalan purred cat-like, “Even if I revealed more of my cards, you still wouldn’t guess the extent of my power.”

From the side, Wang Jun scoffed. “We’ll see about that,” he muttered, then turned his attention to Chen Ren. “So this is it, huh? You’re really going to cheat your way through this competition.”

“Only in some rounds,” Chen Ren said with a shrug. “I’ll still be doing most of the work myself. But besides feeding me advice through Yalan, I need you to teach me a pill. One for the final round. Something simple but extinct. And it has to be unique, something no one else will think of.”

“Just make the flavored pills.”

“Those won’t qualify. They’re just altered versions of existing formulas. And do you really think I want to make something like that in public?” He exhaled slowly. “There will be special rooms for the final round—private ones to prevent recipes from leaking—but I can’t trust anyone. I need something obscure, hidden in plain sight. A pill that's easy to make and something that might be common back in your childhood, but no one remembers now.” He leaned in slightly. “I know you have something.”

The head’s grin slowly returned. This time, it was tinged with curiosity. And maybe, just maybe… a hint of pride.

“Why do you think that?”

“Because I know you’re crafty enough to keep plenty of cards close to your sleeve. No one gets to where you were without being stingy with their secrets. I’d even bet what you’ve told me so far isn’t even ten percent of what you really know.”

Wang Jun clicked his tongue, the sound echoing faintly against the stone walls. “Very perceptive, kid.”

“It’s just logical reasoning,” Chen Ren said with a shrug.

“Call it whatever you like.” Wang Jun’s eyes drifted upward for a second. “I might have something. A pill recipe. Nothing groundbreaking, but obscure enough that no one around here would recognize it. Easy ingredients too.”

“What is it?” Chen Ren asked without wasting a second.

“Before that, tell me. Why should I help you at all?”

Nothing is free, Chen Ren thought to himself, reminding how the world works, and how it would always be.

“So you do want something out of it.”

“Of course I do. My charitable days are centuries behind me.”

“Fine. What do you want?”

Wang Jun’s grin curled upward like smoke. “What can you give me?”

“Oh, so you don’t know either?”

“Oh, I know.” His eyes glinted. “I just want you to offer it to me. Without me asking. That’s how you earn a real favor from me.”

Chen Ren exhaled through his nose. Annoying. Predictable. And yet expected. He already knew the answer.

“I’ll get you the Stormbite Pills.”

The head lit up—well, as much as a head without a body could. “Not just that,” Wang Jun added with a groan. “I want out of this damn room. I’m bored out of my mind. Whatever she brings me to read feels like chewing gravel, and you do get tired of turning pages with your tongue.”

Yalan looked mildly disgusted. Anji looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh. Chen Ren pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You know you can’t come out except during the competition,” Chen Ren said. “But once it’s over, and I head back to the sect… I’ll bring you with me.”

Wang Jun gave a slow nod, clearly unsatisfied but willing to accept the compromise for now. “And the books?”

Chen Ren sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know if there’s anything in the new library back in the sect that’ll actually interest you. But… Do you like storybooks?”

“What kind of stories?”

Chen Ren hesitated. “Fated lovers. I wrote one a while back for Qing He. I might have a few more still bouncing around in my head. I could write them down for you.”

There was a long pause.

An extremely long pause of just Wang Jun thinking to himself and the rest of them staring. If he agreed soon, then Chen Ren could get registration over with quickly.

But for that, he needed to agree.

It was daunting, the final minutes with just the head looking at nothing.

Finally, he spoke. “Well, alright. If they’re any good, I’ll do the job.”

Chen Ren let out a long breath of relief, some of the tension lifting from his shoulders. Finally, he thought, something’s going my way.

He pushed himself up off the floor.

“Thank you.”

“Where are you going, Sect Leader Chen?” Anji asked, her arms tucked behind her back.

“With Wang Jun on board, I’m heading to register for the trials,” Chen Ren replied, brushing the dust from his robes. “Alongside the others. Better to get it done early. I don’t want the Darkmoon Sect pulling anything if we’re late.”

He paused at the door, glancing back. “There’s one more thing I want to do while I’m at the City Lord’s office.”

“And what would that be, kid?”

“I realized something,” Chen Ren said, slipping his hands into his sleeves. “One advantage the Darkmoon Sect has is their ties to the city officials. I’m going to try to even that.”

Yalan, still perched lazily on the windowsill, narrowed her eyes. “You gonna give them gifts?”

“Something like that.” Chen Ren smirked. “I have an idea. It all depends on whether they listen to me. But if they do… they might start liking Divine Coin Sect a whole lot more.”

***

A week passed by faster than Chen Ren had expected.

After registering for the trials, he threw himself into preparation with single-minded focus. If he was being honest, he would’ve preferred to avoid participating at all, but he didn’t have the luxury of choice. According to Hun Tianzhi, only two disciples from Jadefire Hall had any real chance of standing out in the competition. And only Chen Ren could make use of Yalan’s telepathic link—and Wang Jun’s sharp tongue—since the others either didn’t know about them or lacked the skill in alchemy to benefit.

So, for seven days straight, Chen Ren buried himself in refining his technique.

Days were spent at the Jadefire Hall’s compound, where Hun Tianzhi surprisingly stepped into the role of mentor. It was an awkward arrangement at first—one born more out of necessity than camaraderie—but the old man clearly knew his stuff. Mornings became a blur of herbs, flame control, and pill refinement. Evenings, meanwhile, were reserved for hours of biting commentary from a disembodied head.

He didn’t waste time chasing complexity. A week wasn’t enough to make him an Earth-grade alchemist, and he knew that. But it was enough to sharpen his foundation. His basics, honed quietly on his own under Qing He’s old notes, began to take real form under pressure. He didn’t spread himself thin experimenting—he focused only on the pills he’d be presenting during the competition aside from the one unique pill for the final round.

According to Hun Tianzhi, his talent was “adequate.” Chen Ren took that as a compliment. It didn’t have to be dazzling. It just had to be enough to win.

Of course, the moral dilemma hung at the back of his mind like a buzzing fly. Cheating—at least by traditional standards—was frowned upon. But this wasn’t a world where hard work alone took you places. The ones who rose fast were the ones showered with alchemical baths in their cribs, gilded sect tokens in their pockets, and entire clans smoothing the road ahead.

So what if he bent the rules a little? It wasn’t cheating unless he got caught.

And Chen Ren had no intention of getting caught.

Like that, the day of the Flames of Merit Trials.
finally arrived, and it felt as though the entire city had come to a halt just to witness it.

Shops closed early. Market stalls emptied. Even the outer patrols of the city guard increased to keep the ruffians in check. Everyone—from street vendors to cloaked cultivators—seemed to be heading toward the massive arena built beside the City Lord’s estate. It wasn’t just a field with a few seats—it was a coliseum in the truest sense, its stone seats rising in concentric circles, high enough that the top rows caught the wind.

Chen Ren stood at the edge of the participants’ staging area, eyeing the crowd. Tens of thousands, at least. Laughter, shouting, chants—the noise alone made his robes feel heavier.

Would’ve made a killing with a noodle stall here, he thought with a grim smile. But still, there was a silver lining. Events like these pulled in not just mortals, but wandering cultivators, rogue pill masters, and merchant factions looking for talent. And thanks to that flood of attention, the Divine Pill Apothecary had doubled its daily sales in the last few days.

If things continued like this, his debt would be dust by the end of the tournament.

The competition hadn’t even begun yet, and already the stands were filled. Cheers roared from every direction, even as the participants—over a hundred of them—stood lined up on the ground under the blazing sun, forced to endure the ceremonial wait.

Because before any pill was made, before any fire was lit, came the speeches.

It took nearly half a day.

One by one, officials arrived—riding in on carriages, clouds, beasts, and in one case, an actual flying palanquin. The City Lord came last, taking his seat beneath a golden canopy. Trumpets flared. Flags waved. And then the announcer stepped up onto a raised platform in the middle of the field, projecting his voice with a wind-based technique.

“—As you all know,” the man boomed, “Broken Ridge City is the bastion of the empire! For centuries, it has held the line against the foul tide of the insectoids!”

The audience erupted with cheers.

“And while we are grateful to the brave hunters and noble sects who risk life and limb to keep our borders safe, they—” the announcer gestured dramatically to the lined-up participants “—are only as strong as the pills they take! The medicines that bind their wounds! The flames that push back the infection!”

Chen Ren tried not to fidget. His legs were already stiff.

“These pills—our salvation—are born in the crucible of minds like these! Talented alchemists, nurtured by years of study, supported by the finest cultivators in the empire… and all of this is possible thanks to the wisdom and patronage of our own City Lord, Lord Bai Huiqin!”

The people erupted into more cheers, much louder this time.

Chen Ren stood at the back of the long line of alchemists, flanked by Tau Liu, the only disciple from his sect that stood an outside chance to win the trial, and Jie Foong, another sect member he’d only had passing interactions with. She looked calm, almost bored, but Chen Ren could tell from the slight tension in her jaw that she was just as on edge as the rest of them.

At the center of the arena, the announcer stood on a raised block of earth as he danced expertly between praising the alchemists and periodically heaping praise on the City Lord, like a well-rehearsed performance.

Chen Ren barely listened.

Instead, his gaze lifted toward the elevated seats at the side of the grounds where the City Lord Huiqin and the rest of the high officials sat, shaded beneath silk canopies. Most of them looked mildly interested or politely amused.

But Chen Ren’s eyes found only one man—the leader of the Darkmoon Sect, Gao Moyue, wearing deep violet robes. He was easy to identify due to the color of his robes, and he understood why he was so influential. Even seated, he looked as if he owned the entire arena.

Their eyes met. Just for a second. The man smirked.

Chen Ren looked away without reacting, fixing his gaze back on the announcer, whose voice was now reaching its climax.

“…These alchemists, with their pills, have ensured that every broken bone, every clogged meridian, and every poisoned core is healed. Thanks to them, our warriors rise again, stronger each time!”

The crowd roared in approval.

“And this is what the Flames of MeritTrials celebrate! The alchemists—our city’s supporting beam—are here today to show their talent, their worth, and their brilliance!”

He raised his hands high.

“This is the one event that brings the entire city together! That shows the empire why Broken Ridge is home to the best alchemists in the land!”

Another cheer thundered through the coliseum like a wave, rising from every tier of seats. Chen Ren could feel the buzz in his bones and nerves, excitement, pressure, all swirling together.

The announcer grinned, clearly enjoying the attention.

Then, as the volume died down, he raised one hand dramatically and declared, “Now let us begin with the first round!”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

147. Heating up

The trials began with a simple round that Chen Ren had already anticipated. One he absolutely needed to cheat through.

“The first round,” the announcer declared in a high-pitched voice that rang across the coliseum, “will be the task that every alchemist faces on their very first day before a cauldron—ingredient analysis! Until one can do that,” the man continued, “they cannot call themselves a true alchemist. It is the foundation upon which every flame, every pill, every concoction is built. We have many, many talented young alchemists here today… but now, let’s see who among them truly knows the tools of their trade.”

As the words left his lips, Chen Ren felt a shift in the air. He narrowed his eyes at the qi around the announcer, simmering out in waves.

All of it was flowing directly toward the rings on his hand. The moment the thought settled, one of the rings glowed and a table materialized in front of Chen Ren with a flash of orange light, an exact replica of the shade of the ring on his hand. On the table, there was a woven basket, filled with unfamiliar ingredients. To the side, there was a parchment, a pot of ink, and a sharpened quill. Dozens of identical tables appeared all across the field in front of every participant.

Gasps echoed in waves—some of the younger alchemists were probably seeing spatial rings in action for the first time.

So that’s how they’re doing this, Chen Ren thought. There was little to no need for servants. One man and his ten rings were more than enough for a lot of showmanship.

When the last table had settled and the excitement faded to silence, the announcer turned once more to the participants, then to the crowd.

“Each of you has ten minutes to identify every ingredient before you,” he announced. “Those who fail to meet the standard—who identify the fewest—will be eliminated.”

Another flare from the man’s rings, and a massive hourglass—easily three meters tall—appeared beside his platform, its upper chamber already glowing faintly with golden sand.

“Your time starts now,” the announcer declared. “Prove yourselves well.”

As the announcer’s final words echoed across the arena, a stentorian cheer swept through the crowd. The kind of cheer that made the ground tremble and goosebumps rise on arms.

Chen Ren ignored it.

He reached into the basket and pulled out the first ingredient—a slender blue herb with a long, almost tortuous stalk and veins running through its surface. The texture was unfamiliar. The scent was faint, bitter. He had never seen anything like it before.

A rare herb, he guessed. They were not pulling punches.

Whoever had put the ingredient list together was making sure this trial wasn’t something anyone could pass through with surface-level training.

Next to him, Tau Liu leaned slightly and whispered, “Good luck, Sect Leader Chen. I know you’ll do well.”

On his other side, Jie Foong gave him a quick, encouraging nod before focusing on her own table.

Chen Ren almost chuckled. He nearly replied that he didn’t need luck—he had help.

As he eyed the blue herb again, a voice rang crisply inside his head. “That’s Yinxiao Vine. Crush the stalk to test for shimmer.”

He smiled faintly and wrote it down with swift, practiced strokes before reaching into the basket again.

This time, it was a silver-white herb shaped almost exactly like a feather, soft and translucent at the tips.

“That one’s Windtrace Fern. It grows only near spiritual springs.”

The answers came instantly.

Chen Ren didn’t waste time questioning or thinking it over. His hand flew across the parchment. Herb by herb, he moved down the pile. His fingers were quick between one ingredient after another. For a brief second, he felt as if his mind was clearer than it had ever been during alchemy work. It was like having an encyclopedia in his ear.

By the time the giant hourglass had poured about half its golden sand, Chen Ren had already breezed through most of the pile. Only three ingredients remained.

He looked at them but didn’t move to touch them.

“Why did you stop? Chen Ren, show them to us.”

“I’m not getting everything right. If I do too well, they’ll start getting suspicious. I just need to pass.”

With that, he dropped down on an act, knowing Gao Moyue was undoubtedly watching him closely.

So he leaned forward again, furrowed his brows, and began flipping back through the ingredients he’d already recorded, pretending to second-guess his own answers. He scratched his head, rubbed his chin, and even erased one name before rewriting it again—acting the part of a young, slightly uncertain but hard-working alchemist.

Chen Ren kept up the act—frowning at his own parchment, occasionally scratching down a fake correction—until the voice of the announcer rang out once more.

“Time’s up!” he called out. “Please hand over your parchments and return to your original positions!”

The field shifted with motion as alchemists began turning in their sheets, some trudged with reluctant steps, while others moved forward briskly. Chen Ren did the same, sliding his parchment onto the collection table before stepping back to his spot.

He looked around again.

Huh…. Most of them didn’t look happy. Frowns, downcast gazes, nervous shifting—all signs that the ingredients had indeed been rare and obscure was there. Whoever curated the round hadn’t wanted it to be passed easily.

He glanced to the side at Jie Foong. She stood still, head slightly lowered, eyes fixed on the dirt beneath her feet like it had personally insulted her.

“It’s okay,” Chen Ren said quietly. “You’ll pass.”

“I don’t know, Sect Leader Chen… I only recognized five ingredients. The rest… I just guessed.”

“I’m sure the others had it hard too. You’re not alone,” Chen Ren said, trying his best to console her somehow.

“But the Darkmoon disciples,” she said, finally lifting her gaze. “They look so confident.”

Chen Ren followed her eyes.

Across the arena floor, the three disciples from the Darkmoon Sect were huddled in a tight knot, speaking in low voices. They were trying to keep discreet, but the smiles gave it away. One of them, a taller youth with a jade badge on his belt, even let out a short, smug laugh.

Chen Ren didn’t recognize the first two. But the third—

Confirming his thoughts, Yalan’s voice rang in his head.

“It’s him. The fool.”

Chen Ren immediately understood who that was. For a moment, the man looked back and their eyes met, and for the briefest moment, neither backed down. Chen Ren couldn’t help but smile, recalling how he set the man up.

The man scowled and turned away. Still petty, Chen Ren noted. Maybe the sect had given him another chance to prove his worth by letting him take part in the trial. Yeah, probably, or else he wouldn’t be here.

Before he could dwell further, the announcer raised one hand high in the air, and once again the entire arena quieted down like a spell had been cast.

“This year’s first round,” the announcer said, drawing out the pause, “was particularly difficult, it seems.”

The audience broke out into a murmur. The nervousness in the air increased by a tide. Though he stayed still, maintaining his posture with his hands behind his back.

The announcer paused, letting the tension thrum in the silence like a string pulled taut. He scanned the crowd, smiling slightly—feeding off the anticipation.

“Out of the sixty-seven alchemists who gathered for this year’s trials,” he finally declared. “Only thirty have made it to the next round.”

Chen Ren could swear he heard at least fifty gasps at once.

“Not even half,” the announcer said. “A testament to the sheer difficulty of this year’s trial. And, the one who managed to score the highest… is someone very special.”

He paused again, milking the anticipation.

“A new face in these trials. But not a stranger to the city. The sect he leads has been making waves in recent weeks for its innovative pills and rising name in the apothecary scene.”

Chen Ren’s stomach tightened.

“Give a round of cheers to—Chen Ren! Sect Leader of the Divine Coin Sect! Fourteen out of eighteen ingredients… correct!”

Regardless of the sad news that more than half will be dropping out, a roar of cheers erupted around him. Chen Ren didn’t feel pride, if anything, he felt the pressure as every eye turned toward him.

And along with the gazes came a pressure—a particularly vile, watchful presence wafting down from the VIP stands like a low-grade poison. His gaze flickered upward, but before he could pinpoint it—

“He’s furious,” Yalan’s voice whispered in his mind, amused. “Wang Jun wants to know how the hell you got one wrong. He’s demanding a reinspection.”

“Tell him to shut up.”

“That’ll go well.”

But he didn’t have time to focus on Yalan or Wang Jun's rage. The announcer had resumed speaking, listing the names of those who passed.

Unsurprisingly, all three disciples of the Darkmoon Sect have made it to the next round. Second place with twelve correct, third place with eleven correct and fifth place with ten correct. In fourth place Tau Liu came with ten correct. A polite round of applause followed for all of them and Chen Ren gave a quick look at Tau Liu, who offered a brief nod in return.

More names followed, but he doubted he needed to be careful with anyone. Chen Ren listened without really hearing, until he heard that Jie Foong passed seventh from last with six right.

She exhaled beside him, visibly relieved, her posture straightening for the first time in minutes. “Thank the heavens…”

Chen Ren gave her a quick nod. “Told you you’d make it.”

The rest weren’t so lucky.

The moment the last name was called, those who hadn’t made the cut began filing out of the arena with their shoulders low. Some looked devastated. Others resigned. A few tried to keep their expressions neutral, but their pace gave them away.

One round down, Chen Ren thought. More to go.

Once only thirty alchemists remained on the field, the announcer stepped forward again.

“Now that the first round is complete,” he declared. “We move to the practical side of alchemy. In this round, you will be required to produce an entire batch of pills—twelve, to be exact—in a very limited timeframe. But quantity alone isn’t enough.”

He raised one finger.

“Each of those twelve pills must meet a purity threshold of fifty percent or higher. Only those who succeed will proceed to the final round.”

There was a pause as the weight of that statement settled across the participants.

“You may choose any pill you’re comfortable with,” the announcer added. “But the time limit is strict. Fifteen minutes. Not a second more.”

In a second, Qi surged from his body, flowing into the spatial rings on his fingers. They flared briefly with pale light—then pop, pop, pop—a cauldron appeared in front of each alchemist, neatly spaced out on the arena floor.

Chen Ren’s gaze slid to the side as a massive table shimmered into view near the center. It was stocked with dozens of common ingredients—roots, shavings, dried herbs, powdered minerals—all standard fare for Mortal grade pills.

The announcer gestured toward it. “You have five minutes to gather what you need. Once the signal is given, the round will begin.”

That announcement was met with a surge of movement as alchemists darted toward the table.

Chen Ren stood still for a second longer. If the last round was like taking a walk through a garden, this would be like running through a mountain. I would have to work to pass this round.

He’d spent nearly every night over the past week practicing for this event. Repetition. Flame control. Batch production timing. And still, it wasn’t perfect. Getting all twelve pills out of a batch was already hard enough, but consistently hitting fifty percent purity?

That’s where it breaks most people.

But he didn’t need to be the best. He just had to pass.

He moved toward the table, weaving through the crowd, hands quick as he selected ingredients for a basic Qi Replenishment Pill—a recipe simple enough to keep steady but clean enough to impress.

Just as he was placing the last root in his pouch, he felt it—that prickling sensation at the back of his neck.

He looked around before he saw where it came from.

Across the other side of the table, the three disciples from the Darkmoon Sect stood with their own bundles of herbs clutched in hand. They weren’t moving anymore. Just watching him.

All three wore identical smirks—thin, crooked faces full of smug delight. They whispered to one another, glancing at him between chuckles like a private joke was unfolding at his expense.

Chen Ren didn’t look away. He didn’t rise to the bait either. He just gave them the smallest nod, turned, and walked back to his cauldron.

Let them laugh.

To the surprise of no one, the three Darkmoon Sect disciples followed him, with squared shoulders, steps in sync, like wolves circling a deer they thought was already bleeding.

The one in the center led the charge. Taller than the others, with striking violet robes and a silver clasp marking his status as someone important, he wore the kind of smirk that made people itch to wipe it off.

“Well, well,” he drawled, voice loud enough for nearby alchemists to hear. “The Divine Coin Sect must be truly desperate having its sect leader stoop to compete in a trial meant for disciples.”

Before Chen Ren could respond, Tau Liu stepped in from the side. “Shut your trap, Ningkai.”

Ningkai shrugged. “Did I say anything wrong?” he asked innocently, though his tone dripped with mockery.

“No. I don’t think you did,” Chen Ren said and his words clearly surprised Ningkai as his lips sealed shut. “I admit our sect is still small. Barely formed. Not even a decade old. But isn’t it strange? Even with all your resources, prestige, and years of formal training… I still did better than you in the first round… Says a lot about where the Darkmoon Sect is headed, doesn’t it?”

“And let’s not pretend this is just a disciples’ contest,” Chen Ren added. “This is a trial for alchemists. And we all qualify for that title, no matter our rank or robes.”

That was when the other disciple—the spy, the one who had disgraced himself working in Divine Pill Apothecary—growled low in his throat. “Speak within your limits,” he spat. “You might call yourself a sect leader, but you’re weaker than me and you know it.”

Chen Ren took a step forward and raised and eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he said. “But you’re the one who made a fool of himself folding herbs and scrubbing mortar bowls in my shop. I still remember how you botched even the weighing scale.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “If you want advice… stop underestimating cultivators just because they have fewer stars than you in their realm. You might live a decade or two longer that way.”

The man flushed, fury flashing in his eyes. He took a step forward, hand rising slightly.

But before it could go any further, Ningkai stepped in, one hand pressing down on his shoulder.

“We’re in an alchemy competition,” he said coldly. “Save your temper. You’ll get your revenge by defeating him, not throwing tantrums like a child.”

The spy huffed through his nose but nodded, eyes still locked on Chen Ren with unhidden hatred.

“Let’s see if you’re still grinning after you lose,” he said. “When your Divine Coin Sect’s ‘prestige’ crumbles into the dirt.”

Chen Ren didn’t respond.

He just turned away and returned to his cauldron. Let them talk. Once he was in his position, he placed stuff down and looked over at Tau Liu and Jie Foong, who were already looking at him.

“Trash talk doesn’t suit them,” he said dryly.

They both gave small nods in agreement before returning their focus to the ingredient table. There wasn’t time for pettiness—not now. Chen Ren selected a second set of ingredients on instinct and put them on the side. Just in case.

One failed batch and it’s over. Fifteen minutes sounded longer than it really was especially when a standard Qi Replenishment Pill batch took at least nine minutes with good control. And even then, half the results were usually unsalvageable. If his hands slipped or the balance went off by a breath, the purity would dip below acceptable range.

He couldn't afford that.

Then, Yalan’s voice rang in his mind again.

“Wang Jun said he can help you.”

“What? How?”

“He said to follow his instructions exactly. Step for step. And you’ll get a clean batch.”

Chen Ren hesitated, eyes flicking over to the cauldron before him. Was it worth relying on the head now? They hadn’t planned for him to step in during this round. But if there was ever a time for a wildcard…

“…Fine,” he muttered. “Let’s hear it.”

At that moment, the announcer raised both hands once again, voice echoing across the arena with theatrical flair.

“Now that everyone has selected their ingredients,” he declared, “the second round of the Flames of Merit Trials—the Cauldron Round—will begin!”

The crowd let out a restrained cheer, and the announcer gave one last nod.

“Good luck to all our alchemists. Show us your flame, your craft, and your mastery.”

With a smooth flick of his fingers, the massive hourglass beside him reset, golden sand collecting at the top.

A pulse of qi flowed outward from his rings and every cauldron in the arena flared to life in unison, lighting up with bright, eager flames.

Chen Ren immediately moved, tossing the first ingredients toward the cauldron, but Yalan’s voice cut in before he could continue.

“He said to dim the flames. And only add the Jadeveil Root and Spirit Ash Powder first.”

His hand hovered in the air. “You sure?”

“Wang Jun also said if you start second-guessing him, he’s going to stop helping.”

Chen Ren sighed inwardly. Of course he would.

He calmed his breathing, pushed a wave of qi toward the fire, dialing it back to a steady simmering pulse. Then, carefully, he dropped in the two named ingredients.

They hissed as they met the flame, sinking into the swirling depths of the cauldron, a faint lustre rising with the steam.

We hadn’t planned this, he thought. But if Wang Jun’s going to help, I’ll take every advantage I can get.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

148. Purity is key

A big ball of qi and herbs simmered in front of Chen Ren as he followed Wang Jun's instructions precisely. But it turned out doing exactly as he said was far more time consuming than he had expected. The hourglass was already close to emptying out one side, and he wasn’t finished.

All around him, over half the alchemists had already stepped back from their cauldrons, arms crossed or hands behind their backs. Chen Ren inhaled the smell of charred roots, sharp powders and boiled spirit grass all around him, but his eyes were locked on the swirling mass inside his cauldron.

For the past two minutes, all the Darkmoon Sect disciples had turned their attention to him—some with narrowed eyes, others with curled lips. Scorn hung in the air like smoke. Even Tau Liu and Jie Foong, who had finished their own batches, looked concerned from their stations.

But Chen Ren didn’t look up. He didn’t fumble. He believed in Wang Jun’s formula.

Yalan’s voice rang through his mind. "Now. Mix the Redwhisk Root and the Cloud Bell Leaf in. You’re almost there. Do it fast. You don’t have much time."

His right hand stayed steady over the flame, but his left moved with purpose. Two final herbs—dried, curled, and soaked in qi—pressed between his fingers. He threw them in.

The mixture sizzled instantly. A golden flicker surged from the cauldron’s surface, bright and full of promise, then vanished just as quickly.

Chen Ren didn't waste a breath. He pushed his spiritual qi into the mass, moving it through the thick, bubbling liquid, guiding it to every edge, every trace of unmixed herb and dormant energy. The concoction pulsed once. Then again. And then it calmed. He exhaled sharply and cut the flame.

A breath later, with a soft clinking sound, the pills began to drop into the collection dish at the bottom of the cauldron one after another. Twelve pills. They all glowed equally, and Chen Ren squinted his eyes, trying to take a better look at them. There was not a single one that was burnt.

No cracks. Check. No blackened edges. Check. For a second, he enjoyed the satisfaction that ran through his mind. He reached in carefully as the cauldron was still warm and slid the dish out. He had no time to test them for purity, but by the looks of it, he should be able to pass.

Thank you, he offered it to Yalan, whose only response was a purr of sorts.

Distracting him from his thoughts, the announcer’s voice came from the front of the stage.

"Time is up! Let’s see what our alchemists have cooked today. Please leave the pills on your workbenches. You will be evaluated there."

As the announcer’s voice faded, Chen Ren watched a group of cultivators in muted gold robes move through the rows of alchemists, each bearing the insignia of the City Lord’s office. He hadn't even seen them appear in the ground. They walked slowly, taking their time to evaluate every single pill in front of them. Chen Ren noticed the scroll and the jade evaluation slip two of them carried. And the other two behind simply walked forward, picking up pills, inspecting them under the dulcet sunlight, and much to his surprise, they ate them on the spot.

They didn’t say much. Just brief murmurs to one another, a scribble of brush on paper, then onward to the next.

Chen Ren kept his eyes on them, noting how quickly they moved past the first few tables. But when they reached the cluster of Darkmoon Sect disciples, their pace slowed. One of them picked a pill, popped it into his mouth, and grinned. The others followed suit, smiling after each taste.

They walked past the Darkmoon Sect disciples stations and judged two more before coming in front of Chen Ren. One of them gave him a once-over and looked down at the neatly arranged twelve pills.

Stroking his chin, he looked back up at Chen Ren.

"Qi Replenishment Pills… They look good."

Chen Ren said nothing, just nodded politely and stepped back. There was nothing more to say. Let the pills speak. The man picked one up, placed it in his mouth, and paused.

His eyes widened.

A moment of silence passed, then the evaluator blinked and looked at the other pills. He took another. Ate it. Then another. Each time, his expression grew more intrigued.

"You’re from the Divine Coin Sect, right?" he finally asked, even his voice had that surprise layered in the high-pitched tone. “The ones with the flavored pills?”

"I’m the sect leader," Chen Ren replied calmly.

The man paused. Then he smiled, just slightly, and nodded. "I’ll remember your name."

Without another word, he moved on to the next table, muttering something to the others in a whisper.

Chen Ren watched them go, uncertain. Was that… admiration? He looked down at his pills. They glowed faintly, radiating steady qi. Carefully, he picked one up and ate it.

The moment it dissolved, his eyes widened.

A surge of warm, vibrant energy coursed through him, smooth and dense without any waste. Just flowing qi, like a gentle tide across his meridians.

Seventy percent purity.

His breath caught. That explained it. With the strength he felt swirling in his dantian, there was no doubt—these pills had hit a quality few alchemists could claim, especially in a public trial.

He looked up toward the stands.

Near the center of the spectators, Yalan sat. Around her, the members of Jadefire Hall and his own hired workers had filled an entire section. Even Hun Tianzhi sat among them.

With his people around them, Chen Ren had no need to worry about any secrets leaking. Either way, Yalan was talking to Wang Jun in her head and even now she used to be in some sort of a discussion with him as she looked at the crate containing the head next to her. But noticing his stare, her amber eyes met his.

“What?” she asked, sounding slightly annoyed that she was disturbed with her conversation with Wang Jun.

“How did Wang Jun know of such a method?”

“He said he found it while experimenting in his youth.”

“Then why didn’t he say anything earlier?”

Another pause. Then Yalan’s voice returned, exasperated. “He said you never asked for his help with this round.”

He didn’t have a reply to that. He really didn’t ask. Wang Jun was… something else. A genius, sure, but a petty, smug genius who apparently needed to be asked nicely before saving someone’s ass.

Still, it didn’t matter now. Judging by the reactions, the pills had spoken for themselves. He was going to win this round.

On the platform, the cultivators who had tasted the pills finally stepped forward. One of them held the parchment full of evaluations and handed it over to the announcer.

Chen Ren watched as the announcer scanned through the list, lips moving, eyes flicking from one name to the next. But then, the man paused. His eyes locked onto one of the parchments.

The announcer leaned to whisper something to the same cultivator who had tasted Chen Ren’s pills. Whatever the reply was, it made the announcer straighten and look up, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

With a dramatic flourish, he stepped forward and spoke, voice booming across the square: “If the last round was a surprise to the alchemists… this one is a surprise to me!”

That got everyone’s attention.

“The results show that only the best alchemists remain. Out of all the ones who began this trial, only twenty have passed to the next round!”

A huge cheer went up from the crowd. From where Chen Ren stood, he could hear some of the workers from Jadefire Hall whistling. Tau Liu let out a breath beside him, visibly relieved. But the announcer wasn’t done. His grin grew wider.

“Not only that,” he continued, voice now brimming with excitement, “but in the decades of this competition, only two people have ever managed to create a pill of seventy percent purity.”

Gasps rippled through the square. Heads turned. Even some elders in the crowd leaned forward.

The announcer raised a hand. “This year… we have a third.”

The crowd went still, breath held. And Chen Ren, arms behind his back, let the smallest, quietest smile tug at the corner of his lips.

“Chen Ren of the Divine Coin Sect,” the announcer declared, voice riding the wave of wind and qi, “has shown today that he's a worthy contender, and a new power rising in the city!”

Another cheer erupted, louder than before. This time, it wasn’t just polite applause. It was genuine, stunned approval. The sound rolled through the square like thunder.

Chen Ren stood still as the noise swelled around him.

Then came the stares.

Dozens of alchemists turned to look at him—some wide-eyed, some whispering behind their hands. As if he were some long-lost relic unearthed from ancient ruins, something impossible made flesh. Even the three Darkmoon Sect disciples near the front looked like someone had slapped them with a fish. Their mouths hung open, disbelief plastered across their faces.

But Chen Ren wasn’t watching them. His eyes were drawn upward to the VIP stand above the square.

The City Lord himself stood clapping, a composed smile on his face. Around him, several officials nodded and murmured to one another, eyes flicking to Chen Ren with newfound respect. But none of that mattered.

Because the pressure he felt—sharp, suffocating, deliberate—was coming from him.

The Darkmoon Sect leader. Gao Moyue.

There he sat, expression tight, posture tense, his gaze fixed like a blade straight into Chen Ren. The man’s eyes bored into him, dark and searching, flitting occasionally toward the parchment in front of the announcer as if he couldn’t believe the results. He looked like he wanted to leap down from the stands and double-check the pill purity himself.

Even as the announcer continued naming the other alchemists who passed, the Darkmoon Sect leader’s gaze didn’t waver.

Chen Ren ignored him. He had other things to focus on.

The three Darkmoon disciples—despite their reactions—had passed. Just as Chen Ren expected. So had Tau Liu and Jie Foong, both looking slightly smug now that the results were public. That was good. The stronger the showing from Divine Coin Sect, the better the message it sent: they weren’t a one-man operation. They had depth.

The rest of the successful candidates were a mix of city clans and independent factions. Some wore robes with family crests stitched in gold, others bore the insignia of outer organizations. A few were in plain robes with no markings—rogue alchemists, most likely.

Chen Ren noted them carefully. He’d speak to them after the trials. Good alchemists were always in demand, especially those with talent but no backing. They’d either join the Divine Coin Sect… or become competitors. Better to make the first move.

And like that, without further ceremony, the announcer raised a hand, silencing the square once more.

“Let us begin… the third round of the alchemy trials!”

***

Gao Moyue couldn’t believe his eyes.

For a moment—just a moment—he genuinely wondered if he had slipped into qi deviation without noticing. Perhaps some residual poison from a failed pill, or an inner demon he hadn't cleansed properly. That would explain the delusion in front of him.

But no. His breathing was steady. His qi flowed smoothly. His mind was sharp. Unfortunately, the reality was far worse.

The sect leader of the Divine Coin Sect had actually produced a seventy percent purity Qi Replenishment Pill in a public trial.

Gao Moyue clenched his jaw, his gaze locked on the figure below as Chen Ren stood calmly by his table, barely reacting to the cheers that rang out in his name.

It made no sense.

Alchemists who could reach seventy percent purity at his age—hell, at any age—were rarer than phoenix feathers. Such individuals were treasures, golden roots any sect would fight over just to have them under their banner. Years of investment, protection, status, they were given everything.

And yet… Divine Coin Sect had produced one. A minor sect with no deep roots. No official patronage. No damn business rising this fast. How?

Gao Moyue had been watching him from the start of the trial. From the ingredients used to the timing of flame control, Chen Ren hadn’t done anything revolutionary. He was smooth, practiced, but nothing had stood out.

Except… that moment.

Right at the end. The order of ingredients had changed.

Was that the secret? Could it really be that simple?

He didn’t know. But he was going to try it the moment he returned to his chambers. That, and every possible variation around it. He didn’t care how long it took—he had to figure it out.

For now, he held his tongue and kept his eyes forward as the announcer—an energetic qi refinement cultivator who thought too highly of his own theatrics—began presenting the next round's ingredients from his spatial ring. A puff of smoke here, a twirl of flame there. All for show. Barely a flicker to someone like Gao Moyue.

Yet the mortals and low-level cultivators cheered like they were watching divine sorcery. He sighed.

Beside him, the city lord, Bai Huiqin, leaned forward, nodding at something one of the ministers said. Whispers passed back and forth between the officials, most of it irrelevant until the name Chen Ren came up.

That made Gao Moyue listen.

The man speaking was the Minister of Civil Works—an annoyingly shrewd official who rarely praised anyone.

“Our Broken Ridge City seems to have found itself a new star,” the man said, adjusting his spectacles. “An alchemist with that level of talent… he won’t stay hidden long. Even the Emperor’s court might come calling.”

Gao Moyue couldn’t respond to that. His lips were pressed in a thin line, his hands gripping the edge of the balcony rail.

A star? No. Stars were admired. Chen Ren was a threat.

Another voice joined the conversation, smooth and knowing—the Minister of Commerce, a sharp-eyed man who always seemed one step ahead when it came to profit and power.

“It’s a shame he already has his own sect,” the minister said with a polite smile, glancing toward the city lord. “I’m fairly certain you would have liked him working under you, my lord.”

The City Lord, seated in his high-backed chair of lacquered wood and inlaid jade, stroked his beard thoughtfully. “He’s certainly a promising prospect,” he mused aloud. “How long has he been in the city?”

“I believe it’s only been a few weeks, my lord. But… have you heard of the flavored pills?”

“Flavored pills? Is that some form of candy?”

A few of the ministers chuckled, but the first one quickly clarified, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “No, my lord. The Divine Coin Sect has altered the taste of their alchemical pills, and they are still effective, but now easy on the tongue. It’s becoming wildly popular among the hunters. They say even children stepping on the path of cultivation can take them without gagging.”

As the City Lord’s curiosity grew, the minister reached into his robes and produced a small pill in a jade container. “Here, try one.”

Gao Moyue stared.

You’ve had it on you this whole time? he wanted to shout. Are you his damn salesman now?

But he held his tongue, watching instead as the City Lord took the pill with mild curiosity and popped it into his mouth.

A beat passed. Then Bai Huiqin’s lips parted. Gao Moyue saw a trail of saliva dripping down his beard as he licked his lips.

“This is… really good.”

The minister beamed, clearly proud of himself. “Exactly as I said, my lord. Divine Coin Sect is different. I believe our city stands to benefit from their growth. We need innovators. You’ve seen the capital, they’re full of alchemists like this. And look at how they’ve prospered.”

Gao Moyue saw the immediate change from neutrality to interest.

Damn it.

He clenched his fists under the table, nails digging into flesh. After all these years of reading the man, he could tell exactly what was happening: the City Lord’s view of Chen Ren was tilting.

That was very bad news.

And worse yet, the ministers kept feeding it. Praising him like a hero. Why? What did they even get from it? Influence? Bragging rights? A chance to ride the wave of a rising star?

He didn’t know. Didn’t care. If he could remember their damn family names, he would’ve cursed every one of them on the spot.

It was unnatural.

Gao Moyue had known these ministers for years—leeches wrapped in silk, parasites who spent more time polishing their boots than doing their actual jobs. The only thing they were good at was sniffing out the scent of power and clinging to it like flies to honey.

And now they were praising Chen Ren?

It didn’t sit right. That sort of talk wasn’t born out of goodwill or civic pride. There was something else behind it. Something he needed to investigate. Maybe the Divine Coin Sect had offered incentives. Or maybe Chen Ren had made a few quiet deals while no one was watching.

Either way, this sudden surge of support wasn’t natural. It reeked of politics.

Gao Moyue clenched his teeth. He wanted to speak up, to throw doubt on the rising praise, to remind the City Lord that one good pill didn’t make a genius. But…

His eyes went back to the arena.

There, Chen Ren stood with the same irritating calm on his face, hands moving swiftly as he prepared the ingredients for the third round.

Heavens! Why must you do this to me? Gao Moyue almost cursed at his luck.

Anything he said now would make him look bitter. Jealous. Like some old cultivator threatened by a bright-eyed greenhorn who’d stolen the spotlight. He couldn’t afford that. Not with the City Lord watching. Not with the ministers muttering praise like gospel.

He had a reputation to maintain. So he swallowed the bile in his throat and said nothing.

The third round was already in full swing. It was one of the more difficult tests—requiring the alchemists to produce any viable pill from a limited and randomized set of ingredients. A test of creativity, knowledge, and adaptability.

Frankly, Gao Moyue always felt it was better suited for rogue cultivators, the kind who survived on scraps, who had to learn how to improvise without the luxury of storerooms or perfect manuals.

But the rounds weren’t chosen by him.

They were chosen by the City Lord. So he simply watched.

The Darkmoon disciples were holding their own, to his satisfaction. Even that idiot spy, who had nearly embarrassed them in the past week, looked surprisingly competent now. He might even make it to the next round.

But Gao Moyue’s attention remained fixed on Chen Ren. He kept his expression composed, unwilling to let even a twitch of distaste show on his face.

But inside, he was seething.

Chen Ren was doing well.

From the ingredients laid out in front of him, Gao Moyue could tell what the boy was attempting: a Five Flow Stabilizing Pill—a relatively obscure Mortal grade concoction. Common enough for any decent alchemist to recognize, but rare in the sense that few chose to specialize in it. It required specific timing and even more specific temperature control. Most would struggle to make something passable, let alone refined.

And yet, Chen Ren was moving as if the process had been drilled into him since childhood. As if he had done it dozens of times before.

Gao Moyue’s stomach twisted because his instincts screamed that this was very, very bad.

Because if Chen Ren finished the pill successfully—and all signs said he would—then there would be no stopping his momentum. He would easily qualify for the final round. And once he got there… everything could change.

But still, Gao Moyue controlled himself.

He calmed his breathing, let his fingers rest against the ornate armrest of his chair, and smoothed out the frown that threatened to creep onto his face. He had lived long enough to know that letting emotions show in front of rivals—even potential ones—was the same as handing them a weapon.

So he let Chen Ren perform well. Let the boy impress a few ministers. Let him stir up excitement among the rabble. He might reach the final round—but that was all he’d do. Because Gao Moyue knew what was coming.

The last round wasn’t judged by ministers or crowd sentiment. It wasn’t based on cheers or fancy presentations. It was judged by one man—the City Lord himself.

And Gao Moyue had made damn sure that round would be his.

To ensure the win, He’d gone so far as to personally create custom pill recipes for the final challenge. Concoction no other sect in the city could even think of. A formula born from his own insights as a meridian expansion realm cultivator, refined to perfection, and tailored to fit the ingredients the City Lord would provide.

There’s no way Chen Ren will be able to match that.

He might be clever. He might even be talented. But a greenhorn like him—no matter how flashy—couldn’t possibly match a pill designed by someone with decades of cultivation, alchemical theory, and real-world refinement under his belt.

In the end, the final round would go exactly as he intended. His sect would win.

And when that happened—when all eyes turned to Darkmoon Sect in admiration once more—Gao Moyue would make his move.

Divine Coin Sect would not walk away from this trial unscathed.

He would crush their rising name.

And Chen Ren—with all his smug calm and irritating innovation—would be fucking buried before he could ever call himself a rival.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

149. Innovative pills

The rounds moved by pretty fast.

After the first two rounds, Chen Ren felt that they had grown steadily harder and far more specific. From making pills using limited ingredients to identifying and replicating one based only on taste, the trials had quickly separated the seasoned from the lucky.

One by one, alchemists stumbled. Some failed due to timing. Others burned their mixtures or produced unstable pills. Every round, more and more contestants were eliminated, their hopes dashed amid the rising pressure. And as the numbers dwindled, the cheers from the audience only grew louder—more frantic, more invested.

Chen Ren moved through them all.

He owed much of it to Wang Jun and Yalan. Without their guidance, the more obscure tests would’ve taken him by surprise. But the beauty of it was—no one suspected a thing. Not with the soul techniques they used. Unless someone was a soul cultivator themselves, it was nearly impossible to detect the kind of mental link they shared.

So he advanced while others fell.

Now, as the sun dipped low, the announcer stepped forward one last time. His voice, bolstered, echoed across the square.

“After so many rounds,” he declared, sweeping his gaze over the remaining contestants, “only five alchemists remain!”

A wave of applause rippled through the stands.

“Five!” he repeated, holding up his hand. “Out of the dozens who entered this year’s trials—only five have proven their worth. Five who passed every test, and now stand as the finest young alchemists of Broken Ridge City, perhaps even worthy of recognition beyond our borders!”

He paused for effect, then continued.

“As always, we have the favorites. From the prestigious Darkmoon Sect, we have the defending champion, Ningkai, who has broken through each round with effortless grace.”

A loud roar of approval came from one corner, clearly the Darkmoon supporters.

“Right behind him,” the announcer said with a grin, “is Yeqing, also of the Darkmoon Sect praised for his precision and subtlety. It's his first time in the trials, but he had proven his worth.”

More applause followed.

“Then, we have a rogue alchemist, Anming. No background, no faction… but after today, I doubt he’ll be left without offers.”

The man standing alone gave a stiff nod, arms crossed.

“And finally,” the announcer said, turning to the last two, “disciples of a new and Emerging sect. One, a familiar face, Tau Liu—a finalist in last year’s trials, now wearing the robes of the Divine Coin Sect.”

Tau Liu simply bowed.

A cheer went up as the announcer paused, the crowd erupting with applause—not just for Tau Liu, but for every name he had called. Each finalist had earned it, and the arena echoed with the weight of expectation.

Then, with a flourish, the announcer raised his hand and pointed straight at Chen Ren.

“And last—but certainly not least—we have a man no one knew at the start of these trials,” he said, his voice rising with drama, “but who now stands as a favorite to win it all.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

“Chen Ren, the sect leader of the Divine Coin Sect. The man who finished the earlier rounds the fastest, who stunned the judges with a seventy percent purity pill, and who now faces the final challenge.”

More cheering—raucous, deafening spread across the square.

“Now,” the announcer continued, “we will witness whether he can truly contend with the finest alchemists our city has to offer.” He took a slow breath, letting silence hang before delivering the twist. “For the final round, our alchemists will be challenged to do what few dare attempt: to create a pill of their own design. An original recipe, never seen before. A product of their knowledge, creativity, and skill.

“But. Due to the private nature of such recipes and formulas, the process will not be visible to the public. We cannot ask them to reveal the inner workings of a unique pill before it is judged. So, the final round will take place in personal workshops, built specifically for this purpose.”

As he finished speaking, a surge of qi burst from his ring—a wave so strong it ruffled clothes and hair across the front rows. The ground began to rumble, drawing gasps from the crowd.

Chen Ren wondered what was about to happen as he heard the grinding roar. He didn’t have to wait long as five stone structures erupted from the arena floor. They were all shaped like small pavilions or houses, complete with a gate and reinforced pillars. Arrays shimmered faintly across their surfaces. They were to not let anyone try to spy on the alchemists.

Huh? Were they hidden underground till now? Chen Ren didn’t know how but it created a good spectacle as the crowd clapped and shouted at the display.

“We will now give our alchemists a short period to rest and recover. Gather your thoughts, steady your minds—for the next round will decide who shall be crowned champion of this year’s alchemy trials!”

A short break… Chen Ren let out a quiet breath of relief as he stared at the announcer who got off the stage.

Even with the advantages he had, alchemy was draining. It required mental focus, spiritual clarity, and fine qi control—none of which came without cost. He could feel the ache in his core and the subtle fraying at the edges of his qi.

The ground was emptier now with only the five of them remaining. The two Darkmoon Sect disciples—Ningkai and Yeqing—stood close, whispering low but sparing no effort in sending glares in his direction.

Chen Ren ignored them.

He sat down cross-legged right where he stood, letting the noise fade into the background. He didn’t bother looking back as a presence approached and settled nearby, likely Tau Liu.

He closed his eyes.

And instead of reaching inward toward the star space, Chen Ren reached outward. He pulled qi from the air, from the natural flow of qi that surrounded the arena. It was slower, less efficient, but with his focus, he managed to do what he wanted in the traditional way. A method meant not just to refill qi, but to ground the mind and steady the spirit.

Chen Ren didn’t want to touch the star space just yet.

He had a suspicion—faint but growing—that whatever had happened to him on the road to Broken Ridge City… the moment he blacked out and awoke hours later… had been due to his explosive growth. His qi had been stable since then. He hadn’t drawn heavily on his reserves until now, and he had been fine. Though, the competition had drained nearly half of what was there.

So he breathed.

In and out. Slowly pulling in more qi, feeling it settle into his meridians. It wouldn’t be enough to fully replenish him—not even close—but even a ten percent boost could make a difference.

Especially in the final round. The final round where he was about to make a pill that Wang Jun had shown him was simple in structure, deceptively so, because it required specific input and constant output. But a single misstep could still ruin it.

And he wasn’t going to let that happen.

He shifted slightly, feeling the qi pool deeper in his dantian when—“Wang Jun said he won’t be able to help you in the last round.”

Yalan. Chen Ren opened his eyes and looked in the direction they were sitting.

“I guessed as much, The array around the stone structures.”

“It’s a divination array. Designed to stop anyone from peeking inside—whether with spiritual sense, qi threads, or soul sight. It might or might not catch onto the soul link between us. Better not to risk it.” She paused, then added with a bit of dry amusement, “Besides, you’d be distracted trying to explain what you’re doing the entire time. We won’t be able to see anything anyway.”

Chen Ren nodded to himself. “That’s okay,” he replied. “I believe I can do it on my own. You two have helped me enough.”

There was a short pause, then Yalan’s voice softened.

“Good. Then good luck.”

Just as her words faded, movement returned to the arena. Chen Ren turned toward the central platform as the announcer stepped back up onto the stage, now flanked by a pair of guards.

The crowd was beginning to reassemble—people returning to their seats, murmuring and finishing snacks from the stalls scattered around the outer plaza. Excitement rippled through them, the energy building again like a tide coming back in.

The announcer raised both hands, his voice echoing once more across the grounds.

“My dear people of Broken Ridge City!” he called out. “Thank you for your patience. The final round of the alchemy trials will now begin!”

A fresh round of cheers followed, though there was an undercurrent of curiosity—maybe even disappointment—at the fact they wouldn’t get to watch.

“Due to the nature of this round, you will not be able to witness the process.” He gestured toward the five stone workshops that stood tall like miniature fortresses. “But rest assured, the results will be well worth it.”

Then he turned to the five remaining alchemists, his tone shifting to something more official.

“You will each have thirty minutes to create your pill and return. If you fail to come out within the allotted time, you will be disqualified and will not be able to present your work to the final judge of the trials—City Lord Bai Huiqin.”

Chen Ren’s gaze lifted to the VIP stands where the City Lord sat. He was surrounded by even more important people, but he ignored them briefly to look at the announcer again.

“Are you all ready?” the announcer asked.

There was no reply—only quiet determination.

One by one, the five alchemists rose from where they had been sitting. Ningkai and Yeqing walked together. The rogue cultivator muttered something under his breath before limping toward his assigned door. And from his side, Tau Liu moved.

Chen Ren walked without hesitation, eyes locked on the stone chamber directly in front of him. He pushed the gate open and stepped inside.

Coincidentally, the spy—Yeqing—chose the chamber right next to Chen Ren’s.

As he passed, he slowed just enough to shoot him a venomous glare. “You’re going to be humiliated,” he spat, voice low enough for only Chen Ren to hear. “Losing to me, of all people.”

Chen Ren scoffed, unable to hide his smirk. “I don’t think so. You seem to have a knack for being humiliated. Not me.”

Yeqing’s face twisted into a snarl, but by then, Chen Ren was already moving through the gate, uninterested in continuing the exchange.

The stone door slammed shut behind him with a low thud, sealing the chamber entirely. Chen Ren paused and looked around.

Impressive.

The room was spacious—well-lit by softly glowing spirit lamps embedded in the walls. The entire chamber was circular, with inscriptions faintly etched into the floor and walls—likely suppression and containment arrays, useful for minimizing any alchemical accidents.

At the center of the room was a solid stone workbench, complete with a cauldron already primed and warmed. Along the walls were stacks upon stacks of herbs, each organized by type and category. Some were common—spirit grass, fireseed root, breath moss—but others…

Chen Ren stepped closer.

Some of these, he didn’t even recognize at a glance. Clearly, they were rare. Even Earth grade plants, based on the way the qi shimmered off their leaves. And then, his eyes caught sight of the exact herbs he needed, of course, not in the exact order he needed. But they were all here—every single one.

Was it a coincidence?

He doubted they’d tailored the chamber to his pill specifically. No one should’ve known what he was going to make. More likely, the organizers had provided every possible ingredient under the heavens they could gather, so no alchemist would be forced to request something mid-trial—and no one could deduce their recipe from what was missing.

It was smart and politically neutral. The City Lord was clearly trying hard to not upset anyone. Not because of the alchemists themselves, perhaps, but because of the factions behind them.

Chen Ren stepped to the table, brushing his fingers across the edge of the cauldron, then reached for the herbs he needed. He muttered to himself, “Time to get to work.”

With practiced hands, he turned on the flame beneath the cauldron, adjusting it to the precise heat needed for the first stage. The qi-infused fire sparked to life with a low hiss.

He moved around the cauldron to lay out the ingredients. He measured them and set aside in the exact order he would use them.

He thought again on how this would win him the trials, all thanks to Wang Jun. The head had spent the last week teaching him, and he, in return, had obsessed over it, memorizing every ingredient, timing fluctuations in the flame and calculating the perfect qi output.

It was unlike anything he’d ever seen.

Complex, yes, but refined and elegant. The kind of pill that was so rare that it wouldn't be found in any manuals today.

Wang Jun really did have many tricks up his sleeve, Chen Ren thought, setting the first herb into the cauldron and watching it dissolve into essence.

And if he wanted to get more of those tricks out of him… Chen Ren smirked faintly to himself. I’d probably need to treat him a little better.

He knew he’d neglected Wang Jun after coming to the city.

In the rush of setting up shop, training others, dealing with spies, and preparing for any retribution from the Darkmoon Sect, he’d taken that silent, ever-grumbling old soul for granted. But now, with the finish line in sight, he made himself a promise: once this was over, he’d change that. Wang Jun had earned better.

With that thought sealed away, Chen Ren turned his full focus to the task at hand.

He began with the base ingredients—the foundation of the pill—dropping them one by one into the cauldron. As they settled, he guided his qi into the brew, gently coaxing out the essence from each root and flower. A soft sizzle followed, then a low hum as the mixture began to heat on its own.

The temperature spiked fast. Chen Ren wiped sweat from his brow, but kept his hands steady. The next part was the most dangerous.

Mixing Dragonspine Powder with Moonshade Nectar. Individually, they were potent. Together? Volatile.

The moment the two met in the cauldron, a sharp crack rang out, like bones snapping in flame. Instantly, Chen Ren created a bubble of qi around the mixture, containing the eruption as a wave of heat surged upward. The cauldron groaned in protest.

His barrier flickered under the strain, and despite his control, some of the heat still escaped, scorching the air around him. The ends of his hair curled slightly from the sudden blast, the scent of burnt strands mixing with the acrid aroma of herbs.

Fuck, but it’s okay. he thought. That was the hardest part.

He continued adding powdered earthroot, shredded silver, and essence-washed lotus seed. Every ingredient that went in altered the hue of the bubbling mass, turning it from amber to gold to a deep, rich crimson.

This pill wasn’t cheap.

Over the past week, Chen Ren had poured nearly all of his day profits from the Divine Coin shop into buying ingredients for it. Some from merchants, others from rogue gatherers, all under the table. It had cost him a small fortune. But standing here now, he knew it was worth it.

Just getting into the finals has already repaid the cost, he thought. And if I win…

He didn’t finish the thought.

Minutes ticked by, marked only by the flicker of flame and the swirl of vapor rising from the cauldron. The heat grew unbearable, clinging to his robes, his skin, even his bones. But still, Chen Ren stayed rooted in place, his eyes never leaving the mixture.

And then it happened. The color shifted. From crimson… to a soft, glowing pink.

He exhaled. Perfect.

This was the sign. The exact moment he’d prepared for.

Time for the final step.

Maintaining the flow of qi with one hand, he raised the other, summoning a flicker of lightning at his fingertips. The static crawled across his skin, converging at the tip of his thumb. With a sharp hiss, he forced it to spark and burst the skin open.

Blood welled at once, glimmering faintly with qi.

Without hesitation, Chen Ren thrust the bleeding thumb over the cauldron and let the blood fall. It hit the surface of the mixture like a drop of oil on fire.

A simmer followed, not explosive this time, but deep and resonant. The reaction began to settle. The mix was stabilizing.

All that was left… was the final battle. The last, most delicate part of the process. Chen Ren closed his eyes for a breath, his qi swirling around him like an invisible current.

One last round. And then it’s done.

***

Yeqing stared into his cauldron, a maniacal grin etched across his face.

The ingredients within swirled violently, qi-infused herbs dissolving in sequence in high heat and exceptional rhythm. From time to time, he funneled his own qi into the mix, feeding the reaction with short bursts, just the the way he had practiced under strict instructions. A faint glow radiated from the simmering brew, and even through the veil of steam, he could see the pill beginning to take shape.

An Earth-grade pill.

His eyes gleamed with triumph.

With this, I’ll win. I’ll win and watch that smug bastard Chen Ren fall flat on his arrogant face.

He still couldn’t believe that fool had made it this far. What twist of fate had allowed him—a nobody from a new sect—to not only survive but thrive all the way to the final round?

It didn’t matter. Because now, he would lose.

Yeqing would make sure of that.

Let’s see how he likes being humiliated in front of an entire city, he thought, lips curling.

The only reason he’d even been allowed into the trials this year was Elder Tiefang mercy—a final chance, one last slot begrudgingly handed to him after the failure and ridicule. Normally, all three trial spots were locked down by the outer elder’s prized disciples. Nepotism, he’d once scoffed.

Now? He welcomed it.

For someone who preached fairness, Elder Tiefang sure loved playing favorites when it suited him, he thought with a twisted chuckle.

But it was fine. Because this time, the story would change. Once he won the trials with this Earth-grade pill—a custom creation handed down from the Sect Leader himself—everything would fall into place.

He’d demand his reward, reclaim the pill that was stolen from him, step into Foundation Establishment and maybe, maybe he’d finally be able to be recognized as a core elder disciple.

Even the thought made him feel giddy all over.

The imagination of not having any more snide remarks, or pity or being ‘that guy’ everyone ignored made him grin.

Maybe even the Sect Leader would take me in directly, he thought, hunger in his eyes. He hates the Divine Pill Apothecary anyway. If I beat Chen Ren here, I can ask for that favor. With that backing…

Years of wandering without a master, of being left behind, of standing on the sidelines—finally, it would all pay off.

He simply had to successfully make the Earth-grade pill. Because this pill wasn’t just strong—it was also extremely rare. The kind of pill no back-alley alchemist could hope to understand, let alone replicate. Chen Ren might be good with modifying pills or making shit ton of basic pills, but this was something else.

He would win. Afterall, he had the shadow of a peak meridian expansion realm cultivator behind him. And that was more than Chen Ren could ever hope for.

The cauldron let out a soft hum, followed by a gentle simmer of qi rising from within—a delicate pulse, like a heartbeat. Yeqing’s grin widened.

The pill was ready.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

150. Pill showcase

When Chen Ren stepped out of the stone chamber, the first thing he noticed was the sunlight, then the other alchemist already gathered, and finally, the cheer that erupted from the crowd.

He doubted it was for him.

More likely, it was the audience finally releasing the breath they’d been holding, eager to see the final results. Now that all five alchemists had returned, the real spectacle—the announcement of the winner—could begin.

He kept walking, pretending calm in the exterior even though his robes were clinging slightly from sweat and the faint scent of burnt qi still clung to him. His thumb still had dried blood and his energy reserves were drained more than he liked to admit, but his eyes remained steady as he approached the central platform.

The officials were already gathered there.

In the center stood City Lord Bai Huiqin flanked by ministers and civil officers. Chen Ren recognized a few of them, and one even offered him a subtle nod and smile.

Then there was the Darkmoon Sect leader.

The man stood quietly off to the side. He didn’t look at Chen Ren. Didn’t acknowledge him. Just stared off somewhere else, as though the proceedings were beneath his interest.

That was fine by Chen Ren.

He moved closer, just as Tau Liu stepped away from the group to meet him halfway.

The younger man gave a polite bow. “Were you successful, Sect Leader Chen?”

“I was. And you?”

“I was able to make a Blazing Stone Pill,” Tau Liu replied, a small note of pride in his voice. “My master helped me refine it before the trials. I had a lot of faith in it.”

The way his face lit up made Chen Ren believe the young man had done it well, but, well only time will tell.

“Let’s see if the city lord thinks the same.”

With that, he continued forward, Tau Liu falling into step beside him.

As they reached the stage, the announcer’s voice rose once again, magnified with qi.

“Now that we finally have all our alchemists present,” he declared, “and each of them has completed their pills within the allotted time, it’s time to reveal what you’ve all been waiting for. Now, I’m sure that you all have been waiting to see the winner. But it won’t be me who decides the winner,” the announcer continued, grinning. “No, that honor belongs to the protector of Broken Ridge City himself—City Lord Bai Huiqin!”

At that, the people cheered once again. City Lord Bai Huiqin stood up gracefully, and carried himself forward with the charisma of a seasoned statesman. When he raised his hands to calm the cheering crowd, the entire arena halted.

“People of Broken Ridge City,” he said, “and all those who have traveled from afar to witness this event, I trust you have enjoyed today’s display of skill, discipline, and brilliance from some of the finest young alchemists in our region.”

Another cheer rolled through the stands like a tide, and City Lord Bai Huiqin paused—perfectly timed, as though he’d rehearsed this exact beat a dozen times before. Then he smiled again, continuing.

“Out of all the talented alchemists who took part, only five remain. The ones who stand at the forefront of our city’s future and perhaps even the empire’s.”

He gestured to the line of alchemists standing before him.

“But only one will be crowned the champion,” he declared, his voice deepening with dramatic flair. “And that alchemist shall receive a thousand spirit stones, an Earth-grade cauldron, a collection of rare herbs, and a special manual on advanced alchemy passed down through Broken Ridge’s elite alchemists.”

Chen Ren fought the urge to yawn.

The speech went on for another twenty minutes, filled with lofty praise, historical references, and ceremonial flourishes. The kind that made the crowd cheer louder with each rising crescendo, but to Chen Ren, it all blended together. He imagined the city lord gave some version of this every year, swapping a few names and stories, but keeping the structure the same.

He’d give the man credit—he had stamina.

Finally, after what felt like an entire lecture scroll’s worth of words, the City Lord turned his gaze back to the competitors.

“And now… it’s time to see what these brilliant alchemists have created. Last year, we witnessed the unveiling of the Crimson Nerve Pill and the Shadowburst Pellet—both of which became staples among our city's elite hunters.”

A few audience members clapped at the mention, clearly familiar with the names.

“I hope,” Bai Huiqin added, “that this year’s creations will be just as valuable, if not more so.”

With that, he stepped back, and the announcer strode forward again, arms wide.

“To begin the final evaluations,” he called out, “we’ll start with Ningkai of the Darkmoon Sect—the reigning champion, and the alchemist who finished first today!”

Ningkai dramatically adjusted his sleeves and walked toward the stage and bowed.

“This lowly alchemist is honored,” he said smoothly, “to present the Silver Vein Pill to City Lord Bai Huiqin.”

He opened the jade box smoothly. Inside, there was a shiny white pill.

“This pill,” Ningkai continued, “holds sixty percent purity. It enhances and temporarily strengthens the meridians throughout the body, making it ideal for short bursts of combat or difficult breakthroughs.”

Murmurs of approval echoed from the stands.

It was an impressive start—sixty percent purity and a utility-based effect that would appeal to many. Chen Ren watched without expression, though he noted every word, every reaction.

“Really? That’s extraordinary,” the City Lord said, leaning in slightly, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity.

Ningkai gave a humble smile, though pride sparkled in his eyes. “It’s my life’s work, City Lord.”

With a nod, Bai Huiqin gestured to one of the guards standing beside the officials.

“Let’s test it, then.”

The guard, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a comparatively smaller waist in reinforced armor stepped forward and accepted the pill with a quiet bow. He held it up, examining it briefly, and for a moment, Chen Ren found himself narrowing his eyes.

What’s going on in his head right now?

Even a fool knew that testing an unverified pill was dangerous. Pills that weren't tested by hundreds could rupture meridians, twist the body from within, or worse. And yet… this man didn’t look like he’d back down.

Without hesitation, the guard gulped down the pill.

Almost instantly, the man’s body tensed—shoulders stiffening, jaw locking. A blast of qi erupted from him, a visible shimmer cracking through the air. For a moment, Chen Ren braced himself, wondering if he was about to witness a disaster—ruptured organs, exploded pathways, a bleeding mess on the city lord’s platform.

But then… the qi stabilized.

The guard exhaled slowly, visibly adjusting his posture as if testing his own flow. His eyes widened just a touch before he turned to the City Lord and bowed.

“I feel my qi flowing more freely,” he said. “The meridians… they’ve cleared.”

A wave of impressed murmurs spread through the audience.

Bai Huiqin turned back to Ningkai and gave him an approving nod. “You’ve done a splendid job once again, Ningkai. The Darkmoon Sect must be proud to have you in their ranks.”

To that, the Darkmoon Sect leader, Gao Moyue smiled. “Ningkai is a very diligent disciple,” he said.

Ningkai bowed again, perfectly poised, before stepping off the stage. Then the announcer stepped forward once more, raising his voice above the renewed cheers.

“Ningkai has once again shown us why he has stood at the top for these past few years,” he said while gesturing with his hands dramatically. “But there are still more alchemists to come. Can one of them impress the City Lord even more? You will know. And now presenting… Yeqing of the Darkmoon Sect.”

The spy strode forward with a swagger that eclipsed even Ningkai’s. His chest was intentionally puffed forward, chin held high and confidence bled every step. He bowed low dramatically then raised his head.

“This pill,” he said, his voice loud and full of pride, “is called the Basilisk Hide Pill, City Lord.”

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s filled with the qi of a Stonehide Basilisk, City Lord,” Yeqing declared, his voice echoing across the arena. “Ingesting it grants the consumer a body that is impenetrable by any attack from a qi refinement realm cultivator.”

A ripple of interest moved through the crowd—shock, skepticism, and curiosity all mixing together.

Even City Lord Bai Huiqin raised a brow, clearly impressed, or at least intrigued.

But Yeqing wasn’t done. He took a step forward, lifting the jade box just slightly.

“Moreover,” he continued, “compared to other Earth-grade pills, this one is significantly cheaper to produce. With the right resources, it could be mass-produced by the alchemists of the Darkmoon Sect.”

That caught the City Lord’s attention. Mass production was what turned powerful pills from luxuries into tools of war.

“If that’s true, Disciple Yeqing,” Bai Huiqin said, folding his arms, “then that is indeed extraordinary.”

He gave a small wave toward his guards. Before the order could even be voiced, one of them—a shorter, steel-eyed, and clearly eager—stepped forward and plucked the pill straight from the box and ate it.

Gasps rippled across the platform.

Almost instantly, the man’s body arched in pain, a cry escaping his throat as his knees buckled. Waves of qi surged out of him, chaotic and uncontrolled, drawing alarmed murmurs from the stands.

For a moment, even Chen Ren saw Yeqing’s face pale. But then, it changed.

From the guard’s skin, a rocky sheen began to spread. Not suddenly or explosively, but a slow, crawling transformation that wrapped around his limbs, his torso, and finally his shoulders. Stone plates formed like armor, each piece locking into place with a dull clack. Everything was covered—everything except the face.

Exactly like the Stonehide Basilisk itself.

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed. The alchemical mimicry was surprisingly detailed.

City Lord Bai Huiqin gestured sharply, and another guard stepped forward, this one already channeling his qi. A moment later, his hand flashed with wind and flame, forming a whirling axe of elemental force, which he hurled toward the transformed man’s chest.

The impact cracked through the silence of the square. The guard was blasted backward, thrown off the stage like a ragdoll, dust and stone spraying around him.

For one terrible breath, everyone stilled. And then, the guard stood up.

Damn, no blood or wound visible. Just a patch of blackened, cracked stone over his chest. The armor had held.

A thunderous cheer tore through the arena—louder, far louder than what Ningkai had received.

Chen Ren watched as Yeqing lifted his head, his expression dripping with pride, basking in the applause like it was his birthright.

Even Chen Ren had to admit—it was impressive. He folded his arms as the cheers continued.

It’s not easy to use pills that rely on foreign qi. That was one of the first things any alchemist learned—foreign beast qi conflicted with a cultivator’s internal flow. It could disrupt meridians, cause backlash, even rupture a dantian if handled poorly.

And yet, the stonehide basilisk qi in that pill had somehow… bypassed that.

Instead of merging with the user’s own qi, it had burned itself out to form the armor, doing its job without interfering with internal circulation. Or at least, that’s what it looked like to Chen Ren.

Very clever. Or rather… very refined.

Just then, Yalan’s voice stirred in his mind, calm and amused. “Wang Jun said he could make better pills like that.”

Chen Ren smirked, lips twitching with the smallest trace of amusement.

Of course he did.

Meanwhile, the crowd roared again as City Lord Bai Huiqin stepped forward, placing a hand on Yeqing’s shoulder with the practiced grace of a politician.

“You’ve presented something truly useful and extraordinary,” the City Lord said, voice carrying easily over the crowd.

More cheering followed, even louder this time.

Yeqing stood there, absorbing it all, his smile wide and proud as if he had already won the trials.

Chen Ren watched him with narrowed eyes.

There’s no way he made that pill himself.

If the Darkmoon Sect had sent him as a spy, they considered him disposable. And no one who could come up with a recipe like that was disposable. Still, credit where it was due. Crafting it successfully, even with help, was a feat. Earth-grade pills were no joke.

So why was he treated like expendable trash before?

Chen Ren almost pondered it longer, but then shook the thought off.

Not my problem.

Soon after, Yeqing stepped off the stage, still glowing with self-satisfaction. The next alchemist came forward, but the air had shifted. The weight of the two Darkmoon presentations had clearly set the bar high.

The rogue cultivator, Anming, a young man with signs of a beard growing and the gait of someone who hadn’t slept properly in weeks was the next one.

Just watching him shuffle forward, Chen Ren could already tell—the man knew the pill hadn’t come out well.

Anming offered a deep bow and presented a pill he called the Needle Bloom Elixir, a small violet sphere with dull sheen.

“It’s used to sharpen perception,” he explained. “Sight, hearing, spatial awareness… common among assassins, scouts, and hunters.”

A few murmurs passed through the crowd. It was a useful pill, certainly, but not anything rare, and definitely not unique. It was a respectable effort, but compared to a pill that gave one stone armor, or improved meridian flow? It felt short.

But to his credit, Anming hadn’t made just a basic assassin’s pill.

As he continued explaining, Chen Ren realized the man had actually made considerable alterations to the pills found in market. Instead of enhancing just one sense, the Needle Bloom Elixir enhanced sight, smell, and hearing simultaneously.

That kind of multisensory enhancement was not easy. Most pills focused on one path of qi sensitivity. Mixing too many often led to instability or sensory overload.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly what had happened.

The alchemist claimed the effect would last a minute or two, but the guard who tested it showed visible results for barely ten seconds before the glow faded. Worse, the purity was revealed to be a mere thirty percent—functional, but not elegant.

The City Lord gave him a courteous nod. “Still, an impressive attempt to enhance multiple sensory paths. I commend your ambition.”

But the words felt more like consolation than praise. And the audience could tell. Anming bowed low again, then walked off the stage with slumped shoulders.

Tau Liu was after him.

He strode forward with confidence, and Chen Ren noted that he looked genuinely proud of what he’d made. That wasn’t just bravado. He knew what he had done, and he knew it was good.

He bowed before the City Lord and opened the jade box.

“This is the Blazing Stone Pill, City Lord,” he said. “A strength-enhancing pill that also imbues the user’s qi with a temporary burst of flame energy. Ideal for enhancing physical combat and area control.”

Chen Ren saw some people even leaning in, to hear better. Strength pills were common. Basic. Every sect had them. But adding elemental augmentation to one without destabilizing the user’s core qi?

That took skill.

The same guard who had tried Yeqing's pill stepped forward and swallowed the pill. He still had the stone armour around his skin and as the pill’s effect kicked in—a bright red-orange hue flaring across the surface of his stony skin, it gave the appearance of magma.

The heat shimmered visibly off his form. Flames danced along the cracks of the armor without harming the user. Even Chen Ren raised a brow.

That’s solid work.

The effect lasted over a minute, and though the purity was only fifty percent, the pill’s utility and synergistic power were undeniable. Tau Liu had been working on this formula for years and it showed.

To Chen Ren, Tau Liu’s pill was more impressive in design than either of the Darkmoon disciples’. It was original, well-executed, and certainly not borrowed from an elder or even the sect leader. It was his.

But would that be enough?

Because in the end, the winner wasn’t decided by purity alone. Or uniqueness. Or even raw power.

It was decided by one man. City Lord Bai Huiqin. And he had no idea what that man truly valued.

He almost wondered—just briefly—if the trials were rigged.

The City Lord had shown nothing but warmth toward Darkmoon Sect, had laughed and patted their disciples on the back like proud uncles at a family feast. The way he praised Yeqing’s pill, the easy camaraderie with the sect leader—it didn’t take a genius to see there were favorable ties.

But it wasn’t as if Chen Ren could do anything about it if that were the case. Politics were as much a part of cultivation as pills and blades.

So when his name was called, he said nothing. He simply strode forward holding the jade box containing his creation.

The City Lord watched him approach, and for a moment—just a flicker—Chen Ren saw something unusual in the man's gaze. Curiosity. Interest. A glimmer of amusement, perhaps. But more than that… as he got close, he felt it.

A subtle pressure beneath the City Lord’s robes. The kind of spiritual density that didn’t belong to anyone below foundation establishment. Well past it, actually.

Chen Ren bowed low and recited the formal greeting the others had used.

The City Lord nodded. “And what pill have you conceived, Sect Leader Chen?”

Without hesitation, Chen Ren opened the jade box.

Inside sat a pill that shimmered with a deep, crimson sheen, so red it looked almost wet, almost alive. Like it had been plucked from a vein instead of a cauldron.

The City Lord’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied it.

“This is a Bloodroot Ascension Pill,” Chen Ren said evenly. “A kind of cultivation-boosting pill.”

An eyebrow rose. “Cultivation-boosting?” Bai Huiqin echoed, intrigued. “Not temporary strength?”

“No,” Chen Ren said. “Unlike enhancement pills, this one doesn’t give a momentary surge of power. It pushes the user forward—past a bottleneck, advancing them one, even two stars forward… permanently.”

The effect was immediate.

Gasps broke out—not just from the crowd, but from the platform itself. Ministers exchanged glances. One of the officials even stepped forward before being waved back.

Even Yeqing shifted uncomfortably behind him, and Chen Ren felt it—the eyes. He could feel the sting of judgment at his back. The Darkmoon disciples, no doubt.

But Chen Ren wasn’t done.

He turned his attention back to the City Lord, who was still regarding the pill with a kind of awe. “It doesn’t do this freely, of course,” he continued. “It doesn't shatter bottlenecks by brute force.”

The City Lord’s eyes met his. “What are the side effects?”

Chen Ren didn’t flinch. “The pill requires life energy to be completed. Blood refined with spiritual intent. The alchemist loses one to two years of their life in exchange for the boost it offers the user.”

A hush fell.

Even the ever-smiling City Lord looked like he didn’t know what to say for a moment, his expression flickering between fascination and quiet alarm.

Finally, he gestured toward the guards. “Let’s test it.”

Chen Ren stepped forward and handed over the pill.

For the first time during the trials, the guard hesitated. He looked down at the crimson sphere like it might bite him. But after a heartbeat, he steeled himself and gulped it down.

Everyone waited.

One second. Two. Five.

Nothing happened. Everyone kept their gazes on the guard like he’d grown a second head, but they all held their breath. Chen Ren would hear a pin if one were to drop.

They didn’t have to wait long. A choking sound came out of the man as he dropped to his knees with a clunk.

Chen Ren’s eyes widened.

What the fuck? Did I mess up the mixture? Was the qi balance wrong? Was the blood not refined enough?

A dozen calculations flashed through his mind—formulas, sequences, error points.

Did I mess up the pill?

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

151. Advertisement is everywhere

When Wang Jun first told him about the Bloodroot Ascension Pill, he’d also given a warning—one that still lingered in Chen Ren’s mind. Back in his day, it wasn’t known as a “righteous path” pill at all. In fact, blood arts were almost exclusively the domain of demonic cultivators, it was a name whispered with suspicion. That stigma still held true now, though the lines had blurred somewhat over the years.

Even so, Chen Ren had decided on it.

He hadn’t the faintest idea how it would affect the target. He’d practiced making the pill before, but never with his own blood—the core ingredient that demanded a slice of one’s life force. Using it meant losing a year or two of lifespan. For him, that was a small price, especially with his cultivation speed. So, he had gone for it.

But now, watching the guard collapse to the floor, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had made a mistake in the mixing.

Not just him, he felt like everyone around him stopped breathing for a second.

A heartbeat later, the man stirred. Slowly, he pushed himself up, eyes wide, qi leaking from his body in heavy, deliberate pulses. Each burst was denser than the last, and Chen Ren felt it—so did everyone else. With every wave, the man’s cultivation climbed higher… until he breached the upper star levels of the qi refinement realm.

Chen Ren exhaled in relief.

“The pill… worked,” the guard said, turning to the City Lord.

“Huhhh?”

“Wow!”

“Is that real?”

Gasps rippled through the crowd, whispers swelling like a rising tide. He clearly heard the shock in the voices of some very loud people. But his attention was elsewhere. Chen Ren glanced toward Sect Leader Gao Moyue, catching the man staring at him with disbelief in his eyes as if he couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing.

Chen Ren liked that look. If he could stare at it longer, he wouldn’t—

“That,” City Lord Bai Huiqin said at last, his gaze steady on Chen Ren, “is something I have rarely seen before. You said it takes the alchemist’s life force… How many years did it cost you?”

“A year or two,” Chen Ren replied evenly. “It depends on how much blood you use. The other ingredients are inexpensive enough—it’s still a Mortal-Grade pill. And as you know, my lord, in the life of a cultivator, a year is hardly worth mentioning.”

Bai Huiqin nodded. “True. Still… This is a remarkable creation. I have never! never! seen a Mortal-Grade pill with such effects. You are an exceptional alchemist, Chen Ren.” His expression softened with a faint smile. “The other officials have already spoken to me about your sect, about how you’ve been trying to revolutionize the pill market. Such efforts in Broken Ridge City are… commendable!”

Chen Ren bowed. “It is only possible because of a lord like you, who allows my sect the freedom to innovate.”

That worked because the man’s grin widened. He nodded at Chen Ren. “I will keep an eye on everything your sect produces from here on.”

Chen Ren’s smile deepened. That was the statement he had been hoping for.

Across the stage, Sect Leader Gao Moyue’s face paled. Those words, spoken in front of so many witnesses, were as good as a shield for the Divine Coin Sect. If the Darkmoon Sect tried to move against him now, it would be easy to paint them as opposing the will of the City Lord himself. In politics, words carried weight—sometimes more than swords—and those in power had to choose them carefully.

Even if Chen Ren didn’t win here today, it didn’t matter. He had already achieved what he came for. And that was enough. He bowed deeply. Then stepped down from the stage, his stride unhurried, and joined the other alchemists.

The two Darkmoon Sect disciples fixed him with sharp glares, but the unease in their eyes betrayed them. They had been so confident before. Now, his pill had rattled that certainty.

On the stage, City Lord Bai Huiqin leaned toward the gathered officials, exchanging low words. The Darkmoon Sect Leader was among them, speaking animatedly about something.

His hands were in the air, attempting to discuss something. The rest of the officials joined him.

Chen Ren’s lips curved faintly at the look on Gao Moyue’s face. His eyebrows were raised, and his lips were working endlessly. The man had been brooding and silent all through the trials—yet now, suddenly, he was talking so much. That alone told Chen Ren all he needed to know: he wasn’t certain of victory.

The murmurs above quieted, and the officials stepped back, leaving the City Lord standing alone at the front. His gaze swept over the assembled alchemists, weighing each in turn.

And this… he knew was the time. The City Lord would be announcing the winner. Chen Ren looked at where Yalan and his group were and shifted his focus back to the man who was preparing to speak.

“Like last year,” Bai Huiqin began, voice carrying easily across the square, “this year’s trials have shown us that when given a platform, exceptional alchemists will rise. And now, your names are known to everyone in the city.” He paused, letting the crowd take in the words. “Sadly, the trials can only have one winner… and for the first time in years, I find myself truly stumped on who to choose.”

A ripple of anticipation moved through the crowd.

“All the pills presented today,” he continued, “would be highly sought after by cultivators across the empire. I daresay even our glorious Emperor, would take an interest in hearing of them.”

At the mention of the Emperor, the crowd erupted into cheers. The City Lord smiled faintly, then lifted a hand, and the square slowly fell back into silence.

“But,” Bai Huiqin said, letting the anticipation hang in the air, “the one pill that is truly unique—one I believe even the Emperor himself would not only hear of, but wish to try—is…”

He paused just long enough for the crowd to lean forward.

“I believe some of you have already guessed it. It is the Bloodroot Ascension Pill, crafted by the young Sect Leader of the Divine Coin Sect. The alchemist who impressed me the most… and the one who deserves to wear the crown this year.”

The words landed like a spark in dry grass.

The stadium erupted into the loudest cheer of the day. Yet around Chen Ren, everything seemed to slow, the roar of the crowd muffled to a dull thrum in his ears.

He couldn’t even process it himself before reactions burst around him.

Tau Liu practically tackled him in an embrace, laughing and shouting with unrestrained excitement. Yeqing, slumped to the ground, staring at the dirt as though his fate had just been sealed. Ningkai stood frozen, eyes fixed on Chen Ren as if he hadn’t heard correctly.

Even the Darkmoon Sect Leader couldn’t hide the grimace tugging at his face, though he still clapped along with the other officials, the motion stiff and mechanical. Chen Ren doubted this was the outcome the man had been planning for. With City Lord Bai Huiqin openly declaring him the winner, removing the Divine Coin Sect from the city would no longer be a quiet matter—it would draw too much attention, too many questions.

Chen Ren let his gaze linger on the man for a heartbeat before turning toward the stage.

Step by step, he advanced, the cheers swelling with each pace.

When he finally reached the City Lord, he offered a deep, steady bow.

City Lord Bai Huiqin stepped forward, resting a firm hand on Chen Ren’s shoulder.

An official hurried up, cradling a small trophy shaped like a cauldron. The City Lord took it, weighing it briefly in his palm before meeting Chen Ren’s gaze.

“There is no one here more deserving of this than you,” he said, and then extended the trophy toward him.

Chen Ren accepted it with both hands and, without hesitation, raised it high.

If there was one thing he understood, it was how to face a crowd. Turning slowly, he presented the trophy to each section of the stands. Each time he did, that section erupted in cheers and applause, the noise rolling over him like waves, giving goosebumps.

Everyone loved a winner, especially one who had broken the streak of a sect that had dominated for years. Darkmoon Sect’s grip on the trials had been so tight that it had bred quiet resentment without anyone truly noticing. And now, Chen Ren was the perfect figure for that resentment to rally behind.

Only once the noise began to settle did he lower the trophy and glance down at it. The moment his fingers brushed its surface, he knew—it wasn’t ordinary metal. It was qi-conductive. That alone made it valuable enough to keep or melt down with Feiyu’s help to forge a weapon. Qi-conductive materials were the only kind capable of becoming true spirit weapons, and a weapon like that would be a considerable boost to his strength.

And this was just the first reward. He’d also be receiving bags of herbs and rare materials—he didn’t have the full list, but the City Lord wouldn’t give out common stock. Then there were the thousand low-grade spirit stones, enough to wipe out Jadefire Hall’s debt entirely with the added profits from the shop.

But the true prize… would be the mid tier Earth grade cauldron.

It was the standard prize for all the trials, but Chen Ren knew it would give Jadefire Hall the push it needed.

As he stood there, trophy still in hand, the City Lord glanced at him. “Do you have anything to say to the crowd?”

Chen Ren looked from the City Lord to the sea of roaring faces. Before he could speak, Yalan’s voice curled through his mind. “Wang Jun wants you to thank him publicly.”

Of course. Wang Jun wants that, and well… He deserves it. I won’t be here without him afterall. A grin tugged at his lips. He gave the City Lord a nod, then straightened, drawing in a breath. Qi surged into his voice as he projected it across the square.

“I don’t have many words to give here,” he began, his tone carrying easily over the fading cheers. “I would like to thank everyone of the Divine Coin Sect, especially Elder Hun Tianzhi, and Elder Wang Jun, who helped train me in the alchemical arts.”

He let the gratitude settle for a moment before continuing, “But… I also have a big announcement to make.”

The noise in the crowd dipped, curiosity pulling them forward. Chen Ren waited for a heartbeat, letting the anticipation build, before speaking again.

“In celebration of the Divine Coin Sect’s victory at the Flames of Merit Trials, there will be a thirty percent discount on all pills! So make sure to visit the Divine Pill Apothecary—you can’t miss it! Divine Pill Apothecary is the home of the tastiest pills!”

A ripple of laughter and surprised cheers went through the stands.

The City Lord blinked at him, as if he couldn’t quite believe Chen Ren had used the winner’s platform for advertising. But Chen Ren only smiled wider. And he couldn’t stop it.

He had won the trial—cheating or not—and just promoted his business to the entire city and beyond without spending a single spirit stone.

There were few days better than this.

***

Chen Ren’s better days seemed to have ended with the trials. The moment the cheers faded, reality returned, and it came with a vengeance.

He had either severely underestimated how many cultivators had been watching… or overestimated how prepared the shop was to handle them.

Not even an hour later, the Divine Pill Apothecary was packed wall-to-wall. Customers jostled shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with chatter and the scent of freshly brewed pills. Everyone wanted a taste of the famed flavored pills, and many placed orders for the Bloodroot Ascension Pill from the final round. They had to be turned away—Chen Ren wasn’t selling that one yet—but the refusal hardly dented demand.

There was no time to celebrate. Tau Liu and the others didn’t even linger, they sprinted back to Jadefire Hall to bring in more stock before the shelves went bare. By the pace they were moving, they’d be sold out before evening.

Chen Ren planted himself at the counter, greeting customers, handing out pills, and taking spirit stones in rapid succession. Within two hours, the counter was buried in payments, and he had to start sending them straight to the storage at the back.

The name Divine Pill Apothecary was everywhere—talked loudly in alleyways, shouted in markets, carried on the wind. Even wealthy mortals began arriving, eager to try the famed flavored pills. By the second day, the crowds had only thinned slightly, forcing round-the-clock production. Chen Ren could keep up, but the mortal staff were already exhausted beyond reason.

It was… quite the experience. But before he could even catch a breath, the shop door swung open again. Chen Ren didn’t think much of it—another customer, another sale. He put on his best merchant’s smile.

“Welcome to the Divine Pill Apothecary,” he said warmly. “We have all kinds of pills for you to—”

His words halted mid-sentence.

Even through the packed shop, he recognized those robes instantly. That bearing. That presence.

Sect Leader Gao Moyue of the Darkmoon Sect had just stepped through his door. And he hadn’t come to buy pills. Chen Ren was sure of that.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

152. Names Remembered

Chen Ren froze.

The Darkmoon Sect Leader Gao Moyue casually strolled toward him. His hands were clasped behind his back as if he was just out for an afternoon walk. But with the pressing weight of his gaze, there was nothing casual about his presence.

From behind, another figure walked in, draped in black and silver robes. They both had similar long, snow-white goatees, and both moved inside slowly, unhurried steps—all the while their auras so tightly concealed that no ordinary passerby could tell how strong they were cultivation-wise.

Why here? Why now? Did they visit the shop to cause trouble? To destroy it outright? Maybe not, it was too crude for a man like Gao Moyue. Or maybe he wanted to threaten Chen Ren by appearing in person. If that was the case, that would be a loss of face for him… unless, of course, something else was at play.

He would find out soon enough.

When they were around fifteen feet away, they shoved haggling customers aside easily, showing off that they’d never known the meaning of waiting in line. Soon, they reached the counter, and Gao Moyue’s gaze fixed on him.

“I think we should talk in private,” the sect leader said.

That was quite straight. Curiosity got the best out of him and Chen Ren nodded back. “Yes, let’s go to my office.”

He turned to Anji, who was staring with wide eyes at the scene that was unfolding.

“Anji, please handle the shop until I’m done speaking with Sect Leader Gao Moyue.”

She swallowed and nodded.

Without further delay, Chen Ren walked toward the back, resisting the urge to quicken his pace. He allowed himself one glance over his shoulder—just enough to confirm the sect leader’s steady approach behind him as the elder shadowed him.

As they crossed into the quieter corridor, Chen Ren’s gaze flicked around, checking every corner without moving his head too obviously.

“Don’t worry,” Yalan’s voice slid smoothly into his mind. “I’m seeing everything. If they try anything, I’ll intercept.”

His shoulders eased, tension uncoiling slightly. With her here, at least he wouldn’t be entirely at their mercy.

They reached his office soon after. Chen Ren pushed the door open, gesturing toward the chair opposite his own desk. “Please, have a seat.”

Only after the sect leader settled did Chen Ren take his own.

Chen Ren noticed it immediately—only Gao Moyue took the offered seat. The elder in Darkmoon robes remained standing, hands folded before him, head slightly bowed.

Chen Ren’s brow arched and the sect leader followed his eyes to look at the elder.

“He doesn’t need to sit,” he said evenly, keeping his posture straight. “He hasn’t earned it.”

The elder’s shoulders dipped, his gaze sinking to the floorboards.

Chen Ren filed the scene away in silence. Internal sect business—none of his concern. His attention returned to the man before him, and their eyes locked across the desk.

“I’m sorry,” Chen Ren said. “I don’t have any tea prepared for you. Things have been… busy here. I didn’t expect your arrival.”

“That’s fine.” Gao Moyue leaned back slightly, and gave a slight shrug as if he owned the space. Even the aura that excluded him dominated the space. “I didn’t want to come here. But I realized we’ve never been formally introduced. As sects competing in the same market, it’s pertinent to do so.”

He paused, his words lingering like a blade held just above the skin.

“You should know this already,” Gao Moyue continued, “but I am Gao Moyue, sect leader of the Darkmoon Sect for the last one hundred and fifty years, and a meridian expansion realm cultivator. I have overseen Broken Ridge City since the Empire made it a border city.”

Chen Ren nodded. He knew all of this already, but courtesy demanded formality. “I’m Chen Ren, Sect Leader of the Divine Coin Sect… and a qi refinement realm cultivator.”

A sharp huff escaped Gao Moyue. “Hearing you say that makes me realize how incompetent my sect has become. It seems I’ve been too uncaring for too long.”

The man caresses his goatee.

Chen Ren quirked an eyebrow. “Are you here to tell me you only lost because your sect had become incompetent?”

“No.” Gao Moyue’s black eyes sharpened. “You did well. Far too well for an Emerging sect to have any right to, and you have my respect for that. What I’m here to do… is assess you.”

Assess me? Personally? “Not here to threaten me, then?” Chen Ren asked, already wanting to know what was actually going through his mind.

Gao Moyue shook his head. “My presence is threat enough. And hearing you speak to me like that… It tells me you have backing. No one moves their mouth in front of a superior without it.”

Chen Ren didn’t rise to the bait. After a moment, he said evenly, “I just don’t think you can do anything to me now. I understand your plans, Sect Leader Gao Moyue, and I have to say, you have dominated the city for a long time. But the City Lord has looked at me favorably. I don’t think you want to do anything to me right now.”

The sect leader’s smirk was… slow. He stared a beat longer and rolled his shoulders back. “The City Lord would indeed be… displeased if I moved against you. But you are still a new sapling. The Darkmoon Sect’s roots are far too deep. Don’t hide behind the City Lord. That’s the fastest way to grow complacent. In the coming years, I doubt you will have much chance to relax.”

“I’ll think about your words,” Chen Ren said. His voice was light, but his eyes didn’t waver. “But I believe I’m relaxed enough even now.”

The air shifted.

Gao Moyue's aura suddenly swept forward before he could blink twice. Chen Ren felt death's icy, unforgiving grasp tighten around his throat. As the weight crushed against his chest, his face turned pale and his breath caught.

Still, he forced himself to look up, glare meeting glare.

It was just a show. He wouldn’t dare act here. If he did, Yalan would have all the reason she needed to strike.

As expected, the suffocating pressure eased, like a tide retreating from the shore.

“At least,” Gao Moyue said, voice low, “you don’t seem like a puppet placed here by someone else.”

Chen Ren took a slow breath, the air tasting sharper than before. “I believe you should tread carefully, Sect Leader Gao Moyue. Next time you do that… I won’t just sit still.”

“Oh? Really?” Gao Moyue’s eyes narrowed, and a dangerous edge crept into his voice. “I would like to see—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Color drained from his face.

Chen Ren’s lips curved. He knew that look. The sudden stillness in the man’s posture, the movement of his hand muscles—Gao Moyue was feeling it now. The same oppressive weight that had gripped Chen Ren moments ago… only this time, it was pressing down on him.

Unlike Chen Ren, Gao Moyue hadn’t been ready for it.

For several seconds, the Darkmoon Sect leader sat rigid, his qi surging instinctively in search of the source. Invisible tendrils of spiritual sense rippled through the room… but if he found anything, it didn’t show. His expression shifted once, almost imperceptibly, before settling into something carefully neutral.

Yalan must’ve stopped. Because the man’s posture eased.

In the corner, the elder still hadn’t moved. His head remained lowered, the faintest air of detachment about him, as though what happened here was not worth witnessing.

“Ah,” Gao Moyue finally said, a wry note slipping into his voice. “It seems I truly underestimated you. You really are full of tricks.”

“You haven’t seen even half of it,” Chen Ren replied back. “So I suggest you don’t try shows of power again.”

“Very well.” Gao Moyue inclined his head, an acknowledgment without submission. “I see your strength now. I think we’ll make fine rivals in this city. I suppose the heavens can’t let one man benefit forever—it must create balance. And it has… with you and me. I’ll leave your sect alone for now.”

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think I believe that.”

“Hmm, good thinking. Because, me, leaving your sect alone doesn’t mean there won’t be repercussions,” Gao Moyue said with a faint smile. “I believe it’s time I reminded my disciples why they are the best in the city. That will keep me… occupied. Too busy to meddle with your little shop. But don’t relax too much, Chen Ren. We will clash our qis again soon.”

He rose from his seat, turning toward the door. Halfway there, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

“But,” he said, “I do have one question before I leave.”

“What?”

“How did you get those greedy bastards of officials to speak in your favor?”

Chen Ren hesitated, weighing whether to answer. The truth was, a man like Gao Moyue would find out eventually. Even if he didn’t say it outright, he’d use his resources and connections to find out. Better to choose the framing himself.

“Like you said,” Chen Ren replied evenly, “they’re greedy, but they like to pretend otherwise. They like to show they’re honest. I simply gave them a way to do both.”

A faint crease formed between the sect leader’s brows. “And what was that?”

“The city has a big betting market,” Chen Ren said, “especially during the trials. I told them who to put their money on. Seeing how confident I was, they ended up placing at least a little on the winner. They grew wealthier without losing a shred of ‘honor’… and I gained some fans among them. The betting market didn't even expect me to pass the first round, much less win.”

For a moment, Gao Moyue simply stared at him, the corners of his lips twitching as if savoring the answer. Then he nodded once. “You’re smart.” He paused at the door, a faint smile curving his mouth. “I will remember your name, Sect Leader Chen Ren.”

With that, he left, the elder falling silently into step behind him.

Chen Ren didn’t relax right away. He sat there, still and silent, listening to the sound of their footsteps fading down the hall. Five long minutes passed before he finally exhaled, leaning back into his chair.

If he was right, Yalan was already shadowing them, following at a safe distance to see where they went next.

The entire meeting had been taut as a bowstring—more an assessment than an outright threat, though the warning was clear.

Revealing the presence of a meridian expansion realm cultivator in their midst… Perhaps it was a risk. But it was also a deterrent. If nothing else, it might make them think twice before acting openly.

No… whatever came next from Darkmoon Sect would be quieter. More subtle. And likely aimed where he least expected.

And honestly, Chen Ren didn’t care much.

He had accomplished what he’d come to Broken Ridge City to do. The debt was gone, wiped clean. His footing was solid now, the kind that couldn’t be easily shaken. Every week, spirit stones would flow in—a steady stream he could rely on.

If he managed to expand the business to other cities, the Divine Coin Sect’s economy might one day rival that of an Established Sect.

But that was for later.

For now, he needed to take stock of what he had. Even as he sat there, the faint chime of the shop’s front door drifting through the walls hit his ears. He could feel it—a thin trickle of qi, subtle yet constant, flowing into his dantian. Every pill sold carried a sliver of benefit back to him, and though the flow was small, it never stopped.

It was like feeling the first drops of a rainstorm that, given enough time, could flood an entire valley.

***

Shen Linao kept the frown from touching his face.

Each breath he drew seemed to stoke the fire in his chest, feeding the anger that clawed at his ribs. It took every thread of his willpower not to bark out his frustration at the sight before him.

The massive chamber—once the secret vault of the Void Blade Sect—was now stripped bare of its treasures. Where once priceless artifacts might have rested, there now sat two dozen disciples, their crimson robes dulled with dust and sweat. Every one of them was trained in the discipline of divination, though most had never been called to attempt anything of this magnitude.

They sat cross-legged, eyes shut, breaths steady, qi streaming from their bodies in pale threads. The streams twisted together in the air, feeding a roiling cloud suspended in the chamber’s center. It pulsed faintly, an embryonic mirror that would soon—he hoped—show him the vision he sought.

Through it, they would tear through the veil of space and time, stretching the threads of reality itself to peer into the past. They would see what had happened here months ago. They would see who had killed Wang Fu and the others. They would see who had stolen the treasures that were rightfully his.

But it was taking far too long.

Maybe he shouldn’t have killed the ones who refused to give their lives for the “greater good” of the sect. With more experienced seers, the process might have moved faster. Still, what choice did he have? Divination was an art that devoured life force, and most of these disciples were only at the qi refinement realm. They would die here today, and he felt no remorse.

They had accepted their fates.

He wanted the treasures. That was all that mattered.

But patience was bleeding from him by the moment. Six hours had passed already, and the swirling mirror was still unstable. His mind was too unsettled to cultivate, his body too tense to rest. All he could do was stand there and wait, wondering if all his sacrifices would finally reveal the face of the unknown enemy… or if the vision would dissolve, leaving him with nothing but corpses and failure.

Just as Shen Linao felt the last threads of his patience fray, something shifted among the seated cultivators.

Three of them shuddered violently, thin streams of blood trickling from their nostrils before they slumped sideways to the ground. A flare of qi burst from their bodies, followed by the faint shimmer of their life force, both drawn upward into the swirling cloud above.

Shen Linao’s lips curved into the first real smile he had allowed himself all day. It was starting.

One after another, more disciples followed. Some went rigid before their meridians ruptured with sickening cracks, threads of qi leaking out in ghostly streams. Others simply collapsed, their hearts stilled in an instant, their dantians hollowed out like spent lanterns.

Each death fed the cloud.

From its churning grey, it bled into a misty white, and with every passing breath faint hues began to seep through—gold, red, deep indigo. Shen Linao narrowed his eyes, focusing on the shifting shapes within.

There.

A vague silhouette stood at the heart of the cloud, surrounded by other blurred figures. Wang Fu was not yet among them, but Shen Linao knew he would appear soon. Divinations rarely played out in neat order—especially not with fledgling diviners—but if the time frame was right, the truth would unravel before him.

The shine in his eyes grew sharper. He leaned forward, drinking in every detail as the unstable vision rippled and formed.

Then, faint but distinct, came the first clear words—one of the shadowed figures calling out to the first silhouette:

“Sect Leader Chen Ren.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

153. A spy's predicament

Haoran stared at the untidy stack of letters spread across the desk, the ink still glistening in places. He had been scribbling reports since dawn, and now the sight of them only made him sigh.

A draft slipped through the cracks in the shutters, making his neck hair stand up. Muttering under his breath, he pulled the wolf-fur blanket over his head. The pelt was thick and warm—one of his few indulgences since arriving here—and even it struggled against the cold.

Winter was drawing to its end, yet the past week had been the harshest so far. He could only imagine the deeper snows swallowing the northern reaches of the Kalian Empire, entire provinces buried under white. In those places, cultivators would be burning through their reserves of qi just to keep trade routes open. And there would be beasts too. Always beasts.

Even Meadow Village, with its strange defenses, wasn’t entirely safe. The air often carried the distant thrum and clang of contraptions, devices he had glimpsed only from afar—clever things that spat light and noise. They kept the walls secure, but Haoran knew better than to believe in perfect safety.

Perhaps that was why Princess Yanyue had been so quiet. No word from her since he’d left Cloud Mist City, the last message telling him to stay in Meadow Village, observe Chen Ren, and send regular reports.

And so far, it hasn't been difficult. The influx of refugees had given him a perfect cover; he’d simply walked in with the crowd and vanished among them. The rest had been easier still. Even as a mortal with no place in the sect’s inner circle, he had found ways to gather what he needed. The wolf-fur blanket wrapped around his shoulders was proof of that.

Someone had killed a peak Tier 1 beast to make these blankets, and plenty more besides—enough for them to be sold in bulk around the village. Haoran had even heard talk of carriages taking them as far as Cloud Mist City. That alone was strange.

For a new sect to kill so many Tier 1 beasts without sustaining heavy losses was already rare enough. But here, there had been no deaths at all. A few injuries, yes, though they were quickly treated. Even if the occasional Tier 2 beast appeared, the cultivators had dealt with them without fanfare. Efficient. Almost too efficient.

Of all the people he had seen here, Li Xuan had shocked him most. Just months ago, Haoran had spoken with City Lord Li Baolong in person. He had never expected to find the man’s son out here in Meadow Village, far from the capital. That detail had gone straight into one of his letters to Princess Yanyue.

But those letters…

Haoran’s frown deepened beneath the wolf blanket. Something was wrong. The winter might make communication difficult, but for him to have no reply in over a month was unnatural, especially from the Princess. If she couldn’t send a message through merchant caravans, she would have sent one of the castle’s caged avian beasts, the ones trained to carry notes across vast distances. Yet nothing had come.

He forced the unease down. Worrying wouldn’t change the fact that he had no word from her. Princess Yanyue had people around her—cultivators, guards, advisors. She was safer than most in the Empire. His task here remained the same.

Haoran’s eyes drifted to the stack of papers on the table. The most recent letters contained his observations from the last week: the beast tamer Zi Wen bonding with a striker beak—a Tier 2 aerial predator now subdued under his will; the rumors spreading that Sect Leader Chen Ren had achieved great success in Broken Ridge City.

He doubted the last one. Broken Ridge was no place for easy growth, and he had heard the sect leader intended to challenge the city’s alchemy markets. A fool’s errand, in his opinion. But his job wasn’t to decide what was wise or foolish.

It was simply to record it all… and send it off to the Princess who, for reasons he could not name, wasn’t answering.

Folding the letters neatly, Haoran slid them into an envelope and reached into the inner pocket of his robe. His fingers closed around a small cube, its base engraved with a seal that thrummed faintly with qi.

He pressed the cube to the envelope, feeling the faint hum of qi stir beneath his fingers. A thin shimmer of light spilled across the paper, tracing lines before folding in on itself. In the space of a heartbeat, the glowing sigil bloomed into full clarity before it faded away, sinking back into the grain of the envelope as though it had never been there.

To the untrained eye, it looked like nothing more than ordinary paper now. But Haoran knew better. If anyone other than the Princess tried to open it, the enchantment would ignite in a flash, reducing the letter to drifting ash before the first line could be read.

A fail-safe keyed to her qi alone.

She had designed it years ago, drawing inspiration from something she had once read in a book. At the time, she had laughed about it, calling it a “little paranoid trick.” Now, standing in a hunter’s modest home on the Empire’s edge, Haoran couldn’t help thinking it was anything but little, and far from paranoia.

“Good enough,” he murmured under his breath.

Satisfied, he tucked the cube back into his inner pocket and rose, the wolf-fur blanket sliding from his shoulders in a heavy whisper of warmth. The chill claimed him instantly, gnawing at his skin through his robe. Still, he ignored it, bracing for the bite of the wind as he stepped out of the small room he had been calling home.

It was a guest room in the house of a village hunter—one of the better arrangements he’d managed in his work. The man had let him stay in exchange for lessons for his son and daughter: reading, writing, and mathematics. The goal was simple enough. The hunter wanted his children to join the Divine Coin Sect, which, unusually, accepted mortals. A strange ambition in Haoran’s eyes, but not one he could fault.

Food and lodging were obvious perks, but the true advantage was subtler—with the hunter’s quiet support, he could move freely through the village without anyone questioning his presence.

Outside, he pulled his cloak tighter, the fabric catching in the wind, and set off down the packed dirt street. The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke and tanned hides.

The village was livelier than when he’d first arrived. Each week, new faces had appeared—families and wanderers drawn by the stories of Meadow Village fending off beasts with ease. Chief Muyang had even ordered the construction of new houses, the skeletons of wooden frames rising like bare trees against the pale winter sky.

Strange, Haoran thought, to see a village swelling in the heart of winter. But then again, stranger things had happened in the Empire.

As he walked, several villagers glanced up from their work and gave small bows in greeting. Haoran inclined his head in return. In the Kalian Empire, scholars were afforded a measure of respect—whether earned or simply assumed—and here, far from the capital, he intended to make the most of it.

Further along, he caught sight of a group of mortal sect members and hunters working in tandem, their boots crunching over frost-hardened earth as they hauled the carcasses of freshly slain beasts toward a waiting cart. The mortals met his eyes and gave him nods rather than bows, the subtle acknowledgment of those who carried a higher status within the sect.

Haoran returned the gesture with a faint smile before moving on, his mind already shifting back to the errand at hand.

He had only befriended a handful of mortals, mostly the younger, more talkative ones. They had proven useful enough for gathering bits of information. The cultivators, though… he kept his distance.

As he reached the heart of the village, the clatter of hooves and wheels reached his ears. A few carriages stood in the open square, their canvas covers already tied down for departure.

His steps slowed when he saw who was there.

Zi Wen.

Arguably the most reliable cultivator in the village… and the one he was most cautious of. Beast tamers were rare in the Empire, and what little he’d heard of them was enough to make him wary. The fact that he had bonded with a Tier 2 Striker Beak only deepened that caution.

Still, turning around now would be more suspicious than walking past. He forced his expression into something neutral and continued forward.

Both Zi Wen and the man he was speaking with turned toward him. Gao Shun—merchant, native of Meadow Village, and a man whose boots saw more of the Empire’s roads than its inns. Every two months he passed through, trading goods from one city to another.

And every two months, Haoran entrusted him with an envelope.

He never said it needed to reach the capital, only Cloud Mist City. No mortal with sense would venture to the capital during a beast rising. Once the letter reached Cloud Mist, other agents of the Princess would see it to its true destination.

Gao Shun’s gaze settled on him, warm but sharp in the way merchants often were. “Another letter needs to be sent to your family, Haoran?”

Haoran inclined his head. “Yes. I would be grateful. And as always, I will pay a silver wen for it.”

“You must love your family a great deal,” Gao Shun said with an easy smile.

Before Haoran could answer, Zi Wen turned toward him, looking at him extremely calmly. “Where does your family live in Cloud Mist City, Haoran? Are they your wife and children?”

A small hitch tightened in his chest, but he kept it buried, bowing slightly in respect. “No, esteemed cultivator. My brother lives there. We have a good relationship, and he likes me to keep sending him letters. As you know, I’m a travelling scholar… so he worries.”

“I understand.” Zi Wen’s voice softened just slightly. “My brother is on his way to Ashen City. I worry for him too.” Then he turned back to Gao Shun. “Either way, it’s good to know about the beasts near Cloud Mist City. Thanks for your help as usual, Gao Shun.”

“It’s the least I could do for the ones protecting my home,” Gao Shun replied with a respectful bow.

Zi Wen gave him a final glance, then walked away.

Haoran let out a slow, internal breath. He turned his attention back to the merchant, who was still watching Zi Wen’s retreating figure.

“He’s one of the better cultivators I’ve met,” Gao Shun remarked. “Caring for mortals. Protecting them.”

Haoran nodded, knowing it was true, but not wanting to linger on the subject. If you wanted to avoid suspicion, you didn’t ask too much about those who might suspect you.

Instead, he simply handed over the sealed envelope and a gleaming silver coin. “Thank you for your help. Tell my brother I miss him.”

Gao Shun accepted it with a polite nod.

Haoran wanted to ask more—about Cloud Mist City, about what Gao Shun had seen on the roads—but decided against it this time. Better not to push. He turned away, already thinking of the Princess and hoping for a reply.

But what he didn’t see was the faintest smirk tugging at Gao Shun’s lips as the merchant tucked the letter away.

***

Chen Ren sat in his inn room, the account books stacked neatly at his side as he spoke with Yalan.

It had been four days since his meeting with Darkmoon Sect Leader Gao Moyue, and nothing had come of it. Nothing. He’d expected something—anything that’d disturb his peace, but no.

He had even taken the chance to pay off the last of the debt, making sure the Divine Pill Apothecary was entirely free of such chains. Even the rumors Tang Boming had mentioned—half-spoken gossip drifting from the taverns—suggested that the Darkmoon Sect was focused inward.

Apparently, Gao Moyue had begun showering the outer sect disciples with incentives, overhauling their sweatshop-style production, and pushing for individual pill making with an emphasis on innovation. It was quite a bold shift. The inner sect elders were less than pleased, if the talk Boming overheard from a drunken young master was to be believed. Hidden tensions were brewing, the sort that could gnaw at a sect from within.

If true, it meant the Darkmoon Sect could be wrapped up in its own internal changes for months, perhaps even a year.

No complaints from Chen Ren, because it was good news for him. Good time for his business to grow roots deep enough to weather whatever came next.

After going over the details with Yalan, they had reached the same conclusion: Broken Ridge City might remain quiet for them, maybe even for years.

It was the best outcome Chen Ren could have asked for. He was wealthier now than he’d ever been, able to afford things that had been far out of reach before arriving here.

Though problems still remained—none of them business. These were personal. Matters of cultivation.

Yalan’s voice broke into his thoughts. “You really think you can do it? If you falling unconscious last time was really because of your progression… it could be very dangerous.”

“That’s why I have you here with me,” Chen Ren replied without hesitation. “If you notice anything strange, pull me out. I believe I need to go into my star space to see if there’s any problem with it.”

“You haven’t been inside since coming to the city,” Yalan pointed out.

“I never had the time,” he admitted, leaning back slightly. “And I didn’t want to access it and find another problem when we were already drowning in others. Adding trouble when you’re already swamped just makes it overwhelming. Besides, Elder Hun Tianzhi said I was fine, and he’s got good healing knowledge.”

Yalan licked her paws in the most graceful way known to cats. “I’ve mostly heard of him blowing things up.”

“That’s why he has good healing knowledge,” Chen Ren said with a dry snort. “He blows things—and people—up, so he needs to know how to fix them.” The humor faded from his face. “Either way, I need you to pull me out if anything feels wrong. I’m only going to draw a trickle of the accumulated qi, just to be safe. But if it still overwhelms me… pull me out.”

Yalan purred. “If that’s the case, you know you’ll be stuck at your current strength until we find an expert on star spaces.”

Chen Ren grimaced. Truth, but harsh. That was the worst possible outcome. Experts on star spaces were as rare as soul cultivators. Most cultivators simply accepted their star space as they did qi, without fully understanding it. Hoping that wasn’t his fate, he gave Yalan a steady look.

“I’ll start now.”

She didn’t speak again, merely watching him closely as he closed his eyes and drew a deep, steady breath.

He forced down every stray thought, every lingering worry. Slowly, the familiar sensation crept in—the strange tug in his chest, the subtle weightlessness that always preceded his entry.

He let the feeling linger for a few more seconds without disturbing and slowly opened his eyes.

The astral expanse unfolded around him, vast and breathtaking as always—points of light suspended in endless black, drifting like slow-moving rivers of stardust. But his awe froze into shock.

It wasn’t the same as before.

The stars were dimmer. Chunks of space itself seemed fractured, edges crumbling away into nothingness. Wisps of light bled into the void like smoke from a dying fire.

What in the—? His star space was breaking down.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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154. Cracks

For a long, silent minute, Chen Ren could only stare.

He hadn’t imagined this in any nightmare, hadn’t even known it was possible. One’s star space could be damaged?

Yet, right before his eyes, fragments of his inner world were flaking away. They peeled off like brittle paint from old wood, curling and drifting into the darkness before dissolving into motes of light. The damage wasn’t vast enough to hollow him out completely, but the sight left his chest tight and his breath unsteady. Each fragment lost felt like a piece of his foundation being chipped away.

He had only been advancing faster than expected—nothing reckless, nothing he thought dangerous. Had that really caused this? More importantly, how was he supposed to mend something he barely understood?

He forced his gaze upward. The stars above still burned in their fixed positions, their light untouched… for now. But the longer he stared, the more fragile that illusion of stability seemed. How long before their glow flickered too? How long before the cracks reached them?

Moving closer to the fractured edge, he hesitated. The break looked thin, almost harmless—like frost on glass—but when he reached out, the section crumbled under his touch. No resistance, no chance to save it. The fragments unraveled into nothingness, leaving an emptiness that seemed to hum in the void.

A pulse of frustration pushed through him. He tried flooding the break with qi, forcing it into the wound, willing it to knit back together. But the energy slid through without catching, scattering into the surrounding space as if the damage refused to acknowledge him.

His frown deepened. This wasn’t just some strain or temporary instability. It felt like a kind of injury he had no tools to repair.

And yet… his cultivation still pulsed within him, strong and stable. Even after draining himself during the trials, there had been no sign of weakness. But the silent decay before him was proof—undeniable proof—that something inside him was unraveling in a way that might never heal if left alone.

If he did nothing, his progress would halt. He might never climb further.

Even now, a dangerous whisper stirred in the back of his mind. The dense qi gathered in the space was almost calling to him—thick, rich, intoxicating. One breath, one draw, and he could break through to the foundation establishment realm. In the entire empire, how many his age could claim such a feat? It would mark him as a prodigy, a name to be remembered.

But each heartbeat he hesitated, he could feel the cracks widening, slow but constant. The temptation to seize that power warred with the dread of what it might cost him.

And Chen Ren wasn’t sure which would win.

But a sharp instinct cut through the temptation. If he tried to draw that power now, he might just cripple himself. He didn’t know what happened when a star space shattered entirely, but he knew enough to fear it. The star space was tied to his dantian, and if the damage spread there…

Death would be the least of his worries.

A frown settled deep into his features. He rubbed his temples, trying to force some kind of solution into his mind, but nothing came. His cultivation knowledge was shallow at best—he was a merchant, not some master of body cultivation or soul arts. Whatever was happening inside him was beyond the scraps of theory he’d picked up over the years.

The last thing he wanted was to prod at the wound and make it worse. So, he did the only thing that felt safe.

He shut his eyes, withdrew his senses, and let the starry expanse fade from view. The quiet darkness of his room took its place, and when he opened his eyes again, Yalan was still sitting exactly where she had been when he entered his star space.

She glanced at him, her whiskers twitched. “You’re back early. I didn’t even get to slap you awake.”

Chen Ren cringed. “Nice joke. But there’s a problem. I think we were right—my passing out is connected to my progression.”

“What happened?”

Chen Ren didn’t want to believe the words that came out of his lips:“My star space is breaking.”

That made her sit up straighter. “Breaking? What do you mean it’s breaking?”

He held her gaze for a moment, then began describing it—the flakes of his inner world peeling away, turning into drifting motes of light, the way his qi passed through the wounds without effect. By the time he finished, her brows were furrowed, but not with recognition.

“I’ve never heard of anything like that,” she admitted at last. Then, as if trying to probe for a silver lining, she asked, “Apart from that… everything else was okay?”

“Yes,” Chen Ren said, leaning back slightly. “Apart from that, everything’s fine.”

Yalan exhaled slowly. “Then it might not be too late. I’m guessing the damage hasn’t spread too far yet.” Her gaze narrowed just a fraction. “You didn’t try to skip realms again, did you?”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“I doubt that,” she replied dryly. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have fractured your star space.”

He scowled. “You know I didn’t even know this could happen. You could have warned me.”

She yowled, displeased by his implication. “I had a feeling. The heavens are ruthless to anyone who tries to soar too quickly. But I thought your current problems, and enemies were enough to keep them satisfied for a while. Guess I was wrong.”

Chen Ren scratched the back of his head. “So… what now? What are we going to do? Do you have a way out of this?”

She shook her head. “No. This isn’t something I’ve ever seen in all my centuries of life. I believe the best option is to ask people we trust, people who might have an answer.”

“I don’t think I trust Hun Tianzhi enough to bring this up,” Chen Ren muttered. “And Qing He’s too far away. I can talk to her once we’re back in the village this week, but I don’t want this to get worse while we’re traveling. It hasn’t yet, but I can’t take the risk.”

“Then that leaves you with only one person reliable enough to talk to, someone who might have a clue.” she purred. “It’s just… I have no idea what price he’ll demand in return.”

Chen Ren immediately caught her hint. “Yeah… I hope he’s enjoying my novels. That might make him more willing to help.”

He pushed himself to his feet, moving toward the door.

“Already going to meet him?!”

“I don’t want to waste time,” he said over his shoulder. “Besides, I promised myself I’d keep him company for helping out during the trials. This will be a way to make good on that promise.”

***It turned out Wang Jun had no idea about any such cases either.

For Chen Ren, that meant he wasn’t just falling off a cliff—there were spikes waiting at the bottom, perfectly positioned to skewer him on impact.

Wang Jun sat, his face looking so casual as if Chen Ren’s troubles were no more pressing than the dust motes drifting through the room. He’d listened without interrupting, nodded once, then gone straight back to reading a scroll—one of Chen Ren’s new works, a cultivator adaptation of Achilles. The man seemed utterly absorbed, eyes tracking the words with a focus that made Chen Ren wonder if the hero’s fate mattered more to him than his.

Whenever Wang Jun reached the end of a page, Chen Ren leaned over to flip it for him. The first few times, the old man had licked his tongue against the edge to turn it himself—something Chen Ren had found absurdly funny. Now, he only felt a pang of guilt.

Clearing his throat, he broke the silence. “You have zero idea? Even if you haven’t seen it before, you must have some clue. You reached the peak of cultivation.”

“One of the peaks,” Wang Jun corrected without looking up. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “But if I had to guess, it’s similar to a dantian fracture. Which, thankfully, you don’t have, but a star space breaking? Sounds very close.”

Chen Ren leaned forward. “How so?”

No answer.

Instead, the man’s gaze slid lazily toward the end of the page again, lingering there with all the silent expectation of a king waiting to be served. When Chen Ren didn’t move, Wang Jun finally lifted his eyes.

“Well?” he said, as if he were the one being inconvenienced.

“Answer first,” Chen Ren shot back.

The old man’s lips twisted into a faint frown, as though Chen Ren had just denied him a warm meal. “It’s simple. A dantian fracture is basically someone crippling you, but it can also happen when you go too hard at something yourself. You ever hear those stories of men who lose their lives to prostitutes?”

Chen Ren blinked. “…What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s the same idea,” Wang Jun said, matter-of-fact. “You push too hard, your body can’t take it, and something vital breaks. In your case, you didn’t destroy your dantian. You fractured your star space instead. Whether that’s better or worse…” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Wang Jun pointed at the scroll with his eyes. “Now, can you turn it? I’m at a very interesting scene.”

Chen Ren crossed his arms. “No. Answer one thing first—how does one fix a dantian fracture?”

That earned him a low, amused chuckle. “If you find a reliable way to fix that, every sect in the empire—and far beyond—would come begging at your door. It’s nearly impossible. The cultivator usually dies long before it can be done.”

“You said nearly.”

Wang Jun’s chuckle turned into full laughter. “Yes, nearly. In my time, there were cultivators with far too much free time… and far too many strange kinks. Some of them liked to toy with a person’s dantian the way others play an instrument—half torture, half amusement. I think those lunatics might have found a way to mend a fracture… all while getting themselves off.”

A voice cut in from the corner. “Your examples,” Yalan said dryly, “are too lecherous.”

“They fit,” Wang Jun replied without a hint of shame. “Either way, if it were hundreds of years ago, I’d tell you to find one of them. But now? I’m certain their research has either been burned or locked away somewhere you’ll never set foot.”

Chen Ren exhaled sharply. “Then what can I even do?”

The old man’s gaze lifted from the scroll. For the first time, he wasn’t half-smiling, wasn’t idly mocking. His eyes fixed on Chen Ren’s as though trying to see past the flesh and bone, straight into the soul.

When he spoke, his voice was quieter, but heavier than any rebuke.

“Honestly, kid… if I knew a way to help you, I would have already told you. Even with everything I could say about you—your arrogance, your recklessness—what you’re going through is one of the worst things a cultivator can endure. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

He paused, the silence stretching between them.

“But this time… I don’t have anything to give you.” His mouth tightened. “I’m sorry, kid.”

***

The next three days passed in a blur.

Chen Ren almost forgot the looming shadow of the Darkmoon Sect. As he’d suspected, they seemed to have quieted down, curling in on themselves to lick their wounds and rebuild from within. No assassins, no provocations—just an uneasy silence, that he knew would follow with something disastrous soon.

He filled his days with the usual work. Inspecting the alchemy workshop. Running his eyes over the account books. Even meeting with a few officials to maintain good relations, smiling in all the right places, trading polite words as though his inner world wasn’t on the verge of collapse.

But beneath the surface, Wang Jun’s words gnawed at him like a slow, relentless worm.

Every time he found a moment alone, his mind drifted back to his star space. The fractures. The motes of light dissolving into nothing. The helpless way his qi slid past the wounds without leaving the faintest trace of healing.

He doubted even Qing He would know what to do, but when he left for Meadow Village, he would ask her all the same. Some questions demanded to be asked, even if the answers weren’t there.

He checked on the space constantly, slipping in and out without effort. There was no pain, not yet. And, for now, the cracks hadn’t spread. That should have been a relief, but instead it felt like standing beneath a sword suspended by a fraying thread.

His talks with Yalan—and his own instincts—told him what he already feared: the star space wasn’t just linked to the dantian. It was part of it, a space within a space. Damage to one meant harm to the other. And if it came to that, his path as a cultivator would be cut short, maybe forever.

Maybe this was simply the way of the heavens, a punishment for daring to rise too high, too fast. With his spirit roots, he should never have reached his current realm in the first place, especially not at the speed he had.

But Chen Ren had no intention of bowing his head. To accept that would be to spit on everything he believed in.

So he kept trying. Again and again, he pushed his qi into the fractures, willing them to mend. He even tried to draw on the gathered qi from the stars themselves, flooding the space with their light and density.

That attempt earned him nothing but a sharp, piercing jolt of pain that made his breath catch. The kind of pain that warned of real, lasting harm.

He stopped immediately.

But he didn’t stop thinking about trying again.

All this simply reminded Chen Ren of one unpleasant truth—he knew very little about his own dantian.

It was laughable, really. He could recite pill formulas from memory, break down the methods to make different items from Earth with precision, and yet when it came to the most important part of himself, he was stumbling blind. If he wanted a real solution, maybe the path didn’t start with patching the cracks—it started with understanding exactly what the dantian and star space truly were.

That turned out to be harder than he expected.

Not only was his own knowledge shallow, but even others seemed frustratingly ignorant. According to Yalan, most cultivators never questioned it. They simply accepted that they had a dantian and a star space, the same way they accepted that qi flowed through meridians or that the sun rose each day. The existence of a star space within was hardly shocking in a world where cultivators could split mountains or live for centuries.

“Some do try,” Yalan admitted. “The ones who’ve hit their limit and grown too old to force another breakthrough. They become researchers, digging for answers they’ll likely never see put to use.”

Even the popular theories felt more like poetic guesswork than truth. The most widely believed said that the heavens granted a cultivator the star space as a seed—something to be cultivated into an entire universe. And when you became that universe, you’d take the final step into true immortality.

The so-called final realm.

Chen Ren could only stare at her after hearing that. He doubted he was anywhere close to “becoming a universe.” At the moment, he was barely holding his inner world together with both hands and a prayer.

Still, he kept pressing. Question after question. The more he asked, the more Yalan’s answers began to run dry, until she finally propped down, “If anyone would know the truth, it would be a god.”

That shut him up for a moment.

Unfortunately, Chen Ren didn’t have any particularly warm relations with the gods.

But her words sparked something in him.

He realised he hadn’t asked everyone. There was still one being he hadn’t spoken to—one who lived inside his star space itself. One who radiated heavenly qi with every breath. And if Chen Ren was right, that being would have a vested interest in keeping the star space intact. After all, no one liked their own house starting to crumble around them.

A slow grin crept onto his face. The golden dragon.

If it knew the cause, maybe it could guide him to a solution.

There was just one small problem.

How, exactly, did he call on the golden dragon?

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

155. Dragon meet

Snow-laden branches blurred past the window. Tiny figures leapt between them—creatures with plump bodies wrapped in furs so thick they looked like living snowballs. In their nimble paws, they clutched cracked nut shells, nibbling with the absentminded contentment of those untouched by the world’s troubles.

They looked like squirrels at first glance, but Chen Ren knew better. These were linhui squirrels, one of the few spirit beasts rarely hunted and often kept as pets by cultivators. Not for their claws, which could barely scratch bark, nor for their bite, which could scarcely dent a walnut. No, these little creatures were prized for something far rarer. Their qi, gentle and steady, could seep into the hearts of those nearby, calming turbulent emotions and quieting a restless mind.

Chen Ren wondered if he had one perched on his shoulder, its soft fur brushing against his neck, would he finally feel the stillness he lacked? Or would the chaos inside him drown even that gentle flow of qi?

“Kid.”

Wang Jun’s voice snapped him from the drifting thought, its rough tone dragging his mind back to the cramped warmth of the carriage. “I don’t really understand what you’re thinking. You say you’ve got a golden dragon in your star space. I know about spirit manifestations—rare, yes, but not impossible. For one to appear, a spirit has to take a serious interest in you. And you’re telling me a dragon—a dragon—did that for you.” His brow furrowed. “But you don’t even know how to speak to it?”

From the corner, Yalan spoke. “Didn’t he tell you that already? He’s been trying to learn more about the heavenly beast.”

Wang Jun snorted. “Not like I’m going to believe everything he says. I reached the domain manifestation realm, and I never had something so cool sitting in my soul.”

“But you did have a spirit manifestation.”

“Oh yes,” Wang Jun said with a slow nod, a flicker of nostalgia crossing his features. His thick eyebrows frowned in thought. “A destructive thing called the void wyvern. Very impressive. Sadly, it died long before I was poisoned.” He chuckled once. “I called it Hei Yuan. Still miss the damn thing, even if manifesting it in the real world costs me more qi than I’d like to admit.”

Chen Ren’s gaze lingered on the older man. “And how did you talk to it… in your star space?”

Wang Jun gave him a sideways glance. “Her,” he corrected flatly, before pausing, his gaze drifting toward the passing trees as though the answer lay somewhere in the snow-laden distance. “And… I actually don’t know. She was always there whenever I entered my star space. Just… waiting. As if she’d been expecting me long before I arrived.”

“What if she got injured? Was she still there?” Chen Ren asked again.

Wang Jun’s brows were still pinched together.

“She was. But sometimes, she’d vanish for a while, returning to… wherever she lived in the spirit realm. Do you think this dragon of yours would have done the same?”

“Who knows.” Chen Ren exhaled slowly, his breath fogging the cold air seeping through the carriage seams. “I just need to find a way to call it in. Then I can ask what’s going on with my star space. It should know since it technically lives there.”

Yalan’s voice cut in from the side. “But you don’t know how to call him in.”

Chen Ren exhaled through his nose, feeling the annoyance creep into his mind. “That’s the problem. No matter how much I think about it, I feel like I’m circling back to square one. It’s annoying as f—”

A dry chuckle came from Wang Jun. “If you just wanted to complain all the way to the village, I should’ve stayed with Anji. At least watching her face when I scold her is entertaining.”

“I’m sure she’ll be happier without you breathing down her neck every day,” Chen Ren shot back without looking at him.

When they’d decided to return to the village, Anji had chosen to remain in Broken Ridge City for another month. She needed to appoint a competent manager from those under her—someone who could run things in her absence. After all, she couldn’t remain there forever; her path of soul cultivation demanded she return to safer grounds.

It was too dangerous for Wang Jun to linger in that city—too many enemies and too few allies—and the head himself had felt more at ease in the village. And so, he had come with them.

Chen Ren rested his chin in his palm, watching the linhui squirrels vanish into the snow-brushed trees, hoping—perhaps unreasonably—that everything would run smoothly without them there.

Hun Tianzhi had assured him that everything would be fine, even going so far as to insist on accompanying him to see the sect grounds. But Chen Ren had reminded the man that he was on the verge of a breakthrough in his research. A point where a single distraction might cost him months. After a long, reluctant silence, Hun Tianzhi had agreed to postpone the visit.

Chen Ren didn’t linger on that thought for long. His journey to Meadow was time he had carved out for himself—a rare stretch of quiet to focus on one question: How to call on the golden dragon.

The list of methods he could attempt was depressingly short. The dragon was elusive, appearing only once properly—when his life had been hanging by a thread. That had led to one particularly reckless idea: to place himself in danger again. Do something so reckless that’d get him killed.

He’d discarded it almost as soon as it had formed. He wasn’t foolish enough to gamble his life so carelessly. The only reason the thought tempted him at all was because deep down, he suspected the dragon had a reason for residing in his star space. No one—man, beast, or heavenly creature—would intervene to save another without cause.

If the golden dragon truly governed the Dao of Money, and if Chen Ren was the only one walking that path, then perhaps he was more than just a passing cultivator in its eyes. Perhaps he was an investment.

And investments were not meant to be squandered.

Without him, the dragon might never find a way to manifest in the mortal realm. That bond, however one-sided it seemed now, meant the creature had a stake in his survival.

As the conversation in the carriage dwindled into the muted creak of wheels and the faint jingle of harness bells, Chen Ren let his eyelids lower. His hands settled loosely on his knees, his spine straightening into a meditative posture. The constant jostle of the carriage rattled his bones, but he let his breath smooth itself, his thoughts growing quiet.

The world outside and all the noise faded into the background.

The longer he breathed, the lighter his body felt, as though the rolling of the carriage no longer touched him. A ripple of stillness spread through his mind, until at last, when his eyes opened again, the worn wooden walls of the carriage were gone.

He was sitting within the boundless expanse of his star space.

Like before, his star space still bore the scars of whatever strange fracture it was enduring. The cracks hung suspended in the void, broken seams that bled faint wisps of light into the surrounding darkness. But at least the damage hadn’t worsened since the last time he had come here. That, he supposed, was a small mercy.

Chen Ren stared at the wounds for a few breaths, his chest tightening at the thought of what would happen if they spread. Then he turned upward, to the drifting constellations—great, molten globs of qi simmering in the endless sky above, pulsing with a faint rhythm, as though calling to him.

They wanted him to take them in. He could feel it, like the warmth of a hearth brushing against his skin. Yet he didn’t move. Instead, his eyes fixed on two particular stars—ones that, when taken together, formed the image of a pair of slitted golden eyes staring back at him.

“Hello,” he said into the vast emptiness, the sound of his voice swallowed instantly by the space. “Are you there? I want to talk to you about something. You already know… but my star space is breaking apart. Can you help me?”

Silence.

The void around him stayed still, the only motion being the slow rotation of the stars. He waited, counting the breaths, until a full minute stretched into several. Nothing stirred. No golden scales shimmering into view, no oppressive draconic presence curling through the air.

Chen Ren exhaled, the sound almost a laugh, almost a sigh. If it were so simple, the dragon would have appeared long ago. He would’ve gotten his answer a long time ago. But no, it wasn’t that easy.

So he moved to his second plan. Lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the shimmering floor of his star space, he closed his eyes and began pushing his qi outward. It poured from him in slow, steady waves, spreading through the astral realm like a tide seeking every hidden shore.

If the dragon was here but refusing to answer, then he would drag it out.

His qi swept across the void, brushing against every fragment of his space. It ran along the edges of the cracks, dipped into the floating shards of broken space, then climbed higher, probing the glimmering orbs above, reaching toward the distant constellations as if to tap them awake.

But there was nothing, again. He couldn’t feel even a faintest echo of the dragon’s presence. It was as though it had never been here at all.

A faint chill stirred in Chen Ren’s chest. Had it abandoned his star space entirely? The thought itched at him like an unwelcome splinter, but he shook his head. No, if the dragon had wanted to leave, it would have done so from the beginning. More likely…

He opened his eyes, his gaze falling once again on the slow-turning constellations.

More likely, the dragon had simply chosen to withdraw. To sleep. To return to whatever corner of the spirit realm it called home, waiting until it had gathered enough strength to stir again.

If that was the case, then the problem was even bigger than he had thought. Wang Jun had mentioned something similar happening with his own spirit manifestation—how it had retreated to the spirit realm for a time—but knowing that didn’t solve the question pressing against Chen Ren’s mind.

How was he supposed to call the dragon back?

He sat there in the stillness, thoughts circling over the same line until he came into a conclusion.

If the dragon truly lived in his star space—truly had bound itself to him—then there had to be a link. Some thread tying them together. Without it, the dragon’s very existence here would have been impossible. It was logical, reasonable and doable.

If he could find that link, perhaps he could tug on it, call the dragon back.

But he had never seen any trace of such a thing. So where was it hiding?

His jaw tightened as he pushed his qi outward again, this time with sharper intent, combing through every inch of the star space with painstaking care.

The cracks in the void, the fragments of broken reality, the unseen currents between drifting shards. He swept through them all, wrecking his brain for the answer.

Yet the more he searched, the more his concern began to gnaw at him. The link was nowhere. And then—

He stopped, his breath catching.

I am an idiot.

The answer had been in front of him the entire time.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze toward the heavens above. The dragon had once woven its form from those very stars, golden light spilling down from the constellations like seething fire.

Of course the link would be there.

Gathering himself, Chen Ren sent a simmering pulse of qi toward the great, glowing spheres. At once, the stars responded, their surface qi roiling in a way that made his meridians itch, almost begging to be absorbed into his body. He resisted the pull, locking his will in place, and instead pushed against it, forcing his qi deeper, toward the very heart of those burning cores.

It was like pressing into the eye of a storm. And then, he felt it.

A pressure that didn’t belong to the space itself.

It was the same weight that had crushed the air from his lungs the day the dragon had manifested to save him from Gu Tian. The same ancient, suffocating majesty that made the soul tremble without knowing why.

The dragon.

It was the same in every brightened star.

Chen Ren set his jaw and tried to seize hold of it. The pressure bore down on him at once, an invisible weight pressing against his shoulders until his upper body threatened to buckle. But he didn’t yield. He pushed his qi forward, thread by thread, forcing it into the link as if hammering on the dragon’s door.

Whether the creature would sense it, he couldn’t say. But it was the only plan he had.

Unfortunately, the link revealed itself to be a glutton. No matter how much qi he poured into it, it swallowed everything without the faintest change. Not even a ripple in the oppressive aura.

His frown deepened. His own qi wouldn’t last at this rate, and with his star space already in a fragile state, exhausting himself entirely would be courting disaster.

Then his gaze swept across the realm, and a thought came to him. He didn’t need to burn his own reserves. This space was filled with qi—qi he already had a right to use.

He shifted his focus to one of the closer stars, the star tied to his noodle stall. Its qi, rich and savory in its own strange way, drifted toward him like the scent of a boiling broth. It, too, tried to flow into him, but he turned it aside, guiding the strands toward the link hidden in the dragon’s constellation.

The result was the same. The link devoured it all in moments, leaving nothing behind.

Still, there was no dragon at sight.

Then he moved to the next. It was the star bound to his perfume business. The qi was dainty and fragrant which prickled against his senses. He sent it toward the link. Slowly and slowly, it vanished. It was swallowed without a trace.

Gritting his teeth, he turned toward the star representing his alcohol trade. Its qi was heavy and intoxicating, a slow-burning warmth that seemed to curl in the air like smoke. He sent that too, emptying the star entirely.

By now, doubt had begun to creep in like cold water seeping through a crack.

The qi he had used could have propelled him all the way to foundation establishment realms—months of accumulation gone in mere breaths. And for what? To feed a bottomless link, praying it might stir something that might not even be here?

But as the links devoured more and more qi, the pressure bleeding through them shifted. It swelled, dense and crushing, pressing down on his chest until his heartbeat seemed to slow.

Chen Ren’s eyes widened—this was different.

Without hesitation, he poured more qi in, weaving every available strand toward the constellation. The oppressive weight thickened, and then—suddenly—the stars flared.

A golden glow rippled outward from the link, and he instinctively stood and took a step back, breath catching in his throat. Still, he fed more into it, and more, until the other stars across his star space began to shimmer as well.

One by one, they brightened, and the glow bled into thin golden lines that arced between them. The lines curved, connected, and twisted, each stroke sketching the outline of something vast.

A massive, serpentine body coiled through the sky of his star space, born of pure starlight. Golden scales rippled into existence along its form, and as the qi lines solidified, the head emerged—majestic, fierce, and crowned with two sharp horns.

When at last Chen Ren cut the flow of qi, the dragon’s eyes flared open. Twin suns of molten gold locked onto him.

Then they shifted, scanning his entire star space. The dragon’s gaze swept over the cracks, the broken fragments, the dimmed stars. And for a brief moment, so fleeting that Chen Ren almost doubted he’d seen it, the great beast’s brow furrowed.

“You’re finally here,” Chen Ren said, his voice carrying both relief and urgency. “I’ve been waiting to talk to you for so long.”

The dragon’s maw didn’t move, yet its voice coiled into his mind like smoke—deep, resonant, and edged with something that almost sounded like amusement.

“Do not be impatient. Fate would have brought you to me eventually. Forcing it sooner only makes you meet the trials ahead before you’re ready.”

Chen Ren’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t trying to call you right away. I was willing to wait. But as you can see…” He gestured at the fractured void around them. “…my star space is breaking apart. I nearly passed out earlier after using qi. I need to know how to fix it.”

The dragon exhaled, a sound like distant thunder rolling through the space, and his entire body vibrated.

“Fix it? Foolish boy. You truly think a star space can simply be ‘repaired’? You are in this predicament because you rushed through realms your vessel was not prepared to endure. And now, when you’re about to die, you come crawling to me.”

The weight of its words sank in slowly, but one phrase stuck like a barb.

Chen Ren swallowed.

“Dying? What do you mean… I’m dying?”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

156. Types of Cultivation

The dragon’s chest visibly expanded, and the scales shifted. It let out a deep hrrrhhhfff, and immediately, hot air curled around him.

“Yes, human. You are dying.”

Chen Ren felt its voice inside his soul, reverberating until the reality of what it had just said carved into his mind.

“Do you truly think your star space breaking is like catching a cold? That it can be patched with some herbal paste and a handful of pills? It is part of your dantian—the core of your being. Its collapse means you have pushed yourself too far, driven your existence past its limits until it has begun to crack. Not just your cultivation, but your body, your mind, your soul. There is no alignment. No balance between them. And so, your star space breaks. Every time you exhaust yourself and leap between realms like a fool, it will worsen.”

The weight of the dragon’s presence bore down on him until his knees felt ready to give way. Chen Ren knew it wasn’t intentional; the being before him was simply too powerful. Even speaking with it was like standing beneath a storm trying to tear the sky in half.

But he forced himself to focus on the meaning behind its words.

And deep down, he could not deny it. He had felt it himself, ever since the battle with the frost spirits, there had been something wrong. His star space was fracturing, yes, but his body seemed to be following suit, fraying at the edges in ways he couldn’t quite name.

There was a reason he had been desperate to speak with the dragon. And now that it was here… he wasn’t sure if it would help him at all.

“I didn’t know it would happen,” he said quietly.

“Huh? Is that true?” The dragon’s golden eyes narrowed. “No one told you? Not even that cat?”

“She told me to make sure my foundation was correct,” Chen Ren replied, his voice edged with frustration. “But I don’t think she realized this would happen.”

The dragon’s gaze shifted, the golden light in its eyes dimming just enough to give the impression of… disappointment. It didn’t need to sigh for Chen Ren to feel the weight of that expression pressing against him.

“Of course she didn’t,” the dragon said and flicked its tail. “What could a mere meridian expansion realm cat possibly know about someone being the Originator of a Dao? That kind of knowledge has long been lost to your world.”

Chen Ren blinked. “Originator?”

The dragon’s eyes narrowed, but instead of answering, it turned its head slightly, as if dismissing the question entirely. “You don’t need to concern yourself with that now, human. You have far greater problems clawing at you.”

Chen Ren exhaled through his nose, forcing a nod. “You told me the problem. Do you have a solution?”

The dragon’s gaze sharpened to a squint, its voice curling with accusation. “You didn’t throw yourself into this mess after asking me for guidance, did you? A true cultivator solves his own problems. If you do not know that, then, I’m uncertain what you’re doing here… in front of me—”

“You know,” Chen Ren’s brows knit together. “Despite you saying that, you could’ve easily helped me by telling me what to do, and what not to do. But you didn’t. You can’t put all the blame on me.”

Golden light flared faintly along the dragon’s horns, and its voice deepened, carrying a note of restrained impatience. “I saved your life. The only reason I am—and remain—in hibernation is because of that. I have barely the strength to be here now, and only to ensure you don’t throw your life away again.”

“I fed you a lot of qi to get you here,” Chen Ren shot back.

The dragon’s response was a sudden, rolling laugh that reverberated through the star space, sending shockwaves shuddering out from its body. The air trembled around Chen Ren, forcing him to brace his stance.

“A lot of qi?” The dragon’s tone was dripping with amusement now. “Huurrrhhh. What you gave was not even a flicker of a single strand of heavenly qi. At most, it was a twitch, enough to make me open my eyes and notice your pitiful state. Otherwise, I would still be in my slumber.”

Chen Ren’s frown deepened, a tightness settling in his chest. It was not his impatience, rather, desperation. “So you won’t help me? You’ve already saved my life once, yes, but you can’t just let my star space break. You use it too. You’re connected to it.”

The dragon went silent. Its great head tilted ever so slightly, eyes half-lidded in thought. The stillness stretched for several breaths before it finally spoke.

“I barely remain here as it is… but you are right. Even if you’ve been an idiot, I cannot simply let you die. Too much has been invested in you already, and I like to see a return on my investments.”

For the first time, Chen Ren felt a flicker of something personal in the dragon’s words. It was a logic he understood well. He wouldn’t let one of his own investments fail either, not unless saving it would cost more than it was worth. Fortunately, the dragon didn’t seem to think he had reached that point.

“So,” Chen Ren said, straightening slightly, “what’s the way to deal with it?”

“Harmony.” The dragon’s voice rolled through him like slow thunder. “There must be harmony between your body, mind, and soul. Your cultivation strengthens each of them, but since you rushed through realms, the others could not keep up. Spirit roots normally dictate whether one can do this without harm, hence why true geniuses maintain balance no matter how quickly they advance. Unfortunately for you…”

“I’m far from one,” Chen Ren finished for him, giving a wry smile. “Thank you for the reminder. But how do I achieve that balance? Do I need to hunt for anything specific?”

The dragon let out what sounded almost like a sigh, a ripple of warm breath that stirred the very qi in the air. “No. You must raise your soul, your mind, and your body to match the level of your cultivation. I believe that much is enough for you to know how to proceed.”

“You mean I need to start soul cultivation?”

“Body and mind as well,” the golden dragon replied without hesitation. “They are not the common paths to strength, and they are not as intricate nor as demanding as qi cultivation, but you will need to walk them nonetheless. And you will need to do it quickly.”

“But I only know someone who can teach me soul cultivation,” Chen Ren said, brows drawing together. “Where will I learn the other two?”

“Body cultivation,” the dragon rumbled, “is something you should already have access to. The knowledge is around you. You simply have not looked closely. As for the mind… that is more complex. Still, you possess a sturdy mind. If you focus on strengthening the other two, you should be able to maintain enough balance to progress. And if I am correct, you will soon have an opportunity to obtain manuals for mind cultivation.”

Chen Ren tilted his head. “What does that mean?”

The dragon’s eyes curved in what could almost be called a smile. “Everything I say carries many meanings, Chen Ren. But in this case… it means danger will soon surround you, more than ever before. And where there is danger, there is also opportunity. Adequate opportunity to gain what you lack. Someone like you will know how to seize it.”

A frown tightened Chen Ren’s face. This just kept getting more and more complicated. He was already shook by the fact that he was dying… but more dangers?

He knew danger was never far, but the way the dragon spoke made it sound inevitable, imminent, even. “What type of danger? There’s so much I haven’t asked you. About the medallion. The Gate of Immortals. The Devourers. I know you know what’s going on. I don’t like being a pawn in all this.”

The dragon was silent for a long moment, its golden gaze weighing him as though deciding the worth of his demand. Then, without warning, it moved.

Its massive body slid forward in a single, smooth motion, the sheer presence of it displacing the air in heavy, soundless waves. Chen Ren’s muscles locked as the beast stopped just behind him.

He didn’t know how or why, but the instant the dragon’s gaze fell on him, the urge hit—sharp and instinctive. To bow. To lower himself entirely. To acknowledge not just power, but divinity. His mind screamed that it was a beast, yet every fibre of his being whispered otherwise: this was not something to stand against.

This was something to worship. And he should bow—

Chen Ren shook the thoughts from his mind, forcing his spine to straighten.

The dragon’s smirk was faint but unmistakable. “See? What did I tell you? Your mind is already far stronger than your body and soul if you can shake off my heavenly dominance.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Chen Ren stated as a matter of fact.

“I know.” The dragon’s tone was maddeningly calm. “You will know everything in due time. For now, I have little time left, and even if I didn’t, burdening you with more than you can carry would be pointless. One man can only hold so much. It is not yet the right time.”

Chen Ren’s teeth ground together. “Bullshit. Don’t start playing the Xianxia sage who knows everything but won’t say anything because of ‘plot convenience.’ I hate that.”

The dragon’s laugh rolled through the star space like the crack of a breaking mountain. “You use strange words, boy. But trust me soon, I’ll be able to tell you everything. For now, reach foundation establishment and correct your balance. And if you want any advice—” its eyes gleamed like twin suns “—collect every medallion piece you can find.”

Chen Ren opened his mouth to press further, but already the dragon was withdrawing. The stars that had shaped its body began to drift apart, sliding back into their usual positions. In moments, the colossal form dissolved into scattered golden lights, leaving only the cold vastness of his fractured star space.

Silence swallowed him whole.

For a heartbeat, he considered calling out again—ask about everything he needed answers for—but the instinct told him it would be useless. Instead, he replayed every word of the conversation in his mind, fixing them in place before letting himself drift back toward waking.

The next blink brought the cramped interior of the carriage into focus. Yalan and Wang Jun were both watching him, their expressions caught between curiosity and restraint.

“So?” Wang Jun asked. “Did you manage to get anything?”

Chen Ren licked his lips, not answering right away. He couldn’t. The dragon’s words still echoed in his ears. The way it had said it. Then, he finally spoke. “Yes.” He paused, glancing at the head opposite him. “I need you to teach me soul cultivation.”

Wang Jun’s brows knit, his face twisting as if he’d just bitten into something sour. “What the heck are you even talking about?”

“Let me explain,” Chen Ren said.

***

The rest of the carriage ride back to Meadow Village was spent with Chen Ren recounting everything—how the dragon had appeared, what it had said, and how deliberately cryptic it had been. Yalan listened without interruption, while Wang Jun occasionally muttered something under his breath, his face a mixture of interest and skepticism.

According to Wang Jun, heavenly beasts were always like that. In his words, anything they involved themselves in could tip the balance of the world’s fate, so they measured every syllable they spoke.

Chen Ren would have been less irritated if he believed that was true. But to him, it was just one of those comforting myths cultivators repeated until it became a ‘truth.’ No one had ever proven it.

Still, for all the unanswered questions—about the Gate of Immortals, the medallion, the Devourers—he had at least walked away with a path to fix his breaking star space.

Unfortunately, that path required him to prostrate himself before an arrogant talking head who looked as if he had been waiting for this exact moment. The head didn’t move his mouth unless he got something in return; his greed was a constant, gnawing presence and needed to be fed at every possible moment.

Most of the ride was spent in slow, needling negotiation. Chen Ren probing for what the man would take to teach him soul cultivation, the head deflecting or raising the price with each exchange.

Chen Ren suspected the hesitation might have something to do with soul cultivation being a legacy from the man’s former sect… but he didn’t truly believe it. Hundreds of years had passed since the head had entered hibernation, and in all that time they had shared, Chen Ren had never heard him speak of the sect with even a shred of loyalty. If anything, it felt as if the sect had been something he created simply because it was the natural extension of his position of strength.

Fortunately, the head agreed in the end, though not without his usual air of reluctant generosity. He warned Chen Ren that soul cultivation took decades to master, even for the most diligent. But Chen Ren wasn’t aiming for master, just enough progress to restore the balance within himself.

Of course, soul cultivation alone wouldn’t solve everything. The dragon had made that much clear. So, before the journey was over, the talk shifted to body cultivation.

The dragon had hinted he could learn it, and of the three paths it had named, this seemed the most common. Yalan explained that a few tribes beyond the Empire’s borders still practiced it, and that even some sects kept manuals on the subject. Wang Jun, for his part, knew a bit himself, though he didn’t have a manual to offer.

Unlike qi cultivation, which worked inward, body cultivation forged the outer shell—tempering flesh, bone, and muscle until the body itself became a weapon, capable of withstanding devastating blows. Many cultivators with poor or few spirit roots took this path, but Yalan’s tone turned grim when she spoke of its nature. The training was brutally painful, enough to kill the unprepared. Even among those who survived, stories of people dying from the sheer agony were common.

None of this made Chen Ren eager to try it. But given the dragon’s warning, he doubted he had a choice. The beast had no reason to lie to him, and both Yalan and Wang Jun agreed the logic was sound.

By the time the carriage wheels rattled into Meadow Village, Chen Ren had already decided. He would look for a body cultivation manual as soon as possible.

What he hadn’t expected was to find another problem waiting for him there, coiled and ready like a snake in the grass.

Just as the dragon had said, he already had too many problems to be worrying about more.

The old beast surely knew more than he did.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

157. Blazing knock

Chen Ren’s carriage neared the gates of Meadow Village, and the heavy wooden doors swung inward without so much as a signal. The guards that were on duty straightened at once, thumping their spears lightly against the ground in acknowledgment. By now, his carriage was as familiar to them as the village chief’s own robes, and he had already sent word of his return days ago.

Normally, Chen Ren would’ve slowed the horses, leaned out, and exchanged a few words—asked after their families, the patrols, and whether the beasts had troubled the village a lot. But he already knew the answers. He’d gotten all the reports in letters: the beast risings had been nothing more than a nuisance, Zi Wen and Li Xuan had handled them steadily, and the villagers were safe. Hence, he simply made his way towards the sect building.

Throughout, their passing did not go unnoticed. Villagers paused mid-step, eyes widened as they spoke in whispers amongst themselves. He saw how they all pointed at his carriage, at the crest—the golden dragon that was of the Divine Coin Sect. By nightfall, every house in Meadow Village would know he had returned.

It struck him, not without a wry sort of pride, how quickly things had changed. Months ago, they didn’t care as much—the common folk considered him as a cultivator to be feared. But now, things have changed by a larger margin. He was most likely more reputable than even Chief Muyang. That thought amused him, because people sometimes clung to reputation harder than cultivation. Even if he woke up tomorrow with no qi, his reputation would not vanish with it.

In a way, all the risks he’d taken so far, made it seem worth it.

The carriage turned onto the path where it led to the sect gates, and wheels grinded softly against the smoother ground. Chen Ren leaned out the window, letting the breeze brush across his face, when he noticed the group standing in front of the building.

Qing He was at the front. She looked composed and calm on the exterior, but he couldn’t tell the same for the rest. Feiyu stood stall just behind, Zi Wen and Hong Yi flanked them, and a crowd of mortals clustered further back like a tide held at bay with Tang Xiulan. It was… quite surprising. He hadn’t received even half as much formality when he returned from his last business trip, and for the first time since coming to Meadows, a faint uneasiness spread through his chest. Because such a reception rarely meant simple joy.

He knew Qing He would never come out to greet him like this.

His suspicions thickened the moment he stepped down from the carriage and all of them looked at him like he had the answers to questions people didn’t dare to ask.

Yalan fell in step behind him as he walked forward.

Chen Ren offered Qing He a faint smile as he drew near, his tone laced with a touch of humor that belied the tension creeping into him. “I see you missed me enough to wait at the gates,” he said.

Normally, Chen Ren would have expected a sharp-tongued retort from Qing He, some playful jab about his arrogance. But this time, she said nothing. Her silence rang louder than words, and that alone made his steps slow. Something was wrong.

He let his gaze sweep across the others gathered. The cultivators standing behind her—Feiyu’s jaw tight, Hong Yi unusually grim, Zi Wen frowning as though caught between restraint and speech—none of them looked relaxed. Even Xiulan had a frown on her face. Chen Ren’s brows knit together.

It was only then he realized Li Xuan wasn’t among them. Did I miss something?

“Did the beast rising do any damage?” he cleared his throat after asking, still unsure what the hell was happening. His eyes flicked toward the crowd, then back to them. “Is Li Xuan okay? What is happening?”

“He’s fine. More than fine. Still on the walls, practically living there. Hunts every beast that comes near. At this point, he may as well make a bed up there.”

Chen Ren felt the knot in his chest ease, but only slightly. If Li Xuan was well, then this gathering wasn’t about casualties. “Then what’s going on?” he pressed. “Tell me.”

At last, Qing He exhaled, her shoulders sinking. She glanced at him, then at Yalan at his side, and her voice was low. “Let’s talk inside. You have Wang Jun with you.”

Chen Ren’s eyes flicked back toward the carriage where Wang Jun was. He gave a slow nod. Zi Wen stepped forward immediately. “I’ll handle him. You all go ahead.”

With that, the group shifted. Qing He, Feiyu, Xiulan and Hong Yi fell into step with Chen Ren, while Zi Wen turned back toward the carriage. The mortals began unloading crates and bundles, their chatter filling the air, but it all blurred into background noise as Chen Ren walked toward the sect building.

The familiar corridors greeted him. Normally, he might have asked questions before they even reached a room, but instinct held him still. Patience was one of the few disciplines he’d learned to wield well. Yet every step sharpened the tension until it coiled tight inside him.

As soon as they entered a private chamber, Qing He didn’t wait for him to sit. She turned around, “You are in a lot of trouble.”

Chen Ren blinked away, trying to make sure if he heard the correct thing. “Why? What happened?”

She reached into her sleeve and produced a folded letter. It was sealed, but had already opened once before. She placed it on the table.

“We received this two days ago. It’s from the Blazing Ember Sect. You should understand what that means.”

For the first time since stepping into the village, Chen Ren froze.

The name alone was enough to churn the air in his chest. His fingers closed around the letter almost mechanically.

How had they figured it out so soon? How much did they actually know? The thought gnawed at him as he stared at the seal. Did they know he had taken the vault? That he had burned down their disciples? The questions pressed harder and harder.

Chen Ren drew a slow breath, forcing his mind to still. Speculation would do nothing. Only answers mattered. His fingers slid beneath the flap, as if he were defusing some invisible trap. The parchment unfolded with a faint crackle, its scent sharp with smoke and iron.

The letter was short—just a single page—but the words burned hotter than any tome filled with curses. At a glance, it masqueraded as something almost cordial, a casual invitation written in measured strokes. But beneath that thin veneer, the venom was clear.

The Blazing Ember Sect had found him out. Not merely that he had stolen what they called their rightful property, but that he had killed their premier disciples. Their demands were scrawled in black ink without hesitation: the return of everything taken, the severed head of Chen Ren, and the lives of all who had stepped foot in the vault that day.

His grip on the parchment tightened.

And then he saw Yalan’s name. His eyes narrowed. They knew of her existence, down to the detail of her strength. The letter dripped with mock generosity: they would spare her life and enslave her instead, branding that humiliation as a “concession” because her display had impressed the man who wrote the letter—Sect Regent Shen Linao.

Bile rose in Chen Ren’s throat.

The ultimatum was set with chilling simplicity. Twelve days. At the end of that time, they were to bring everything—and everyone—to a meeting at Thousand Graves Valley. He knew that place well. A stretch of land that was situated in between Cloud Mist City and Blazing Ember sect, so close to their sphere of influence that walking into it would be little different from stepping directly into the sect’s jaws.

If they refused, the letter promised retribution. Not just against the Divine Coin Sect, but the entire Meadow Village.

Chen Ren’s jaw clenched, the faint tremor of his qi betraying the storm inside. Did they truly expect him to deliver his own head to them like some obedient dog? The absurdity of it almost made him laugh, but he could see why they thought such arrogance would go unanswered. To them, the Divine Coin Sect was nothing more than an upstart gathering, a candle flickering in the wind. Other than Yalan, there were no powerhouses to shield it.

And the worst part? They weren’t entirely wrong.

Chen Ren read through the letter once, then again, his brows knitting tighter with every line. The words didn’t change, but they pressed heavier on him the second time around. Finally, he lowered the parchment and looked at the others gathered, his frown deepening. With a quiet gesture toward the table, he said, “Why don’t we sit?”

He opened the letter and placed it in front of Yalan. Her sharp amber eyes ran over the words. Chen Ren could tell the exact second her eyes went from curious to anger to a fury so raw it bled through her qi. By the time she was done, her claws were out, and there was fire scorching her tail.

“They want your head,” she spat, her voice trembling with contained rage. “But me? They want me chained like some beast. That is worse than death.” She leaned forward, scowling, her teeth bared. “Those sons of whores. Who do they think they are to enslave me? I’ll enslave their own kin, bind their children, and make them grovel for daring to even imagine putting a collar on my neck!”

The air rippled faintly with her killing intent, and more than one person in the room shifted uneasily.

Chen Ren reached out. “Your anger is justified,” he said softly, “but we need to think calmly about it.”

Her head snapped toward him, eyes burning. “Why end it calmly? We can go and burn them to the ground.”

It was Qing He who answered. “We can’t.” She folded her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly. In the midst of the storm, she stood eerily calm. “Blazing Ember has far more cultivators than we can muster. The one who wrote that letter—Shen Linao—he’s the current sect regent. He’s at the meridian expansion realm.” Her gaze slid toward Yalan. “You might be able to face him one-on-one, but he won’t be alone. Blazing Ember has dozens of foundation establishment cultivators. Dozens. You’d be swallowed the moment you made a move.”

Yalan’s lips twisted into a bitter sneer. “So what do you suggest? That I cut off Chen Ren’s head myself and put a collar on my own neck? Would that satisfy them?”

Her words were venom, but the hurt buried in them wasn’t lost on Chen Ren. He leaned forward, placing a firm hand on her back, feeling the fur twitch beneath his touch. “No. We won’t give in to their demands. Not yours, not mine, not anyone’s. I enjoy living far too much to die on their terms, and I won’t let them take you.” His grip tightened slightly, in reassurance. “But we do need to think of how to get out of this. All of us knew this day would come.”

Hong Yi’s face had gone pale. His fingers fidgeted against the hem of his sleeve before he finally spoke. “Not so soon.” His eyes lifted toward Chen Ren, haunted. “You told me it would take years before anything like this happened.” His throat bobbed with a swallow. “I don’t… I don’t want to be hunted again.”

A heavy silence followed his words. Chen Ren looked at the man straight in the eyes and said, “You won’t be.”

Those three words reeked of confidence that he didn’t have. He held Hong Yi’s gaze until the fear in it dimmed slightly. But inside, his own certainty wavered. He had come back hoping for rest, a chance to fix his star space in peace, yet Blazing Ember had chosen this moment, the worst moment to bare their stupid fangs.

His eyes dropped back to the letter on the table. The scorched parchment seemed to mock him with its calm, neat strokes. He read it again, lips moving silently, tracing each word. Once. Twice. A third time. With each pass, the fury cooled and his thoughts sharpened.

Letters like this—they revealed a lot more than just threats. Of course, threats often wrapped themselves in arrogance, but arrogance often revealed truths. By the third reading, he thought he had begun to see the cracks.

Finally, he leaned back, eyes sweeping across the tense faces around him. “At the very least,” he said slowly, “we can confirm a few facts before we decide how to act.” He tapped the edge of the letter. “But first… let’s wait for Wang Jun and Zi Wen. This threatens the sect, and they should both be here.”

The others nodded wordlessly.

It wasn’t long before the door creaked open. Zi Wen entered, carrying a lacquered wooden box in both hands as though it were something delicate. He set it down on the table, then undid the clasps.

The lid swung open, and out rolled a round, disembodied head, eyes blinking rapidly as Zi Wen reached in and plucked him free, setting him upright on the table’s surface.

“I hate being carried like that,” Wang Jun grumbled, shaking slightly as if trying to restore dignity to his floating locks of hair. “There need to be better ways than putting me in a—”

He stopped mid-complaint, his sharp eyes darting around the table. The silence, the taut expressions, the weight in the air—it all pressed down too heavily to ignore. His brows furrowed. “What happened?”

Chen Ren didn’t waste words. He picked up the letter, his voice steady as he read it aloud, each line landing heavier than the last. When he finished, the silence returned.

Wang Jun’s expression shifted, his usually mischievous features paling slightly. He turned toward Chen Ren, his mouth twitching into something between a grimace and a reluctant smile. “You,” he said, “have a penchant for stumbling into these kinds of situations.”

Chen Ren exhaled through his nose, a humorless smirk tugging faintly at his lips. “If I hadn’t, you’d still be sleeping.”

For a moment, the head just stared at him, then let out a sigh that seemed to rattle in his throat. “I don’t know,” he said, “if that would have been better… or worse, given the situation you’re in now.”

Wang Jun went quiet for a long moment, his eyelids drooping half-shut as though he were lost in memory. Then he gave a bitter chuckle. “If I had even half of my former strength,” he said, his voice rasping with both pride and regret, “I’d crush the Blazing Ember Sect myself. Burn them to ash for what they did to my people. But as you see…” he wobbled slightly, the sight of his severed body speaking louder than words, “…a head can’t do much.”

Chen Ren’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. Truthfully, he doubted the head’s claim. There was no question the man was hiding far more than he let on—his past power, his knowledge, his secrets—but Chen Ren didn’t think he could single-handedly solve this. Not anymore. He was best used as he was now: a consultant.

“I don’t think any of us can simply burn down the problem,” he said, his eyes sliding toward Qing He. “Can you?”

She shook her head at once, her ears swaying faintly with the motion. “Even I have my own chains. At best, I could speak with this Shen Linao who sent the letter. He seems to be the one in charge.”

“He is,” Chen Ren said, recalling the tidbits Anji had shared. “From what I’ve heard, he’s the current sect regent." He tapped a finger against the parchment on the table. “But we’ll come to him later. First, there’s something else. The letter tells us more than it intended.”

“Like what?” Wang Jun asked.

“Like how it doesn’t even mention you.” He gestured at the floating Head. “From the letter, it’s clear they know what happened in the vault. But if they truly saw everything, if they had all the details… surely they would have mentioned a talking head. That they didn’t mean their information is incomplete.”

Hong Yi hummed. “So they only know about the fight with Wang Fu?”

“Exactly. And I think it’s clear how they found out.”

Qing He’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Divination. I thought the same. But if Shen Linao divined the entire battle, the cost would have been steep.”

“Steep doesn’t matter to him,” Chen Ren replied. He tapped the letter again, harder this time. “It’s apparent from the tone—he’s Wang Fu’s master. He has written that we killed his disciple, so he's probably a demonic cultivator. For someone like him, the cost of prying into fate would mean little if it gave him a chance at something he’s chased for years.”

“That’s the second reason I believe he sent us a letter,” he said at last. “Instead of going through the bureaucratic way—marching to the capital and filing a complaint against us.”

Zi Wen’s brows rose, and after a moment he gave a sharp nod. “Exactly. If he had gone that route, the case would fall under the Inquisitors’ eyes. They’d send their hounds to question us, and the moment we mentioned Blazing Ember’s dabbling in demonic arts…” Zi Wen’s lips curled faintly. “…they’d come under scrutiny instead.”

A murmur of agreement rippled around the room. Even the head bobbed slightly in place, acknowledging the point.

“There’s more to it, though. From the wording alone to the location of the meeting, he’s not proposing a parley. He’s setting up an ambush. If we don’t comply with every last demand, stepping into that valley will be walking into their jaws.”

The others shifted uncomfortably, but he pressed on.

“At the same time, it’s not all bad. The letter betrays their thinking. Shen Linao believes us to be weak. Other than Yalan, he’s certain we have no powerhouses to rely on. And if he truly used divination to spy on the battle, then he knows what we showed there. We didn’t win by strength, but by tricks and guile. He sees the upper hand in his grasp.”

Chen Ren’s jaw clenched. “That means he underestimates us.”

But the words rang hollow even to himself. Underestimation was useful only if they had a card left hidden. Right now, their hands were nearly bare.

There was one reality—they could neither run nor refuse. If they fled, Blazing Ember would hunt them to the ends of the earth. If they resisted outright, the sect would descend here in force, and the village would burn for it. He could already picture it: ordinary lives scattered like straw before a fire. That was something he would not allow.

The tension in the room coiled tighter. Chen Ren stared at the letter, then at each of their faces in turn, before finally voicing the single question that haunted his mind.

“How,” he said slowly, “are we going to stop the Blazing Ember Sect?”

The silence that followed was deeper than before, pressing into the marrow. Despite every detail laid bare, every possibility turned over, not one of them answered.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

158. Blocked paths and ideas

Shen Linao’s gaze stayed on Tu Wei’s face. His scowl continued to get deeper. It wasn’t merely the boy’s presence that soured his mood—though after weeks of staring at that same pale, anxious expression, even that was enough to test his patience. What bothered him was the unspoken aura around him, the boy didn’t even speak yet, but there was a noticeable tremor in his shoulders.

His downcast eyes already whispered what he feared—failure.

Of course it would be failure. Shen Linao could read it in the faint twitch at the corner of Tu Wei’s lips, in the way his disciple shifted his weight as though wishing the ground would swallow him whole. He had sent all his disciples into the field, and this whelp—too young, too green—had been left behind only because someone had to play errand boy. The others should have returned with results. Instead, they sent Tu Wei back like a crow bearing ill tidings.

When the boy finally forced words past his lips, Shen Linao’s prediction proved true. “Master… reports have come from Senior Brothers and Sisters. None of them have found the medallion. We’ve scoured Cloud Mist City and the surrounding prefectures, but… there’s nothing.”

The chamber fell silent. Shen Linao’s fingers curled against the armrest of his chair until the wood groaned in protest. Anger boiled in his chest, threatening to spill over, yet he forced his breath to stay steady.

“It is there. If the Great Lord said so, then it is there. Must I walk out of this sect myself to seize it? Are all of my disciples so worthless?”

“No, Master. It is just… the medallion has no aura. There was nothing to grasp and no qi signature to follow. Even divinations scarcely reveal a thread. It is as if fate itself toys with us, slipping away each time we draw near.”

Shen Linao rose, the long sleeves of his robe whispering against the floor as his shadow fell over Tu Wei. “If you cannot catch this ‘fate,’ then tell your brothers and sisters they will serve as the next offering. Their blood will not be wasted. I am certain its essence will fuel a higher divination, strong enough to drag the medallion’s hiding place into the open.”

Tu Wei’s breath hitched. He dared not raise his head. The air between them continued to grow thick and thicker.

At that, Tu Wei’s shoulders trembled. He bowed even lower, the crown of his head nearly brushing the cold stone floor. The boy knew better than to argue. He knew, too, that his master’s words were more whip than blade. Shen Linao did not truly believe blood sacrifices could pry open the medallion’s secrets—if such rituals worked, the Great Lord would already have seized them all long ago. But fear had its uses. Fear kept his disciples running themselves ragged instead of growing lax, kept their eyes sharp and their nerves frayed.

Tu Wei might not grasp the weight behind the medallion, but Shen Linao did. Its power was reason enough, yet beyond that lay something far more precious: a favor from the Great Lord himself. To fail here would mean losing that chance forever. He would sooner bleed this sect dry than allow it to slip from his grasp.

A sharp scoff broke the silence as Shen Linao straightened, dismissing the boy’s trembling form with a flick of his sleeve. “Enough about the medallion. There are other matters to tend to, matters regarding the thieves.”

Tu Wei’s head lifted slightly, confusion flickering in his eyes until Shen Linao’s next words came, smooth as venom. “That pest, Chen Ren. Has he returned to that little village of his?”

The disciple swallowed, then nodded quickly. “Yes, Master. A day ago. My spies saw his carriage entering the village. He hasn’t stepped out of the sect hall since, but… I’m certain he received the letter.”

“Good.” Shen Linao’s lips curved, not quite a smile, more a predator’s baring of teeth. “Then let us hope he has the sense to do what’s right, deliver everything back to me, with his head laid at my feet as interest.”

“Master… What if he didn’t return everything? We… we do not know what lay hidden in the vault.”

“Then I have an idea. Even if he obeys, even if he hands me what I demanded, his village will be erased all the same. Fire, beasts, whatever cloak we choose, it matters little. The ashes will tell us all there is to know, and no one will question it.” The corner of his mouth lifted at his own thought. “After all… villages falling to beasts is no rarity in this land. Who would waste their breath searching for what exactly happened?”

“Then… Master, should I place more men around the village? Tighten the watch?”

Shen Linao’s hand flicked through the air in dismissal. “No need for that yet. We still have days to prepare. If you swarm the place now, that spirit beast might notice. That cat is their true guardian, likely the only reason those insects thought they could stand against me.”

Even now, he still had no idea how such a meager sect had managed to tame such a creature. A meridian expansion realm beast, he could count on one hand the number he’d seen in his lifetime. Each was worth more than a sect's treasury, and yet… Chen Ren’s little group had one as a guardian.

But curiosity was a luxury. What mattered was not how they had it, but how he would take it for himself. With a beast like that at his side, the balance of power would shift overnight. No longer would he play the part of a regent, shackled by the title while the so-called sect leader still sat above him. No, he would tear that farce down. With the Great Lord backing him and the beast enslaved at his heel, the position would be his.

Especially now. He could feel it in the winds of the Empire, the subtle cracks beginning to spread. Change was coming. And he intended to stand at the peak when it broke.

His gaze settled once more on Tu Wei.

“Just keep watch. Prepare everything at the meeting site as I instructed. They will likely refuse, believing that spirit beast can shield them. Let them. We will crush them and bind the beast under our banners. And see to it that nothing leaves that village for Cloud Mist City. You said Li Baolong's brat is there, the one tied to the Soaring Sword Sect. I won’t risk word spreading. If even a whisper reaches their ears, it will complicate things. With the beast rising swelling, outsiders will not look at most reports… but we cannot gamble on their caution. Not with this.”

Tu Wei pressed his forehead to the ground. “I will do as you command, Master.” With that, he rose, bowing deeply before retreating from the chamber, his steps quick, as though eager to escape the oppressive weight of Shen Linao’s presence.

Once the boy’s footsteps faded into silence, Shen Linao leaned back in his chair and exhaled, letting all the stress go through his nose. For a brief moment the scowl slipped, replaced by weary shadows. His fingers pressed into his temples, rubbing slow circles as if he could knead the stress from his skull.

The medallion. The Divine Coin Sect. The endless cries of fools in his sect whining about deaths during the divination array. Useless, all of them. Did they not realize that such sacrifices were the natural order? Power demanded a price. If they balked at that, they had no right to even call themselves cultivators.

He clenched his fist, nails biting into flesh. Soon enough, all their voices would be ashes on the wind. Once he pried open the sect and took every last treasure within, there would be no one left to oppose him. No medallion too hidden, no beast too wild, no sect too lofty.

But before that… he would make certain that Chen Ren’s head burned first. That upstart dared to challenge his sect. Shen Linao would see to it that his skull became the torch that lit the fire of his rise.

***

The next two days blurred into one long grind of thought, scrolls, and bitter silence. Chen Ren spent every waking moment clawing at the problem of the Blazing Ember Sect, searching for any thread that could be pulled, any weakness to exploit.

Most of what he had came from Anji. Months ago, she had poured out what she knew, scrawling notes with a hand that trembled with both grief and fury. As the daughter of the last sect leader of the Void Blade Sect, she had every reason to remember their enemies in detail. The names of elders, the structure of the sect, the strengths of their factions—she had written it all, even though each word seemed to reopen a wound.

And always, Shen Linao’s name surfaced. He was the one who had led the charge that ended her father’s life. One of the strongest standing pillars of the Blazing Ember Sect. Anji’s handwriting had grown jagged when describing him, as though hatred alone could pierce the page.

Chen Ren tapped his knuckles against the table. His mind was feeling heavy. He didn’t doubt that Yalan could contend with Shen Linao—her power was in a realm beyond most—but Shen Linao would never come alone. And that was the true danger. By Anji’s estimate, the Blazing Ember Sect could field not just one monster, but many. Numerous qi refinement realm cultivators that would be enough to drown a battlefield. Dozens of foundation establishment realm disciples and elders, the kind that emerged as a force to overwhelm small clans in the blink of an eye.

If he were Shen Linao, Chen Ren thought grimly, he would not come in strength to parley. He would lay an ambush, a cage of cultivators snapping shut around them the moment they arrived.

A dull ache pulsed at his temples. He pressed his fingers there, trying to knead away the pressure. He had faced giants before, titans of coin and cunning who sought to crush him in the marketplace, and he had survived by scheming, by knowing when to yield and when to strike. But this—this was different. Here, he could not slip away behind clever schemes or subtle manipulations. This was not negotiation. It was a storm of blades, and he stood on the wrong side of it.

Even if he armed every mortal with muskets and blades, gathered every cultivator he knew, and leaned on the Tang Clan until their coffers bled, he would still not match the force that Blazing Ember Sect could bring.

So he forced himself into a rhythm. Hours spent poring over Anji’s notes, memorizing every line of sect hierarchy, every habit of their elders, every possible schism. Hours spent walking the village, listening to his allies. He asked each of them their thoughts, their fears, their solutions. Even if none had the answer, their words might shake something loose in his mind.

Yet with each passing day, the sense of time thinning grew sharper. The noose was tightening, and unless he found something, anything, they would all choke beneath it.

Hong Yi’s solution had been simple—cowardly, perhaps, but simple. “We should run,” the man had said, his face pale in the lamplight. “That’s the only way. Live to fight another day.”

Feiyu, in contrast, hadn’t wasted words. He had buried himself in the workshop, hammering iron, pouring powder, refining the long barrels of his newest prototypes. His mind was fixed on weapons, particularly the sniper rifles he had sketched out weeks ago. Where Hong Yi dreamed of escape, Feiyu forged the tools for a desperate stand.

Zi Wen had suggested turning to Li Xuan. “If anyone can help us, it’s him. His connections stretch wider than we can imagine. Even if he’s tangled in sect politics, his word still carries weight. Sect Leader, Chen Ren, we can get his help.”Chen Ren had been tempted. Deeply tempted. The thought of leaning on Li Xuan’s ties to the Soaring Sword Sect was like an open door in his mind. But he could not ignore the fractures he had already sensed in Li Xuan’s relationship with the sect. After all, why else will he still be here.

Yalan’s report had cut through his hesitation: there were cultivators already watching the village. The moment they tried to send word out, Blazing Ember’s net would close.

Then there was the city lord. Chen Ren had considered pulling that string—Li Xuan’s father might still be moved by favor or debt—but Cloud Mist City itself was drowning. Merchants talked of battles against wave after wave of beasts, nests spilling high-tier monstrosities into the walls. Even with the Soaring Sword Sect stationed there, the warfront was too busy. What help could make it through in time?

Chen Ren’s fingers drummed against the table as he listened, weighed, dismissed. In this world, goodwill was a fantasy. Nobody would bleed for them simply because the Blazing Ember Sect walked in with demonic cultivators. Every hand wanted payment, every savior a prize. What price could he offer that would arrive before Shen Linao’s blades?

None.

Which left him with only one road. Solve the problem at its root. Find the flaw. He had learned in his old life that no matter how high or proud, every opponent had an Achilles heel. A crack in the armor, a flaw in the system, a weakness they would kill to hide.

Blazing Ember Sect would be no different.

His headache throbbed sharper, but beneath it his instincts surged with clarity. They chanted the same refrain over and over: There is a way. Find it. Strike it. And live.

And Chen Ren, by now, had learned to trust those whispers.

Chen Ren’s days became an endless churn of parchment and whispers. He sifted through Anji’s notes until the ink bled into his vision, prodded Zi Wen for every tale merchants had muttered over their cups, even pulled Qing He aside to ask what she knew of powers that might secretly oppose the Blazing Ember Sect. But each answer turned into smoke. They weren’t certain enough or sharp enough to cut through Shen Linao’s shadow. Until of course, he stumbled on it.

At first, the whole idea felt nothing more than a footnote, buried in the margins of Void Blade’s records, one among hundreds of half truths and rumors, collected more for spite than for strategy. He almost skimmed past it, the way he had done a dozen times before. But this time, something made him pause. He read it again, then again, and again until the threads began to tighten.

It was so obvious it mocked him.

A weakness hidden in plain sight, overlooked only because he had been too focused on strength, numbers and weapons. But once it clicked, once the pieces aligned, his chest tightened with something he hadn’t felt in days—hope. It was fragile, but it was there.

It was not a guaranteed path. Far from it. If it failed, they would all be corpses on scorched earth. But for the first time, there was a chance to rip the Blazing Ember Sect’s claws from their throats.

He clenched the parchment, mind racing, and by nightfall he had made his decision. He sought out Qing He, the one person who might actually make such a reckless gambit possible.

When he laid out the plan, her expression hardened. She didn’t answer at first, only stared at him, lips pressed into a thin line, as though waiting for him to laugh and admit it was a joke. When he didn’t, she finally spoke.

“Are you insane? Do you even realise how risky this is? Before the plan has the slightest chance to succeed, you might already be dead.”

“I know. That’s why I’ll stall. As long as I can buy the time, the rest can move. We still have days before the meeting. That’s more than enough to prepare, enough to place backups around the site.” His jaw tightened. “After everything, after dragging us all this far, I refuse to be the first one to throw myself into a suicide mission. If I die, it will be after I’ve exhausted every plan I can put into motion.”

His voice rang with more steel and courage than he felt. Inside, his pulse hammered, every beat reminding him that the line between genius and desperation was thin. But outwardly, he let only calm resolve show. Because in this game, even resolve could be a weapon.

Qing He’s brows furrowed so tightly they nearly touched, her voice rough with disapproval. “But this is a suicide mission, kid. Do you really think it will work? Cultivators aren't reasonable.”

Chen Ren leaned back slightly, meeting her sharp gaze without flinching. “I don’t believe any cultivator is reasonable,” he said quietly. “And yet, I’ve still done well enough for myself.” A thin smile tugged at his lips. “Besides, even if this fails, I’m confident I can still run. Yalan will be a massive help… and if worse comes to worst, maybe you’ll finally show me some of your moves.”

That earned him a sharp snort. Qing He crossed her arms, but the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her. “My bones don’t bend the way they used to. But fine. I suppose I can count on you to run fast enough not to drag me down.”

Chen Ren grinned wider at that, the brief levity cutting through the heaviness between them. Still, he saw the shadow in her eyes, the worry she couldn’t quite mask. She had been at his side long enough, seen him crawl through schemes and fights that should have killed him, and he knew her faith in him was not easily given.

Her tone softened, though her gaze did not. “But you wouldn’t have come to me with just this. Not unless you’ve thought of other things. I know you too well, boy.”

Chen Ren exhaled through his nose, his grin settling into something steadier. “Not everything,” he admitted, “but I have a skeleton, at least. A framework.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting as if the plan itself was fire in his chest. “Let me tell you what I’ve pieced together…”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

159. Snowy paths

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.

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.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

160. Overwhelming power (1)

Yalan had been right.

The Blazing Ember Sect had indeed pitched their camp around the gorge. From the mouth of the cave where Chen Ren crouched, he counted two tents with crimson banners fluttering in the cold wind. At least fifteen cultivators lingered in sight—some standing watch with blades across their laps, others pacing the perimeter, and a few more crouched around a fire pit, turning the carcass of a beast as fat crackles rose into the air.

Every one of them was solidly mid to peak qi refinement realm. They were dangerous but nothing more than the vanguard. Yalan had already pointed out half a dozen foundation establishment cultivators concealed deeper within the gorge in different positions, waiting for instructions. And in the largest tent, Shen Linao sat, a meridian expansion realm master.

Chen Ren’s jaw tightened. He had half-hoped the man would dismiss them as trivial and send fodder, but it seemed Shen Linao’s wariness of Yalan kept him sharp. If Yalan chose to unleash herself, she could slaughter nearly every cultivator in sight—save Shen Linao—but at the cost of grievous wounds. Wounds they could not afford.

He didn’t want her vulnerable or injured in any way.

He simply kept staring at the camp from the position they were resting at. Shen Linao had truly prepared for them, there was no carelessness or indulgence.

The cave around them was narrow, barely more than a hollow in the cliff face on the gorge’s upper ridge. Snow dusted the ledge outside, and the drop beyond fell sheer into shadow. They had chosen it for concealment, but the waiting gnawed at him more than the cold ever could. The appointed time for the meeting crawled closer with each passing breath, and there was still no sign of Qing He.

He considered leaning into his backup plans, to move the board while he still had the chance. Yet his instincts resisted. He had placed his trust in her, and though trust was a brittle thing, his gut told him to hold it a little longer.

Beside him, Hong Yi sat cross-legged with his puppets arrayed like silent guards, gnawing on dried jerky they had brought for the journey. Zi Wen idly spoke in low tones to his Sori, the azure-feathered creature fluffing its wings as if pleased with the attention. Little Yuze was stationed around the valley to drop in stealthily if it came to a fight. And Yalan rested on his shoulder.

Finally, as the snow-bright gorge lay beneath them in silence, the sun climbed higher, its light slanting toward the gorge’s heart. Soon it would reach its zenith. Soon, their appointed hour would strike.

And Chen Ren knew—the waiting was nearly over. His frown deepened as his gaze slid to Yalan.

“It’s time.”

Her eyes opened. “Don’t want to delay it more.”

“We’re too close already. If we aren’t there soon, they’ll start sweeping the gorge. And even if you cleared the cultivators from around the village before leaving, they’ll send replacements sooner or later.” His eyes narrowed toward the campfires below. “I think I can keep Shen Linao busy with words until Qing He arrives.”

Yalan studied him for a long moment, then gave the faintest of nods. “Okay.”

Chen Ren turned, his gaze falling on Zi Wen and Hong Yi. “Let’s go.”

Zi Wen rose smoothly, dusting snow from his robes. Sori screeched faintly overhead, circling, her sharp eyes sweeping the camp from above. Hong Yi, by contrast, swallowed hard, glancing down toward the banners below. His knuckles whitened around his puppet’s frame as though it were a lifeline.

Step by step, they began the descent through the way they had climbed up. The path narrowed into a fork. The gorge’s chill wrapped them in silence as they wound downward, toward the waiting enemy.

Chen Ren could feel eyes on them the moment their figures broke from the cliffside. Recognition was immediate—he had no doubt Shen Linao’s disciples marked their arrival the instant they left cover. Yet none moved until the group drew closer to the camp, the crimson banners looming taller with every step.

Finally, two disciples strode out from the cluster near the fire. Their faces were twisted into cruel smiles, blades loose in their hands. One took the lead.

“I’m pretty sure the orders were for you all to arrive in a box,” the man sneered. “With only your head left inside it.”

Chen Ren almost rolled his eyes. “Call upon your master. We’re here to speak with him.”

The disciple barked a laugh. “Why not save him the trouble? I’ll just bring him your head myself.”

Chen Ren’s fist clenched, his body already leaning forward. He was a heartbeat away from striking when the air itself shifted.

Yalan’s qi flared. She did not hold back.

In an instant the two disciples were hurled down, their bodies slamming into the earth. The ground cracked beneath them with sharp reports, fissures spiderwebbing outward. Blood gushed from their nostrils, staining the snow a harsh red. Their limbs twitched, pinned by the sheer weight of her presence.

Around the camp, other disciples lurched upright, eyes wide, the easy arrogance of moments ago wiped clean. Their hands scrambled for weapons, the air ringing with sudden tension.

Chen Ren exhaled slowly, letting the silence hang over the scene. His gaze slid toward the largest tent, where he knew Shen Linao sat.

Several of the disciples around the fire bristled, their qi flaring as if to surge forward. Yet Yalan’s voice cut across the camp.

“They’re alive,” she said flatly. “Only punished for letting their mouths run. Now, where is Shen Linao? We came to speak with him, not to waste time on weaklings.”

The air shifted at once. The flap of the largest tent stirred, its edges dancing in the cold wind. From within, an old man stepped out, his presence making the very banners ripple as if bowing to him.

Shen Linao.

He looked the very part of an ancient cultivator to perfection. His beard and hair were pure white, long strands swaying like silk threads in the mountain breeze. Wrinkles etched faint lines into his face. His back was straight, his shoulders broad, and his robes of crimson-black flickered in the wind, embroidered with flame patterns that seemed to shimmer faintly with qi.

His eyes, dark as smoldering coals, scanned each of them with an expression that was extremely measured, dissecting without hurry. When they locked with Chen Ren’s, it was as though a mountain had settled before him.

“The disciples of Blazing Ember Sect,” Shen Linao’s voice rumbled, neither loud nor soft, but carrying easily through the gorge, “do not know how to measure their words. But I do not disagree with what they said.”

He paused, the faintest curl of disdain tugging at his lips.

“You were ordered to send me your heads. Alongside the enslaved beast. Yet you walk here whole and breathing. Have you decided to defy my command?”

As his words fell, a flare of qi erupted from him, scorching the air, pressing against their bodies like a blazing tide. Snow hissed, melted to steam where it touched his aura.

Chen Ren stood straight and proudly, not wanting to give an ounce of reaction. He looked at the other cultivators who were enjoying the show, before returning calmly to Shen Linao.

“I know those were your orders,” he said evenly. “But considering how many cultivators you’ve brought here, I doubt you ever believed we’d actually obey.”

For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then Shen Linao scoffed, the sound sharp as stone grating against steel.

“No,” he said, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t. I thought if you were bold enough to seize what is mine, you would spit in death’s face until the last moment. That, I respect. A cultivator should not cower.”

His thick eyebrow raised.

“But respect does not mean mercy. Bold or not, defiance only earns you a slower, harsher death. You could have cut your throats in your sleep and passed painlessly. Instead…”

His aura pulsed, firelight blazing in his eyes.

“…you will writh before me.”

Chen Ren let Shen Linao’s words hang in the frosted air for a moment before answering. His lips curved faintly, not quite a smile. “You are very quick to speak of death,” he said mildly. “Don’t you think introductions should come first?”

“Introductions are useless when the dead will not remember them.”

Chen Ren inclined his head slightly, as though conceding. “Perhaps. But don’t you wish to know what truly happened. How my sect and I chanced upon the vault in the first place?”

The elder’s eyes narrowed. His qi pulsed faintly, but he did not strike. “You had help,” he said at last, voice certain. “From someone of the Void Blade Sect. They knew the way, and you followed, never expecting us there.”

Chen Ren’s face betrayed no flicker of surprise. “That’s right,” he said evenly. Then he paused, taking his time, keeping the man curious. “But I should add this, I was unaware Blazing Ember Sect claimed ownership over it. According to the one who led me, the vault was simply abandoned, lying there in silence. And when we encountered your disciples… we believed them to be demonic cultivators. Surely you can understand why I suspected as such.”

At that, Shen Linao’s brows drew together. A rare crack in the mask. “Wang Fu was led astray,” he said slowly. “Whether the others followed him into that filth, I cannot say. But his ties to demonic arts were hidden from me. For that—” his teeth clicked, the word sharp “—I should thank you for killing him. If you hadn’t robbed the vault.”

Chen Ren scoffed in his mind, though outwardly he maintained his composure. So. He admits Wang Fu was tainted. Yet he disowns him at the first chance, painting ignorance. A convenient distance.

As Chen Ren had expected, old cultivators delighted in verbal sparring. To them, battles of words were as much a stage for dominance as the battlefield. And why not? If Shen Linao wished to move, he believed the fight would end in seconds. For Chen Ren, though, this verbal duel bought the only coin that mattered—time.

“You’re claiming ignorance,” Shen Linao said. “Yet did the robes of my sect not give it away? Do you mean to tell me you could not tell Blazing Ember Sect disciples from common rabble?”

Chen Ren lowered his gaze a fraction. “I must apologise, Master Shen. There are countless sects in these lands. And red—” his lips quirked faintly “—is also favored by demonic cultivators. Until we searched their bodies, we were uncertain. You understand why we might hesitate.”

“That sounds like a flimsy excuse.”

“It is what happened,” Chen Ren replied with a light shrug. “And when we discovered who they truly were, we decided it was best not to touch what we had taken. Nothing from the vault has been used. Everything is preserved, waiting for you.”

With that, Chen Ren raised his hands, fingers spreading. The gleam of several spatial rings flashed in the light, each one glinting like a lure cast into a lake of hungry fish.

Shen Linao’s eyes flickered with unmistakable greed. Around them, several disciples unconsciously took a step forward, their gazes fixed on the rings. None dared circulate qi, though—not under the invisible weight of Yalan’s killing intent.

At last Shen Linao spoke again. “You should surrender them now. Place every ring in my hand. If you do so without struggle, I will grant you mercy. A clean end. Everyone desires a painless death. Don’t you?”

“Yes. Everyone desires a painless death. But you do realize, Master Shen, that if I yield them here and now… it would mean none of your disciples will leave this gorge alive. Not a single one outside of yourself.”

His eyes swept the gathered cultivators, unhurried, sharp.

“You’ve cultivated them for years, haven’t you? Poured resources into raising them to these realms. To throw them all away in one meaningless slaughter…” He shook his head, voice dropping into a blade’s whisper. “It would all be wasted.”

A hush rippled through the camp. Some disciples stiffened, others swallowed hard.

For the first time, Shen Linao’s mask cracked.

A snarl tugged at his lips as qi burst from his body in waves, the force of it rolling through the gorge like molten fire. The ground quivered, snow hissing to steam where the heat of his presence touched.

Chen Ren braced, but the crushing weight never reached him. A cool, suffocating pressure met it—Yalan’s qi, blooming around him like an unyielding barrier. Her aura wrapped him, Zi Wen, and Hong Yi alike, a silent declaration that none would touch them while she was there.

Chen Ren inclined his head slightly toward her, then stepped into the storm with words sharp as any blade. “Don’t mistake me. I don’t have the strength to slaughter your disciples. But surely, your intentions in calling us here went beyond wanting our heads.” His eyes slid toward Yalan. “You wanted my spirit beast.”

The words hung like a hammer blow.

“A fine choice. She’s obedient enough. Loyal. A good pet.”

Yalan did not move, though her glare cut toward Shen Linao. Her claws were out, and so was her fur—all straightened, hostile toward the man.

Shen Linao licked his lips, his eyes gleaming with naked greed. “It’s true,” he admitted at last. “That beast… yes. She would serve me well enough. She’s strong, proud, yet leashed. A pity she doesn’t favor me now. I can see that. But after your death, that will change.”

Chen Ren cleared his voice loudly. “But that will cost you dearly. Yalan doesn’t bow easily. If not for my ancestors’ bindings, she would have torn me apart long ago, forget about you. She only respects strength. Try to enslave her, and the price will be blood, and not just yours. Every cultivator here would likely die before she breaks.”

No one dared to speak after that. He swept his gaze through the camp and saw it. All the men looked extremely uncomfortable. Several disciples had even gone pale, their hands twitching at their sides. His words had struck exactly where he intended.

It’s working, Chen Ren thought. Qing He had told him that divination of this scale would have demanded sacrifices. If Shen Linao had already bled some of his sect for knowledge, then the last thing he would want was to waste more lives here.

A sect lived and died not only on its peak experts but on the broad shoulders of its foundation—its early and middle realm cultivators, its disciplined ranks. And Shen Linao, no matter his arrogance, had shown his hand. The sheer number of cultivators he had gathered here was proof enough that he feared what Yalan might unleash.

Chen Ren’s eyes lingered on Shen Linao. Come then, old monster. Every word you give me is another breath of time. Every glare, another chance Qing He draws closer.

Shen Linao’s scowl deepened, lines creasing his weathered face. “What are you getting at?”

“That there’s a way to prevent needless destruction. A way to avoid all this damage.”

The old cultivator let out a sharp laugh, low and mocking. “You expect me to let you walk away? To bargain your life for the spirit beast?”

“Don’t you think it’s a fair offer?” Chen Ren asked softly.

Shen Linao pulled the ends of his white beard. “It’s something to consider… but your beast barely managed to kill Wang Fu. Hardly the strength you claim.”

“She’s grown since then. And you forget, she was taken back because he was a demonic cultivator. You don’t think she could do much damage now? I’m pretty sure she can do a lot of damage to you all”

Every word that followed that was another question, every sentence pulled Shen Linao into an answer. Back and forth they spoke, the elder’s disdain never faded, not even once. Yet Chen Ren felt it. The old man’s patience was fraying, his qi pressing heavier. The storm of his killing intent edged toward eruption.

Chen Ren hid his satisfaction behind steady eyes.

Sadly, there was still no sign of Qing He.

Then, as Shen Linao’s lip curled in disgust, Yalan’s voice brushed across Chen Ren’s mind. “He’s about to move. Be ready.”

Chen Ren almost nodded. But before he could, Shen Linao’s roar shook the gorge.

“Enough!”

His qi surged, erupting outward in a tidal wave of blazing heat. “I am not here to debate with insects. I asked for something, and I will fucking take it!”

The ground split beneath the weight of his aura, stones cracking and snow hissing into steam. All at once, his disciples moved, weapons drawn, qi blazing, rushing toward Chen Ren’s group like a crimson tide.

Shen Linao’s own presence slammed forward, a crushing force that sought to pulp Chen Ren where he stood.

However, Yalan's qi burst and stretched like an eruption of blades before it could reach him. Her frigid aura locked with Shen Linao's fire in a collision that shook the gorge as the shield she had constructed illuminated against the blazing wave.

Disciples closed in, their shouts rising—

—and then it came.

A shrill sound cut through the battlefield.

In the next heartbeat, cultivators around Shen Linao faltered completely. Some fell, clutching their heads. Others collapsed outright, bodies jerking before blood sprayed from their nostrils, staining the snow in bright rivulets.

Shen Linao’s eyes snapped wide, his fury momentarily pierced by shock. His gaze swept the battlefield, searching for where the attack had come from.

Using the distraction, Yalan pressed against him, her qi straining to overpower him.

Then, above them all, out of nowhere, a voice rang out.

“Enough.”

The word echoed through the sky, and for an instant the world froze.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

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161. Overwhelming power (2)

In an instant, it felt as if the world itself had stilled.

The voice that rang out froze the gorge in place. Disciples who had been lunging for Zi Wen, Hong Yi, and his puppets halted mid-strike, their blades trembling in the air. From above, hidden cultivators leaping down from the cliffs staggered mid-flight, their footing breaking as their bodies slammed against stone, bullets piercing them before they even struck the ground.

Even Shen Linao faltered. The fiery tide of his aura recoiled at once, collapsing back into his dantian as if doused by ice water.

His face drained of color almost immediately, lips parting in a silent gasp. It was as though he had heard a voice long buried, a ghost that haunted his dreams, and a name carved into his fear.

Only Chen Ren looked composed, his eyes calm amidst the chaos. Relaxed, even. Their gamble had borne fruit. At least… I hope so, he thought, lifting his gaze to the sky.

Qing He floated there, her robes billowing gently against the oppressive silence. Yet Chen Ren’s eyes did not linger on her.

They locked instead on the man beside her.

Flames twisted around him, licking his limbs, wreathing him in a crown of fire. Chen Ren couldn’t properly see his face; the pressure alone was enough. Subtle, restrained, yet unmistakable—he stood in a realm none present could touch. Even without a domain manifest, Chen Ren felt it in his bones: the man was a breath away from one.

He wore the same cut and color robes as Shen Linao—deep red and black—though his shone brighter, and richer than Shen Linao’s own, even though tattered edges and scorched hems. His shade of robe was not reserved for common disciples or even elders. But someone higher.

Chen Ren felt the weight of it before he even turned his eyes toward Shen Linao.

The old man’s lips opened, then closed. Then they opened again. No sound came. His chest heaved as though words caught in his throat, strangled before breath. His eyes betrayed him—terror glinting there. Chen Ren felt a cruel satisfaction creeping to his bones by the look on his face.

Slowly, the man of flames descended. His feet did not touch the ground. He hovered just above it, gaze sweeping across the camp.

The gorge had fallen silent.

That was when Chen Ren looked at him properly. His face was long and narrow, with sharp cheekbones that had shadows. His jaw was squared, framed by a silver streaked beard. The old man had a sharp nose which made him even more intimidating.

Most striking of all were his eyes—a shade of gray that made him look—soulless.

Chen Ren carved the man’s face to his mind and shifted his gaze to the surroundings. Some of the Blazing Ember Sect disciples had their foreheads pressed against the earth. Their qi trembled, unwilling to resist the force pressing against their cores.

Even Chen Ren felt it—the invisible weight, a pressure that bent the spine and suffocated the lungs. His knees strained, his bones groaned, but he forced himself upright. He alone remained standing, the faintest flicker of defiance in his eyes, as the old man’s gaze locked on Shen Linao.

“Linao,” the man said at last. “Decades ago, I left you to tend to my sect. And I see that you have grown in those years. But tell me, have you done what I asked of you when I left?”

Shen Linao’s lips twitched. “I… I did…” His head dipped, and then, with reluctance heavy in every word, he finally said, “Sect Leader, Xinyan”

“I made sure our sect prospered beyond its limits,” Shen Linao continued quickly, as though to cover the quiver in his voice. “We have taken in the most talented disciples, those who understand the glory of flames, the intensity of our way. Our foundations have never been stronger.”

The old man’s eyes narrowed, flames coiling tighter about him. “Yet what I have heard… about this war with the Void Blade Sect. That is not what I instructed.”

Shen Linao’s jaw tightened. “It was inevitable. They sought to launch war upon us. I only did what was necessary, what I believed was right as the sect regent.”

Elder Xinyan’s gaze sharpened. “You believed the right course was to eradicate them? To burn their sect grounds until nothing remained? You understand why they were valuable to us, yes? A war does not demand annihilation. Do you understand me?!”

Shen Linao’s face hardened, his spine stiffening beneath the rebuke. “I did what was necessary. It brought glory to Blazing Ember Sect. I wielded power, and so I acted. I don’t think you should mind it, Sect Leader… but—” his voice trembled faintly, the question forced out—“should I ask how you are here? I thought you were to be—”

The old man cut him off. “In seclusion? For another decade?” A cold smile touched his lips. “Yes. That was the plan. My cultivation had been advancing steadily, though slowly. I could have waited, and I would have emerged far stronger.”

His eyes grew colder, the weight of his gaze sweeping across every trembling disciple.

“But then… I was woken.”

“Who… who dared such a thing?” Shen Linao asked, looking around as if all the terrified cultivators had answers. No one said anything, all their gazes locked on the ground.

“Shen Linao, you need not worry about that! What happened was necessary. Had I not been woken, I would not have been able to save my sect,” Elder Xinyan spoke ever so slowly, fire moving around his arms in circles.

Shen Linao’s brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion flashing across his face. “Save… the sect? From whom, Sect Leader? Blazing Ember has not been this rich, this glorious, since its founding.”

“Rich. Glorious. Yes, the surface shines. But parasites have burrowed deep, Linao. They have veered from the sacred path of cultivation. Their loyalty is not to the sect, but to their own greed, their own advancement. So long as their flames burn higher, they will watch our foundations crumble.”

A confused expression spread across Shen Linao’s face, carefully crafted. “Sect Leader… I don’t understand.” His voice quavered with practiced humility.

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed. He did understand. That feigned confusion, that tilt of the head, that half-step backward—It was the mask of a man stalling, buying breath, preparing.

Around them, disciples were frozen, too enthralled by the conversation between the two to notice anything else.

Chen Ren seized the moment. With a subtle gesture, he drew Hong Yi and Zi Wen back, Yalan falling in step without a word. They slipped farther into the gorge’s shadows, far enough that when the storm broke—and it would—they would not be caught in its first, crushing wave.

Still, Chen Ren’s gaze never left Shen Linao. The old man wore the mask of confusion well, nodding, bowing his head, pretending to be lost in his sect leader’s words. But Chen Ren could see the cracks—how his eyes never blinked, how his fingers twitched ever so slightly, how the aura around him thickened with every passing breath.

Xinyan’s voice grew harder. “Do you really not grasp what I’m saying? Do you truly believe no one can sense it in you?” The flames at his back roared louder, a tide threatening to consume. “Confess. Reveal everything. Do that, and I will spare you from death. Whatever punishment you deserve, you will endure, but you will live.”

Shen Linao bowed his head deeper, his voice soft, trembling. “Sect Leader… I truly don’t know what you mean.”

Despite his words, a second later his qi erupted.

Though Chen Ren was prepared, he was taken back. He expected the same oppressive wave he had wielded before, but no, this was suffocating in its strength. Snow hissed into steam as his qi clawed outward.

Even at a distance, Chen Ren's heart lurched in his chest.

The air split as Shen Linao’s qi surged again—no longer the steady blaze of a seasoned cultivator, but something warped, something wrong. His fire qi roared outward, tainted with a murky blackness that twisted its heat into suffocating pressure.

When it struck Xinyan and Qing He, the ground groaned in protest. Stone cracked open like brittle bone, the ground beneath their feet splitting wide. Several disciples screamed as the earth collapsed, bodies tumbling into the sudden fissures.

Shen Linao’s figure blurred, charging forward. His fist clenched, and from it manifested a claw of dark, blazing fire—talons stretching, burning as though to tear heaven itself apart. He slashed at Xinyan, a strike heavy enough to rend the air—

—only for the figure in flames to shift aside with effortless grace. The attack ripped into empty space, tearing another scar into the gorge wall.

“I never expected you of all people to appear here today!” Shen Linao’s voice was hoarse, shrill, yet burning with madness. “But it makes no difference! I’ll crush you here and now—strip away this title of sect regent, and claim the sect leader’s mantle for myself!”

“Ha ha ha.” Elder Xinyan’s laughter rang out rolling through the gorge like an inferno. Flames gushed from his body, pouring from his very stomach until they spiraled into massive burning hands.

“Corrupted!” he spat, his eyes alight with fury. “I always knew your soul was dull, Linao, but I thought at least your mind had sense enough to steer it. I was wrong. Clearly. Look at you!”

The flaming hands lashed out, each the size of a house, slamming down on Shen Linao. He met them with his own claws, dark fire howling as it clashed with the pure blaze.

The collision erupted.

A detonation of flame and darkness burst outward, rattling the gorge, hurling rubble down from the cliffs. The world shook with the shockwave.

To Chen Ren’s left, one of the hidden cultivators was flung down from his perch, landing hard. His face was pale as ash as he staggered back up, eyes darting between the clashing titans. Then his gaze fell on Chen Ren.

Their eyes met—just once—before the man bolted, scrambling out of the valley as though death itself snapped at his heels.

He was not the last.

Other disciples, shaken from their stupor by the explosion, began to scatter. Some ran outright, vanishing into the snowy cliffs with panicked shouts. Others dove behind rocks and fissures, curling into whatever shelter they could find. There were only a handful that refused to flee. Even as the fight between sect leader and regent threatened to devour everything around them.

Zi Wen watched it happen and his hand stroked Sori who was perched on his shoulder. Little Yuze had made his way behind them. “For those who dabble in demonic arts themselves. They know what’s coming even if they gain power to deny it everyday.”

Chen Ren nodded faintly at Zi Wen’s words, though his eyes never left the battlefield.

Against the wall, Hong Yi slumped with a puppet at his side, his face pale but his lips twitching into something between disbelief and relief. “I can’t believe this actually worked…”

The words struck closer to Chen Ren’s own heart than he cared to admit. He hadn’t believed it either, not fully. So many threads could have frayed, so many variables could have snapped apart at the seams. But somehow, against all odds, it worked.

The idea had first struck him from a single thread of truth he stumbled across. For decades, Blazing Ember Sect and Void Blade Sect had barked and bitten at each other, but never gone for the throat. Skirmishes, ambushes, a steady river of blood, but no true war.

And Qing He had once told him that rivalries were sometimes cultivated deliberately, a stage built for disciples to sharpen their blades against one another, Chen Ren had begun to wonder. Could it be the same here?

The shift came when he learned that Sect Leader Xinyan had gone into seclusion, entrusting everything to Shen Linao. The thought had clung to him: what if they weren’t the same? Perhaps Xinyan wasn't the most righteous, but what if he wasn't corrupted like Shen Linao.

If the leader himself had been a demonic cultivator, Chen Ren reasoned, Shen Linao would never have hesitated. He would not have waited for him to go into seclusion before starting a war.

That was the gamble.

If he was right, then the true way to face overwhelming power was not to shatter it head-on, but to lure another greater power against it.

And so, the seed of his plan was planted.

Void Blade Sect had shallow rumors of where the Blazing Ember leader had gone into seclusion. And even without those whispers, some truths were obvious: a cultivator following the path of flames would not hide in plains or lakes, but in volcanoes, moldering mountains, or in hidden craters where earth and flame merged.

He had simply asked Qing He to scour them. Every likely place within reach. It had been a huge request, to ask her of it. But she agreed and found him. It worked, Chen Ren thought again, his lips tightening into a faint smile. The board is broken, but at least the pieces aren’t falling on me.

Now all Chen Ren had to do was wait. To watch the sect leader, Xinyan himself, tear into Shen Linao.

And he had to admit—it was a fight worth all the trouble.

Black-tinted flame clashed against burning crimson fire in the sky, every collision blooming into explosions that devoured chunks of the gorge. Rock shattered, cliffs crumbled, and each detonation sent a storm of ash and embers raining down. It was impossible to say who had the upper hand. To Chen Ren’s eyes, they were still measuring, each strike testing, each burst probing.

It sent shivers down his spine.

“...We’ll be fine, right?” Hong Yi muttered beside him, his voice thin, a hand clutching his puppet as though it could shield him from the falling sky. Chen Ren had the same question after seeing the destruction happen above.

Yalan purred next to them. “If anything strays our way, I’ll cut it down–” she paused as a huge explosion took place. “–Just watch. It will be good for you—see what higher-realm cultivators look like when they fight to kill.”

Before Chen Ren could answer, a familiar presence brushed against his senses. Qing He landed lightly beside them, her robes fluttering in the fiery wind. Her eyes never left the battlefield.

“She’s right,” Qing He said evenly. “Since you’ve chosen to follow this kid, one day a higher-realm cultivator will come to kill you. Better to see now what level of power you’ll be facing, than to go blind.”

Chen Ren smiled awkwardly. “If that time comes, I’ll just rely on you.” Because in reality, he was not prepared for such a battle.

Qing He scoffed, folding her arms. “I’ve already done you a greater favor than you deserve. That should last you for a long time. Now watch. And pray Shen Linao dies here.”

Chen Ren nodded, drawing in a slow breath as he fixed his eyes on the sky.

And in the short span of their exchange, the fight had shifted. The testing blows had turned heavier, sharper, crueler.

He saw Elder Xinyan driving Shen Linao back, wielding a massive hammer of flames, each swing carving through stone and air alike. Shen Linao darted away, his body cloaked in corrupted fire, hurling boulders of condensed qi that exploded in burning shards around his foe.

Yet the sect leader pressed through, his hammer swelling, multiplying before their eyes until the sky was filled with a storm of blazing weapons. Each one roared like a dragon, hammering down in unison as though the heavens themselves sought to flatten Shen Linao into dust.

Dozens of hammers blazed across the sky, chasing Shen Linao like a swarm of falling stars. He spat out more of his projectiles in a rush, sending them bursting into the air. One struck a hammer dead on, the clash tearing into a violent explosion that shook the sky.

The blast hurled Shen Linao down. His body smashed into the side of the gorge, the rock splintering beneath him, smoke and fire bursting outward in waves.

Xinyan didn’t pause. In a blink he was there, closing the gap, his flaming hammer swelling larger with each step in the air. It came down like the hand of a god, ready to crush Shen Linao into nothing.

Dark fire poured out of Shen Linao, cloaking him in a shield that twisted and squirmed.

The hammer slammed against it, sparks flying, the gorge roaring with the sound. The black flames burned hot, but they cracked under the weight, fragments peeling away like embers torn in a storm. At the last instant, Shen Linao threw himself aside, leaping back into the air with his robes scorched and his hair in tatters.

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed. For a moment he thought the man might turn to flee. The fight was slipping away from him; each exchange showed it clearer. Yet instead of retreating, Shen Linao’s gaze snapped toward Chen Ren.

Fuck, is he going to?

His face twisted with rage. He bellowed, his voice raw. “Chen Ren! This is all your doing!”

Blackened Qi exploded out of him, wild and reckless. Some burned across his own disciples, their screams cut short as fire wrapped around them. Shen Linao didn’t look back. His body blurred as he charged straight for Chen Ren, a storm of fireballs pouring from his fists.

The attacks screamed across the gorge, but Chen Ren didn’t move. He stood straight and locked eyes with him.

Yalan moved first. Her tail flared, flames spilling from it in a blazing wave. They met Shen Linao’s fire head-on, the two forces crashing together with a blast so bright it burned the air white. The shockwave rolled over them, shaking the walls of the gorge.

Chen Ren raised a hand, qi surging from his dantian. Before he could, a dome of light spread out before him, shielding his eyes and the others as burning shards scattered around them.

When the smoke cleared, Qing He was already there, her qi layered thick as steel walls. She let out a sigh, her voice sharp with irritation. “Do I always have to protect you children?”

Chen Ren opened his mouth, ready to reply, when the air shifted again. Shen Linao roared, his body twisting as he gathered strength for another strike.

But before he could release it, strong and massive chains of flame shot out from above. They wrapped around his arms, his waist, his throat—binding him in burning light.

Shen Linao choked and thrashed, his demonic qi flaring as he fought to break free, but the chains only tightened, sizzling against his flesh.

Chen Ren turned his head just enough to see Elder Xinyan descending, his hands raised. The ground itself seemed to bow under his presence.

“Linao, I will burn you to a crisp,” his voice thundered across the gorge, “for shaming the name of my sect.”

The chains pulled tight, dragging Shen Linao screaming toward him, the flames roaring louder as though eager to devour him whole.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

162. Overwhelming power (3)

Shen Linao thrashed against the burning chains, his body twisting as flames erupted from his skin. His face was pulled taut, equal parts rage and desperation, the veins bulging along his temples as he strained. His qi surged wildly, spilling out in waves of fire that scorched the gorge, but none of it reached the man holding him.

Xinyan strode forward through the inferno as if it were nothing more than a passing breeze. His eyes did not waver. “Do you have any last wishes?”

Spittle flew from Shen Linao’s lips as he spat out hoarsely, “Fuck you!”

Three blazing hammers materialized behind Elder Xinyan, each one a mountain of fire given form. Without a pause, they hurtled forward, slamming into Shen Linao all at once.

The gorge exploded with the impact. The sound cracked like thunder as stone shattered, flames seared across the cliffs, and Shen Linao’s body was flung like a useless rock. He smashed into the side of the gorge with bone-snapping force, the cliff face groaning as rubble poured down.

Chen Ren raised an arm to shield his eyes. The dust thinned slowly and that was when he saw Shen Linao pinned against the cliff wall. A jagged edge of stone had pierced through his side, skewering him like prey on a spear. His body hung limp, blood spilling freely from his mouth, and his robes were scorched to tatters.

For a moment, Chen Ren thought it was over. That the regent would die here, crushed beneath the weight of his sins.

But before he could think any better, a sound tore through the silence, a wet, tearing up, followed by a growl.

Shen Linao’s skin began to peel, strips of flesh sloughing away like burning paper. His complexion drained pale, as if blood itself had fled his body. Then, before Chen Ren’s horrified eyes, his form began to twist.

Two massive horns pushed their way out from his skull, curling upward, dripping with blood and flame. His eyes, once shadowed by fury, ignited into a deep, unnatural red. When he opened his mouth, it wasn’t teeth anymore, rows of jagged flangs gleamed in the firelight.

The qi spilling from him shifted. Before, it had been fire tainted by something darker. Now, the darkness had swallowed the fire whole. Demonic qi pulsed around him like a storm. It was thick, suffocating, and everything that made Chen Ren’s stomach tighten.

He watched the wounds across Shen Linao’s chest and side knit together, the irregular stone cracking and snapping as his body forced its way free. Blood still dripped, but already the flesh was closing, sealing as if time itself bent to his will.

He floated back into the sky.

His presence felt stronger than before, his silhouette looked monstrous against the flames, and when he spoke—his voice rumbled like a beast’s snarl.

“You were wrong, Xinyan. Bloody wrong. Did you think I, Shen Linao would fall to something like that? I am destined to climb beyond the heavens themselves. Nothing will stop me! Nothing!!”

Xinyan’s eyes narrowed. “The only place you are going is hell!”

Flames surged, chains snapping back into place as the sky lit up once more.

Chen Ren gritted his teeth as he watched. This time, the clash was different. Shen Linao’s movements were fluider than before, his demonic powers gave him the strength to press back against Xinyan’s might. The balance of the fight had shifted, and for the first time, Shen Linao’s strikes did not instantly crumble under the Sect Leader’s blows.

“Sect Leader Chen Ren… should we run? T-that.. What if Xinyan gets defeated?”

Chen Ren looked at Hong Yi who didn’t move his eyes from the firestorm in the sky, even with his face paled as a white sheet.

“You don’t have to worry,” Qing He said. “He won’t. That man is close to gaining a domain. He hasn’t even begun to show his true power. Moreover, Shen Linao is without his artifacts.”

“Wait,” Hong Yi said. “What does that mean?”

Yalan cut through the discussion. “After a certain realm, every cultivator relies on a set of artifacts. Against equals, natural strength isn’t enough, there’s an obvious gap between techniques and artifacts tip the balance. But Shen Linao… he never thought he’d face a true fight here. He didn’t bring them. A mistake that will, certainly, cost him dearly.”

“Xinyan also has none. He went into seclusion barehanded. But he doesn’t need them. This will end soon,” Qing He added, her eyes still fixed on the battle above,

Chen Ren said nothing, shifting his eyes from his group to the battle; which had long left weapons behind.

Flame and demonic qi crackled around their fists as the two titans closed the distance, hammering each other with pure strength. Blow after blow, the air split, tearing shockwaves into the gorge so violently that if not for the dome shielding them, Chen Ren and the others would’ve been swept away.

The punches that were being thrown at each other weren’t simple. Every punch carved new wounds into the land. Chunks of stone collapsed, splitting cliffs and turning the gorge into a furnace.

It looked like two living calamities tearing at each other.

And yet when Chen Ren looked closely, he saw a small glimpse at the waver of Shen Linao’s confidence. There was an unmistakable panic. Each time their fists collided, his eyes widened just a little, his teeth clenched a little tighter. He could mask it from the others, but now from someone who had learned to watch as he did.

Shen Linao was losing. He knew it.

Perhaps that was why, when Elder Xinyan surged forward with another barrage of crushing strikes, Shen Linao twisted away instead of meeting them. He shot upward, crossing the sky in zigzag arcs, dark fire trailing behind him.

Then, with both hands thrust out, he roared as spears of demonic qi formed in the air, lances that were blacker than night, and rained down toward Xinyan like a storm meant to pierce heaven itself.

But instead of pressing his assault, Shen Linao twisted his body and he darted higher into the sky.

The demonic cultivator wasn’t attacking anymore, he was running. He took advantage of Xinyan’s attention split between dodging the storm of lances, and shot straight for the gorge’s edge, no doubt hoping to escape.

He didn’t get far.

Ropes of fire—long, writhing strands that hissed like serpents—unfurled from Xinyan's palms as the skin surrounding them rippled and twisted strangely. With dazzling speed, they sped ahead, quickly covering the distance. As if giving birth to innumerable duplicates of themselves, the ropes broke and ripped apart as Shen Linao attempted to avoid, his body fading into afterimages. His momentum was ripped away when one snagged his ankle and then another.His body was smashed down the next instant like a hammer on iron.

The gorge quaked as he was slammed into the cliffside. Blood splattered against the stone. Before he could even suck in air, he was yanked back and smashed again, rock shattering under the impact. Once. Twice. The echoes rolled through the canyon like thunder.

Xinyan pulled him close, the ropes coiling tighter, dragging the broken figure toward him.

Shen Linao looked less like a cultivator and more like a corpse strung on threads. His robes were shredded, his skin torn, blood pouring freely. Yet even in that state, his qi erupted once more. Demonic fire surged up around him, wild and furious, burning against the ropes. Chen Ren saw the strands begin to fray, their edges dissolving under the corrupt flames.

But they held long enough. Shen Linao’s body was forced close, brought within Xinyan’s shadow.

The sect leader’s expression hadn’t changed. He looked at the traitor before him with the same calm eyes.

“Stupid, stupid Shen Linao. It seems like you’ve become nothing more than a rat… a rat that only knows how to flee! I will kill you and your every kin!!”

The words struck deeper than the ropes. Chen Ren felt it, a shiver crawling down his spine before he even realized. His body trembled, breath catching, and when he glanced aside, Zi Wen and Hong Yi were the same—faces pale, limbs stiff.

Even Yalan’s posture shifted, her legs tightening, the faintest quiver betraying her. Qing He stood tall, but her toes pressed hard against the ground, the tension clear.

The next moment, it came.

A wave of power rolled out from Xinyan—vast, suffocating, endless. The air turned to fire. The gorge itself seemed to bend beneath it.

Shen Linao’s eyes widened, his roar cracking into panic. “No!!”

Right before Chen Ren’s eyes, everything changed. A dome burst into being, massive and consuming, expanding until it covered a quarter of the gorge. Inside, everything burned.

Flame swept across stone, across air, devouring everything as if a sun had been lowered into the canyon. The earth cracked, the sky itself seemed to scream, and within that fiery prison Shen Linao’s body writhed as the fire clung to him, eating him alive.

Only Xinyan stood untouched, wreathed in his own domain of flame.

Shen Linao screamed so loud that the rocks shook at how loud he was.

Chen Ren’s eyes widened as he watched the fire consume everything. Robes crumbled first, eaten away like paper in a furnace. Then flesh peeled back, blackening, breaking apart in chunks that drifted as ash. Even his demonic qi flared wildly, but the flames wrapped around it, devouring it too, as though corruption itself was fuel for Xinyan’s fire.

Shen Linao’s mouth opened again and again, but no words came. Only screams, echoing through the gorge until even those were smothered by the fire.

One by one, his body parts fell away—his toes scattering into ash, then his legs, his torso, his chest. His face contorted in agony until even his head collapsed into embers.

And then even the ash was not spared. It burned in the air, curling into nothing, leaving not a trace behind.

Chen Ren stood frozen, his mouth parted in disbelief. He had known Elder Xinyan was strong—he had hoped for it—but even then, he had never thought Shen Linao would fall so fast. A man who had ruled his sect with iron and flame, reduced to nothing in mere seconds.

Beside him, Qing He’s voice was quiet, almost lazy, though her eyes were sharp. “That’s an incomplete domain.”

Chen Ren turned toward her, his throat dry. “Incomplete? It felt like the whole world was burning.”

“It isn’t even half,” Qing He said. “At best, twenty percent of a true domain. A complete one would have swallowed this gorge… and the next two besides. And the weight of it would not be something you could even stand under. This,” she gestured toward the still-burning dome, “is impressive, but Xinyan is decades away from being a domain master.”

Chen Ren swallowed hard and gave a short nod, though his gaze was still locked on the sky. Slowly, the fiery dome unraveled, its edges flickering until it dissolved back into nothing, like a dream fading from the world.

Xinyan emerged, his flames subdued, his figure calm once more. Yet his face was not triumphant. He frowned, his eyes sweeping over the gorge. Around them, Blazing Ember disciples lay scattered—many dead, others unconscious, none unscathed.

Then, at last, his gaze shifted.

Those eyes turned toward Chen Ren.

Chen Ren froze, his chest tightening as the weight of that glance pressed against him. For a heartbeat, his body forgot how to move, how to breathe.

Then the thought settled in. We’re not friends. But neither are we enemies.

He forced himself to stand tall, meeting the sect leader’s gaze as the gorge fell into silence.

Xinyan might have been the strongest cultivator Chen Ren had ever seen, but he wasn’t reckless. A man of such power didn’t move without thought. Chen Ren knew this was his moment—he had played a part in freeing his sect from the demonic cultivators, and he still held cards unseen.

So when Xinyan floated closer, Chen Ren stepped forward as well, bowing his head slightly. “I am Chen Ren, sect leader of the Divine Coin Sect.”

Xinyan paused, his eyes narrowing. For a heartbeat, he looked genuinely puzzled. “I don’t think you’re strong enough for me to be having this conversation with.”

From the side, Qing He’s voice cut in smoothly, almost chiding. “You shouldn’t underestimate young cultivators.”

Xinyan turned his gaze back on Chen Ren. A faint frown lingered across his face, but after a moment he gave a short nod. “Fine. I see that damn bastard caused you no small amount of trouble.”

“A little. He only asked for my head.”

“Qing He didn’t tell me much. Only that my sect had been taken over by demonic cultivators, and that if I didn’t act, she would.” His gaze grew sharp, burning through Chen Ren. “But I want to hear the full story. What happened here?”

Chen Ren exhaled slowly. He had hoped to avoid spilling every detail, but there was no slipping away from that piercing gaze. He began to explain.

He told of the vault, of the disciples they had faced, of the signs of demonic corruption that had spread through the Blazing Ember Sect. He painted them darker, more twisted than they were—careful brushstrokes of subtle manipulation. Wang Jun’s name never left his lips; that entire thread was erased, folded away.

But the heart of it remained. Shen Linao’s greed, the corruption among his disciples, the battles they had fought.

By the time his words faded, the gorge was once again silent save for the faint crackle of lingering flames.

Xinyan stood there, unmoving, scratching at his beard as though trying to wrestle sense out of the tale. His brows drew tight, his lips pressing into a thin line. For once, the man who had just reduced a sect regent to ash looked… at a loss for words.

Chen Ren stood patiently, his hands behind his back, waiting for the judgment that would follow.

It was finally time to see whether this old man was truly different from Shen Linao, or if he was only another wolf in robes. Killing the regent already placed him higher in Chen Ren’s eyes, but that wasn’t saying much. Chen Ren trusted no older cultivator.

“So everyone in Void Blade Sect is dead, then? Those old goats—all of them?”

“Only one remains. And she’s a mortal. There may be others who fled, but I don’t know.”

For the briefest instant, Chen Ren thought he saw something soften—faint sadness flickering across the man’s face. But it vanished in a heartbeat, swallowed by a growl as the man cursed.

“Damn it. I had a dozen favors still hanging with them. That Shen Linao ruined everything.” His eyes narrowed again. “You said you fought a demonic cultivator in that vault too?”

“Yes, Elder Xinyan. Only one, but I’m sure there are more. From what I’ve seen, Shen Linao took over the entire sect while you were away.”

“Seems like he did…” His tone was low, grim. Then his eyes lifted back to Chen Ren. “Did you complain to the empire?”

Before Chen Ren could answer, Qing He’s voice cut in from behind, sharp with disdain.

“Do you think that bastard wouldn’t have watchers in the capital? Every letter, every seal would have been in his hands within a week. If we had reached out, he would’ve known immediately.”

Xinyan turned his gaze toward her, considering, then gave a slow nod. “So. The empire doesn’t know.” His expression hardened. “If they did, this would be far worse.”

“How so?”

Hong Yi froze the moment the words left his lips, realizing too late who he had questioned. His face went pale as Xinyan’s burning eyes swung toward him.

For a moment, silence stretched thin as wire. Then the man answered, his voice carrying the weight of inevitability. “Because I wouldn’t even have time to clean my own house before the inquisitors came storming in. And once they move… they don’t leave embers. They turn everything to ash.”

Chen Ren straightened his back, forcing his voice to remain steady.
“You don’t have to worry about that.” He paused, then added firmly, “until you promise to leave us alone.”

“Oh, really?” Xinyan narrowed his eyes deeply.

“Yes, we helped you. If we hadn’t told you what was happening, Shen Linao would have destroyed everything you’ve built while you sat in seclusion.”

A low rumble came from the old man. “And also killed you. Don’t twist this. You did it to save yourselves.”

“We did.” Chen Ren gave a small nod, not backing down. “But that doesn’t change the truth. In the end, we still did you a favor. And I don’t think either of us gains anything by fighting each other now.”

Xinyan’s face darkened, but he didn’t lash out. Instead, he folded his arms. “I see your point. But what about everything you took? Blazing Ember Sect’s rightful property?”

Chen Ren’s lips curved faintly. “When demonic cultivators are involved, nothing is ‘rightful property’ anymore. Not by law, not by the heavens. You know that as well as I do.”

Before Xinyan could respond, Qing He’s voice rang out from behind.
“He’s right, Xinyan. We’ve already done you a greater favor than you realize, pulling the rot out of your sect. If you try to take too much from us now, even the heavens won’t look kindly on you.”

Xinyan clicked his tongue, his eyes shifting between them. For a long moment, he was in thought. Then, finally, he let out a rough exhale.

“I suppose… you are right.”

His gaze lingered on Chen Ren and the others, sharp enough to cut. “I will let you go for now. I have too much work to do in my sect. Parasites to burn, roots to rip out, and answers to find. I need to know how they crawled their way inside my house.” Then he locked eyes with Chen Ren, his stare heavy, leaving no space for doubt.

“I will remember your face.”

Those words sent a shiver down his spine for some reason. But before he could respond properly, Xinyan’s gaze shifted to Qing He. for the first time, his voice softened.

“And I thank you, Qing He.”

Qing He nodded.

In the next second, flames surged around his legs, wrapping around him. With a single step, he rose into the air, and within moments, he was gone.

The silence he left behind weighed heavier than his presence had.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

163. Soul Cultivation 101

Anji looked at the books spread across the desk—the same desk Sect Leader Chen Ren had once used before leaving the city. There were stacks of account records lying open with the pages filled with numbers and notes. Sales were climbing steadily, not only from the steady supply Jadefire Hall sent day and night, but also from the small ventures Chen Ren had left behind.

Beside them rested another bundle of papers, these marked with Hun Tianzhi’s rough, hurried script. Notes on recipes. Failed mixtures. Adjustments. His efforts to strip out rare ingredients from her master’s formulas and still keep the pills effective.

She had been surprised when the package came. A man like Hun Tianzhi wasn’t one to share his work lightly. But reading through, she realized the truth—it wasn’t generosity. It was leverage. A way to prove his progress so he could demand more money for ingredients.

Anji frowned, fingers brushing the inked pages. The man wasn’t a fool. He had to know how well business was going. And with Chen Ren gone, she was the one holding the reins.

The numbers didn’t lie: if she granted Hun Tianzhi what he asked, nearly half their profits would be swallowed by his experiments. Ordinarily, she would have cut it down, offered a smaller purse of spirit stones, and called it done. But this wasn’t ordinary.

Relationships mattered in business, especially new ones. More than that, she could almost hear Chen Ren’s voice reminding her of the importance of research and development, of seeds planted now bearing fruit later.

She sighed. She had no choice. She would grant him what he asked. Still, the cost was heavy enough that she would need to write to the Divine Coin Sect for permission. With the snow and beasts thickening outside the city, even sending that letter was no simple task.

Just as the thought settled in, a sharp tap rattled the window beside her.

Anji flinched at the sound, her eyes snapping to the window. A bird perched there, its feathers dark against the falling snow. For a moment she wondered what it was doing in the middle of the city, but then her breath caught.

She recognized the sharp beak, glowing eyes immediately, it was a Striker Beak, a wild beasts that had nests deep in the forests. They rarely came near human walls, never mind landing right in front of a window. That much she knew from Zi Wen.

And the thought of him gave her the answer.

She crossed the room quickly. Sliding the window open, she braced herself, half-expecting the beast to lash out. But it didn’t. Instead, it lowered one talon, revealing something clasped tightly in its claws.

A letter.

It dropped the parchment into her hands, then gave a piercing cry that shook the glass panes before beating its wings and soaring away, vanishing into the wintry clouds.

Anji barely spared it another glance. Her focus was on the letter, her fingers trembling slightly as she broke the seal.

One look at the brush strokes, and her heart eased. The writing was familiar, unmistakable. This was Sect Leader Chen Ren’s words.

She sank back into her chair, the paper rustling as she unfolded it. Her eyes traced the words, and the blood drained from her face.

Blazing Ember Sect had contacted them.

Her fingers tightened against the letter, her knuckles pale. The name alone was enough to make her stomach twist, her breath shallow. For a moment, she couldn’t believe it had actually happened. Heavens, just the thought of them turning their eyes on her sect… it was enough to make her hands shake.

But as she read further, the lines shifted. Her heart slowed, steadied. She read it in his voice—and his voice according to the letter was calm—almost too casual.

The matter had already been dealt with. The man behind the war, behind her father’s death was gone. Dead. There would be no more threats from the Blazing Ember Sect.

Anji stared at the words again and again, her lips parting. It was written so simply, as if it were no more than a matter of trade, like a simple deal closed. Not the death of one of the greatest threats to the sect.

For a fleeting moment, she even wondered if it was fake—if someone had forged it to fool her. But the strokes, the rhythm of the brush… It was Chen Ren. There was no doubt.

Her hands lowered, letters spread across her lap, as a strange mix of relief and unease churned inside her chest.

And it had been delivered by a beast. Anji knew no other beast tamer than Zi Wen, no one else who could command such a creature to come straight into the city. Which meant it was true—Sect Leader Chen Ren and the others had somehow dealt with the Blazing Ember Sect.

So many questions rattled in her head. What had actually happened? How did they survive? Why hadn’t she been contacted sooner? But then the answer pressed down on her as easily as the snow outside. What could she have done, even if she had known?

She was still only a mortal, even if she forced herself to practice soul cultivation every day. All she could manage was maintaining the ledgers, the supplies, and keeping their business afloat. If she had been drawn into that storm, it would have only broken her, and left her duties here in ruins.

Still, the worry lingered. Was it really okay? Was it truly over?

Her hand drifted to the cold cup of tea sitting by the ledgers, untouched for over an hour. She lifted it and drank in one go, grimacing as the bitterness clung to her tongue. Even cold, it grounded her, cleared the fog in her head.

She set the cup down and turned back to the letter, tracing each stroke again. That was when her eyes caught something she had missed—the parchment was longer, folded over itself. There was more written at the back.

Her brows knitted as she unfolded it, expecting details of what had happened. An explanation.

Instead, her lips parted in surprise. It wasn’t an account of the battle at all. It was something else entirely.

Chen Ren had written that after taking care of the Blazing Ember Sect, they had returned to the sect. And he—of all people—had decided to start learning soul cultivation. He said it was important for him and that he wanted guidance, so that Wang Jun couldn’t take advantage of him. He even asked her for tips, for her experience, the parts of training she thought mattered most.

At the bottom, in his sharp strokes, he wrote that the bird would return within the hour after circling the city. She could give it a letter—updates on the sect’s business, her advice on cultivation, anything he should know to prepare in advance.

Anji lowered the parchment to her lap, her heart oddly light.

Even as more questions crowded her mind, she felt the corners of her lips curve. The image rose unbidden—her master, stern in every way and form, trying to teach Chen Ren, who always seemed to stumble forward with half-formed plans and yet somehow make them work.

Her shoulders shook faintly. That would have been quite a sight. I’d pay to watch it. But well, now I’ve a new duty to attend to.

***

Chen Ren suppressed the urge to grab Wang Jun by his skull and use him as a football for a match or two. The man’s droning voice was enough to test the patience of saints. He’d internally cursed more times in the past hour than he had done his whole life here.

Beside him, perched on his bed, Yalan let out a wide yawn, her long tail flicking lazily. But Chen Ren caught the faint curve of her whiskers—she was smirking, amused by his suffering.

“Now,” Wang Jun declared, clearing his throat as if giving a grand lecture, “it only took me a single day—just one—to sense my soul! Mastering the first step of soul cultivation in record time. Others at my level? Struggled for months. But me?” His eyes practically gleamed with self satisfaction. “A genius unmatched.”

Chen Ren fought the urge to roll his eyes, though at least Wang Jun’s earlier words had been useful.

Soul cultivation, like body and qi cultivation, had its own nine stages—steps, in this case. From sensing to touching, shaping to tempering, each one building on the next. Nine steps in all.

And, according to Wang Jun, a tenth.

“To tear away the mortal shell and rise as pure spirit,” Wang Jun had said with such reverence that Chen Ren thought the man might bow to his own reflection. “An astral being, free of flesh!”

Chen Ren, for his part, had silently decided he’d rather keep his body, thank you very much. Becoming some drifting soul didn’t sound like an upgrade, no matter how Wang Jun painted it.

But that had been the end of the teaching. After laying out the framework, Wang Jun slipped into endless boasting. His “glorious days.” His “unmatched genius.” His “legendary duels.” All those stories were said until Wang Jun himself shone like a golden idol.

Halfway through, Chen Ren stopped listening altogether. His mind filtered out the voice like background noise, only catching the occasional word—“genius,” “peerless,” “unrivaled.”

Finally, he had enough.

“Can you not?” Chen Ren cut in, his tone sharp, eyes narrowing.

Wang Jun paused mid-gesture, squinting in annoyance. “Not what?”

“Stop talking about chasing down demonic cultivator souls.”

The older head’s eyes narrowed further, his tone almost offended. “Why? Soul battles are thrilling. Exciting! The kind of tales that stir blood for generations!”

“They are,” Chen Ren admitted dryly. “But I thought this was supposed to be you teaching me, not reciting The Great Exploits of Wang Jun.”

Yalan’s whiskers twitched again. This time she didn’t bother hiding her grin.

Wang Jun huffed, eyes half-distant. “You know… The Great Exploits of Wang Jun does sound like a fine title for when I—”

He stopped short at Chen Ren’s glare. “Alright, alright. I’m telling you these things because you need to understand what soul cultivation can achieve. If you don’t, you won’t take it seriously.”

Chen Ren’s voice was flat. “My life is at risk. I’m taking it very seriously. Why don’t we begin with the first step—soul sense?”

Wang Jun tilted his head, then gave a slow nod. “Sure. But know this—it’s not easy. Cultivators may have sharp senses for their bodies thanks to qi, but the soul is astral. It’s not touched by qi. Not directly. I managed to sense it in just a day, so if you can even do it in a week, it won’t be half bad.”

“You took two weeks.”

“What? How do you know that?”

“I asked Anji. She sent me a letter.”

Wang Jun’s jaw tightened. He muttered under his breath, “That girl… needs discipline.” His grumbling faded as his face turned more solemn. “Fine. It takes longer than I made it sound. Which makes me curious to see how fast you can do it.” His eyes sharpened. “Now. Close your eyes. Sit properly. Meditate. And listen carefully. Don’t reach for qi, don’t even think of it. Push it out of your senses entirely. You’re not a vessel of qi right now. You’re a vessel of something deeper.”

Chen Ren frowned. “How am I supposed to do that? Whenever I close my eyes, I sense qi. It’s everywhere.”

“That’s the point,” Wang Jun said. “Qi is not the only current flowing through you. You need to stop drowning in it. Beneath it, behind it, through it—there is your soul. Find it. Feel it. Make contact. Once you do, once you can grasp it instantly, only then can we move to the next step.”

Yalan flicked her tail, whiskers twitching in amusement. “Sounds like he’s asking you to ignore the ocean and hear a single drop of water.”

“Exactly,” Wang Jun said, his lips curling. “If he can’t even hear his own soul, what business does he have trying to shape it?”

Chen Ren sat still for a moment, his brow furrowed. “How does a soul even feel like?”

“Hard to explain.” He paused, eyes narrowing as if searching for the right words. At last, he said, “It’s your being. The body’s only a vessel. The soul—” he looked at Chen Ren’s chest, “—is you. Think about how you would feel if you were stripped bare of everything else. That’s what you’re searching for.”

Chen Ren almost grumbled aloud. It didn’t make sense. None of this did. But he knew there was no point arguing. Some things couldn’t be explained; they had to be touched.

So without another word, another question, he shifted into a meditative posture, spine straight, hands resting against his knees. His eyes slid closed. He drew in a slow breath, then let it out, the sound of air moving loud in the quiet room.

And immediately, the qi surged into his awareness. Rivers flowing unseen, threads weaving through the walls, the sky, his very veins. It wrapped him from every side, a constant pressure that refused to be ignored.

He tried to push it out, but in the next minute, it clung tighter. He tried again—shutting it down, forcing it away.

Nothing happened. He failed at trying to force it.

His brows pulled tight, and with a faint hiss, his eyes opened.

Wang Jun’s brow lifted. “Already giving up?”

“It’s nothing.” Chen Ren forced his voice flat and closed his eyes again.

This time, when the qi pressed in, he didn’t fight it. He let it be, like background noise. He focused elsewhere, dragging his thoughts inward, not outward. The soul… my being. What does it feel like? Where is it hiding?

Slowly, carefully, he pushed past the hum of qi.

He had one advantage—one he had never spoken of to Wang Jun. He had lived in more than one body. The memory was foggy, broken, but he remembered the first time he had opened his eyes in this flesh. The confusion. The agony. And beneath it, something else.

A whispering presence, faint and unearthly, that had run through every inch of him before settling, like a tide washing back into the sea.

He chased that memory now. That ethereal sensation of being.

Now that… was a beginning. Because the more he reached for it, the edges of his qi blurred.

He kept reaching and reaching—until, for a heartbeat, he thought he felt it. A pulse—not of blood, not of breath, but of something deeper.

Even if he couldn’t be certain, there was a good chance the faint pulse he’d felt earlier was his soul. Chen Ren latched onto that memory, chasing it again and again. He searched every corner of his being, combing through himself for that same thread, that quiet spark.

But it was easier said than done.

Each time he tried, qi overwhelmed his senses—currents tugging at him, pulling his awareness back into its familiar tide. Again and again he had to force it aside, starting from the beginning, only for the same cycle to repeat.

Still, Chen Ren refused to stop. He wasn’t expecting to succeed in one day. What he wanted was a trail, a path he could tread again tomorrow. He sat cross-legged for hours, breath slow, mind digging deeper each time.

Yet no matter how he searched, the path always vanished beneath him. Maybe his ability wasn’t what he thought. Maybe his luck simply wasn’t here today. Either way, his patience thinned.

By the time another wisp of qi tugged against him and dragged him off course, frustration boiled up. His eyes snapped open, his jaw tight.

Across from him, Wang Jun pursed his lips. “Seems you’re not a genius at soul cultivation after all.”

Chen Ren exhaled sharply through his nose. “I’ll reach it before you did.”

Wang Jun’s eyes narrowed, his grin widening. “We’ll see about that. Do you still want to keep at it today?”

Chen Ren shook his head, his shoulders heavy. His mind wasn’t steady anymore, and he knew it. “No. We’ll continue tomorrow. I need to find Qing He anyway. There’s more I have to learn on body cultivation.”

He rose, stretching the stiffness from his legs, and strode to the door. The wooden floor creaked under his steps as he entered the hall.

Behind him, voices drifted through the room.

“Three weeks,” Wang Jun’s smug voice carried. “That’s how long it’ll take him, no less.”

Yalan’s purr of amusement followed, her tone lilting. “One. He’s stubborn. Stubborn ones surprise you.”

Chen Ren didn’t stop to hear the rest. He had too much waiting for him, and no interest in who was betting for or against him.

He only tightened his jaw, resolve simmering as he walked away.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

164. Body cultivation 101

The golden dragon had once implied that Chen Ren would walk both paths—soul cultivation and body cultivation.

Of the first, he already knew a little, and Wang Jun’s endless bragging had only added to that. But the second… he hadn’t thought much about it until he had begun combing through the spoils of the Void Blade Sect’s library. That was when he found it.

It had been a worn, nameless volume, even the cover was half-faded. On the first page, the title was written in bold, almost mocking brushstrokes—“How to Be Indestructible.” The author was left unnamed, though the words inside burned with the kind of clarity that only comes from someone who had bled for every line.

According to the book, body cultivation had been forged by a man born with poor spirit roots—too shallow to reach the higher realms through qi alone, yet too stubborn to kneel before fate. He had carved out a new path, hammering flesh and bone into weapons, teaching himself how to stand against cultivators far above his station.

Qing He had nodded when Chen Ren asked her about it. She knew some of the early methods—enough to guide him through the first three steps. Nine in total, just like soul cultivation. Nine gates of flesh and marrow to grind through.

At first, Chen Ren had wondered why such a path wasn’t more popular. Surely, there were countless cultivators cursed by heaven with weak roots, desperate for a chance to defy it. Why wouldn’t they leap at this chance?

But the further he read, the clearer it became.

It wasn’t enough to push the body beyond its limits, again and again, until pain became breath and torn flesh became normal. The body had to be broken and reforged like steel in a forge. To temper each step forward, one had to bathe in concoctions brewed from the blood and cores of spirit beasts. Not common ones—higher, stronger, rarer with every step climbed.

It wasn’t training alone. It was slaughter, resources, and an endless hunger for beasts that few dared to face.

Chen Ren had closed the book after reading the first set of methods. He understood. Most cultivators would balk at the training before they even finished the first step. Even those who’re mad enough to endure it would eventually hit the wall of cost—cores, blood, beasts no sect would willingly waste resources to hunt.

And yet… something in him stirred. And Chen Ren thought, not without a faint smile, that it suited him rather well.

Chen Ren groaned as another boulder thudded down onto his back, placed there carefully by one of Hong Yi’s puppets. The planks of wood beneath his palms creaked as his arms trembled, his muscles straining. From his lowered angle, all he could see of Hong Yi were his legs, standing idly off to the side as if this were some street performance instead of back-breaking training.

On top of him, three massive boulders were stacked like a cruel monument. By his guess, the weight came to thousands of tons. A mid-star qi refinement cultivator like him could bear such strain, but not like this. He had to stay unmoving for an hour without using his qi.

He had managed thirty minutes so far, and each stone added one after another until his back bowed under the crushing load. Sweat ran down his face in rivers, dripping onto boards, and his teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. Already, his arms were screaming to collapse.

“As I was explaining,” Qing He’s voice drifted from his right, calm as always, “body cultivation emerged because ancient cultivators realized that qi alone was not enough. Every cultivator, regardless of realm, had some reinforcement to their body, but only a few thought to refine it further. They built exercises to temper flesh and bone, and paired them with beast blood baths to forge themselves into something more than mortal.”

Her gaze shifted to the boulders pressing him down. “What you are doing now is the first step—Bone Refinement. It seems harsh, but it is merely the entry point. You should be glad you are beginning this in the qi refinement realm. For you, it will be easier.”

“Doesn’t… feel easier,” Chen Ren hissed through clenched teeth.

As if the heavens themselves agreed, the weight shifted slightly, pressing him down further. His arms buckled for an instant before he locked them in place again, veins standing out like cords along his neck. He snapped his mouth shut before another word escaped—every ounce of strength was needed simply to hold.

From his left came the sound of a chuckle, soft but impossible to miss.

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed, though he didn’t dare turn his head. Hong Yi, you bastard.

The puppet maker was enjoying this far too much.

He had thought soul cultivation was difficult, but body cultivation felt crueler in a different way. No—both were hard, but their pain came in different flavors.

Soul cultivation was abstract, closer to the flow of qi, an inner search that left the mind strained. But body cultivation? It was the path of a lunatic gym bro, except the “weights” were boulders no mortal man could even dream of lifting.

Still, Chen Ren endured. The golden dragon had spoken of harmony, and he knew this was the road toward it. If he wanted to live for centuries, if he wanted his soul and body both sharp enough to carry him forward, he couldn’t slack here. And the thought crept into his mind—if he did live for hundreds of years, who knew how much wealth he could build in that time? The temptation of it made his lips twitch despite the agony.

So he kept up the count of minutes in his head, numbers stumbling into curses, curses turning into prayers for distraction. Damn it, why hadn’t he invented a music player yet in this world? Back on Earth, gyms were bearable because of music pounding in his ears. Here, he had only the sound of his own grunts and Qing He’s voice.

She hadn’t taken the training herself, but she had seen enough to guide him. And after the Blazing Ember Sect, Chen Ren trusted her word. Trusted her enough to keep silent and push himself as the weight pressed his body flat, his breath burning in his lungs.

Minutes crawled past, each one stretched thin. His arms trembled, his legs quivered, his mind screamed that the hour had already ended. More than once, he almost suspected Qing He of trickery—that perhaps she had let the time slip longer, testing him.

Finally, when his bones felt ready to snap and his arms shook as though lightning ran through them, her calm voice broke through.

“It’s over. You can give it up.”

Relief flooded him.

One by one, Hong Yi’s puppets lifted the boulders away, though they had no brain of their own, they were well made enough to lift them carefully.

When the weight peeled off, Chen Ren’s body sagged like a rope cut loose.

He collapsed onto the ground with a dull thud, his limbs immediately refused to answer him as soon as he rolled to his back. Sweat soaked through his clothes, dripping into the floorboards beneath him. For a long moment, he simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering if his bones were still intact.

Sweat clung to every inch of him, dripping down his back and soaking the floor beneath. His legs trembled faintly, the muscles twitching as if they were still straining beneath the boulders. He hadn’t used even a wisp of qi for that exercise—it had all been raw strength, his body alone bearing the punishment. More than once he’d wanted to collapse, to give up, but he hadn’t.

Chen Ren tilted his head back, catching his breath, and looked to Qing He. A part of him expected, if not praise, then at least a nod of acknowledgment. A good job, perhaps, for not quitting.

What he got instead made him want to curse the heavens.

“You have five minutes,” Qing He said flatly, while her arms were crossed in front of her like a strict trainer. “After that, you’ll drag a cart of boulders around the field. Ten laps.”

Chen Ren’s head snapped up. His body screamed as he sat upright, clutching his aching ribs. “Wait what? I thought we’d start slow! That was supposed to be for next week!”

Qing He’s expression didn’t shift in the slightest. “You don’t have time to take it slow, kid. You carry too many enemies on your back already. A dragon with its own schemes coils inside you. And you keep making more foes with every step you take. Until you gain the harmony of body and soul, you won’t even break into foundation establishment. Do you really want to ease up now? Tell me if you still think it’s a good idea to take it slow.”

Chen Ren’s throat worked. He swallowed hard, his lips dry, and scratched the side of his head as though that might buy him time. Her words struck deeper than the weight had.

He hated to admit it, but she was right.

Cultivation had come almost too easily for him so far—his strange dao carrying him, opening doors others spent decades battering against. He had grown used to it, the flow of progress without the grind. But this… this was different. This was effort stripped bare, flesh against stone.

And if he couldn’t learn to endure this, if he couldn’t force himself past his own limits, then one day his opponents—monsters far above his realm—would tear him apart.

In the end, both soul cultivation and body cultivation would make him into something far beyond what an ordinary cultivator could ever hope to be. He couldn’t afford to falter. Especially not now.

So it would be good to scale that difference, even if he felt like he was dying. Chen Ren forced himself to nod.

“Okay. I’m ready. Let’s head to the fields.”

Those words turned out to be the worst mistake he had made in the entire month–no, maybe his entire life here.

The cart was massive, iron-rimmed wheels etched with glowing runes, the flatbed stacked high with boulders that weighed hundreds of tons each. At first, he had even wondered how the cart itself didn’t collapse under such weight until he realized Qing He had already prepared an array carved into its frame, strengthening every joint and axle.

It didn’t make dragging it any easier.

The moment the ropes dug into his shoulders and he heaved forward, he thought his spine might snap, or his shoulders might dislocate. His legs strained, each step a battle as the cart groaned behind him. The runes ensured the cart could hold the weight—it didn’t make pulling it any less brutal.

Lap after lap, through the wide fields outside the village, he dragged that mountain on wheels. Sweat soaked his clothes until they clung to him like a second skin, his muscles burning as if fire itself lived beneath his flesh.

By the third lap, he realized half the village was watching. Men, women, even children, whispering as they trailed along the edges of the field.

“What is he doing?”

“Is that… training?”

“Cultivators don’t do that, do they?”

Their hushed voices reached his ears, and though part of him hated it, it was a distraction. Something to break the endless rhythm of his steps.

By the fifth lap, Chief Muyang himself had appeared, speaking quietly with Qing He. As Chen Ren trudged past them, he caught fragments of their words.

“…too much for a single person…”

“…Cultivation isn’t like this, is it? He looks as though he’s killing himself. Losing his mind.”

At least the old chief’s tone held concern, not mockery. But the words stung all the same. Losing my mind, huh? Maybe I have.

By the seventh lap, Chen Ren stopped hearing them. Not because the villagers had gone silent, but because his body no longer had the strength to care. Every step was fire. Each jolt of the cart’s weight sent pain lancing through his arms, his back, his legs. His breath tore out ragged, his vision swam, and for a heartbeat he swore he could hear the heavens laughing at him.

This was pain he had long forgotten—the pain of being mortal, of bones strained past their limit, of flesh breaking under pressure. Cultivation had lifted that weight from him long ago. Now it returned tenfold, grinding him into the dirt.

And still, he dragged the cart forward.

By the eighth lap, the world blurred. His breaths came ragged, each one scraping his throat raw. His legs begged to stop, his back screamed, but so close to the finish line he couldn’t give in. If he collapsed now, he knew he would regret it for days, maybe longer, and not to mention, Qing He would make sure of it.

So he kept going.

He stopped counting steps, stopped thinking about laps. The world narrowed until all he saw were fields passing by, a blur of green and brown, the cart’s weight dragging behind him like chains of iron.

At last, a voice broke through the haze. Calm, steady, cutting through the pounding of his heart.

“It’s over,” Qing He said. “You can stop.”

Chen Ren’s knees buckled. He plummeted to the ground, the dirt rushing up to meet him. Sweat poured from him like a river, his body slick, his eyes stinging as salty drops trickled in. His vision swam, but through it he realized one thing.

He had done it. He had survived the first day of body cultivation.

“Good job, kid,” Qing He said with a tight smirk on her lips. “I almost thought you wouldn’t make it back there.”

Chen Ren let out a ragged laugh. “I thought so too. But I did it. Please, tell me there’s nothing else for today.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You can rest. You did well. But come back tomorrow. The same training. Over and over until your body bends to it.”

He nodded, though the movement made his skull ache. Pain lanced through every muscle, his body creaking as if his very bones wanted to splinter. It felt like his flesh was breaking apart, but he knew this was the way it strengthened.

Pain wasn’t new to him. But the pain he chose for himself—that was something he was still learning to accept.

Slowly, he pushed himself upright, gasping as if the air itself resisted entering his lungs. Hong Yi appeared at his side, wordlessly offering him a flask of water chilled with qi. Chen Ren took a long sip, then poured the rest over his head. The shock of cold struck him like lightning, clearing his mind for a heartbeat.

He staggered to his feet, dripping and unsteady.

“You’re going to rest, right?” Hong Yi asked, brow raised.

Chen Ren grimaced, forcing his legs to move toward the sect buildings. “Do you really think I’m free enough to rest? The businesses are running well, but that doesn’t mean we can get comfortable. Now that I’m back, there’s too much to handle.”

Each step jarred his battered muscles, almost falling every time he took a step forward, and each one made him want to curse his fate—over and over. But still, he walked forward.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

165. Science class

The next few days, Chen Ren fell into the rhythm of a very painful lifestyle.

His mornings began cross-legged on the floor with Wang Jun’s voice drilling into his ears, half instruction, half ego-polishing tales of his own brilliance. Soul cultivation demanded focus, silence of mind, yet somehow he was forced to chase his soul’s shadow while enduring the endless thunder of Wang Jun’s blabbering.

If soul cultivation was hard, listening to that head was an even harder task.

By the time afternoon came, sweat soaked his body from head to toe. That was when Qing He took over.

She was merciless. If he thought one day of dragging carts and holding planks beneath boulders was bad, he quickly learned that was only the beginning. Qing He never allowed him comfort—if anything, she went out of her way to strip it from him.

One day, she led him up a nearby peak, the cliff face sharp against the sky. There she ordered him to hang from the edge, his fingers curled against the cold stone, while two boulders were tied to his legs.

“Pull yourself up,” she had said simply.

And he did, again and again, until his arms trembled and his vision swam. He wasn’t allowed to use qi, not even when the rocks dragged him down and his grip faltered. Once, he slipped, plummeting toward the valley below, but Qing He only watched with calm eyes.

“A cultivator won’t die from a fall that small,” she had remarked.

Small? Chen Ren wanted to scream. From his perspective, it had been anything but. Still, he said nothing. He obeyed. Every day, he kept up with her brutal regimen, because every day the same training grew just a fraction easier.

Cultivator bodies were resilient. They healed fast, adapted faster. Muscles that had torn the day before came back stronger, bones that had creaked now steadied under strain. And step by step, Chen Ren’s endurance began to grow.

Qing He gave no special praise. Not even a slight smile was visible on her face, and words of encouragement was the last thing he expected. At best, she gave curt nods when he met her expectations. At worst, silence when he failed.

But Wang Jun was another matter entirely.

On the sixth day of their soul cultivation sessions, Chen Ren finally brushed against it—his soul.

It was the faintest sensation he’d felt, and a contact so brief yet so clear that he knew it for what it was. The moment his eyes opened, Wang Jun’s jaw dropped.

The old man’s eyes went wide, round as coins and his face twisted in shock as if Chen Ren had sprouted wings and flown across the room.

Yalan let out a snicker from the bed, her whiskers twitching in delight at the sight.

Chen Ren, half-exhausted and half-amused, only had one thought. If I had a camera, this would be my new favorite picture.

Wang Jun’s voice cracked through the room, louder than it had been in days. “How in the hell did you manage that in just six days? No one I knew was able to do it that fast!”

Chen Ren smirked, leaning back slightly, still catching his breath. “Maybe I’m a genius.”

The old head scoffed so hard his beard shook. “If you’re a genius, then I’m the son of the heavens. When I achieved it in seven days, every soul cultivator I met called me abnormal. And you—” he looked at Chen Ren pointedly, “—you with those miserable spirit roots…”

Chen Ren raised a brow, his grin widening. “We both know spirit roots aren’t much of an advantage in soul cultivation. If anything, they’re a distraction.”

And that part was true. His progress hadn’t been talent—it had been stubbornness, memory, and luck. The sensation of the soul, that fleeting trace he had felt the first time he woke in this body after transmigration—that memory had been his compass. Without it, the constant roar of qi would have drowned him entirely.

But Wang Jun didn’t need to know that. He only needed to know that Chen Ren had reached the first step faster than him. And maybe, just maybe, it would shut him up about his “legendary” exploits.

Wang Jun grumbled, his scowl etched deep. “The heavens are really unfair…” His gaze hardened again. “Don’t grow complacent. This is just the first step. The next—soul contact—crushes most cultivators. Months of failure before they succeed. Some never do.”

Chen Ren shrugged, his smirk refusing to fade. “We’ll see how much time it takes me.” His eyes flicked toward Yalan, then back to Wang Jun. “I believe that’s enough for today’s lesson, isn’t it?”

The old man groaned under his breath. “Yeah, yeah, it’s over. Now go, let me read my novel in peace. I hope Qing He has some fresh tortures prepared for you today, enough to wipe that smug grin off your face.”

Chen Ren chuckled softly, rising to his feet. “Erm, actually,” he said, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders, “there won’t be any body cultivation today. Qing He’s busy with something. She told me I could do what I want.”

Wang Jun narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “And what exactly do you want?”

“I’ll be taking one of the classes.”

The head blinked. “Those lessons you’re giving to mortals?”

Chen Ren nodded. “Yes. I left them a lot of books, along with my own notes. Xiulan is teaching most of the time—reading comprehension, basic numbers, even some business practices. But today, I’ll be handling it myself. I’m going to introduce them to a little bit of science.”

At that word, Wang Jun’s brow furrowed, his gaze drifting as though trying to recall a half-forgotten memory. “Science… I know what that is, but I can’t remember it clearly.”

“Think of it as the study of the world,” Chen Ren said patiently. “How it works, how it moves, why things happen the way they do.”

“Sounds far too complicated for mortals.”

Chen Ren gave a faint grin. “It’s all in how you teach them. If you give it the right shape, they’ll enjoy it. Even Yalan might enjoy it.”

At the mention of her name, Yalan lifted her head from where she had been lounging, amber eyes narrowing in curiosity. “Why would I enjoy it?”

“Because today,” Chen Ren said with a sly smile, “I’ll be teaching about fire. Not just fire, but how fire works.”

Her whiskers twitched, her tail flicking once against the floor. A small smirk tugged at the edge of her mouth. “That… might not be boring.”

***Chen Ren looked across the room that had become their classroom. It was the same hall where he had once stood to give his first speech as sect leader. Back then, eyes had been wary, shoulders stiff, every person measuring him as if uncertain of being in the sect. Now, being in front of them; their presence felt warmer, more familiar.

Of course, there were a bunch of nervous faces, but most met his gaze with trust, or at least with less doubt.

One of those nervous faces was Mei Lin, seated near the front, biting her lip as though she feared answering a question that hadn’t even been asked yet. Chen Ren offered a small smile at her. That made the tension in her shoulders ease, just slightly as she looked down at her lap.

His gaze swept further and caught something he hadn’t expected.

On one of the chairs, perched as though it owned the place, sat Whiskey. The fat squirrel-like beast was rubbing his belly with both paws, looking far too smug for a creature that had barged into a lesson uninvited.

Chen Ren nearly chuckled aloud. The beast had been lingering in the sect during his recent travels. If Tang Xiulan’s reports were to be believed, Whiskey’s rivalry with Xinxin, the weasel, hadn’t cooled in the slightest. They fought, played, and got along with the children in equal measure. The only real complaint was the same one as always—Whiskey’s insatiable appetite. Barrels of wine and ale vanished mysteriously, often with the squirrel found sprawled beside them in drunken triumph.

As Chen Ren’s eyes lingered, Yalan’s voice brushed across his mind, dry and sharp.

“You should start. I’m getting bored.”

He shifted his gaze to her. She was perched atop the teacher’s table at the side, tail flicking, amber eyes half-lidded with disinterest.

Chen Ren gave a slight nod and turned back to the room.

“I don’t think introductions are needed,” he began, clutching his hands in front of him. “You all know who I am.”

That quietened the room, every head tilting toward him.

“I’ve heard that you’ve been diligently taking the lessons provided by the sect, and even looking for books from the library to study on your own.” His eyes moved slowly across them, pausing just long enough that the nervous ones straightened in their seats. “That is commendable.”

A few faces brightened at his praise, faint smiles breaking the tension in the room. Chen Ren let that warmth linger only a breath before continuing.

“But today,” he said, “we won’t be learning numbers, language, or business tactics. Today will be something different. A thing called science.”

The word itself drew confusion. Several frowned, some tilted their heads, waiting. A few simply stared blankly. And on the back chair, Whiskey let out a loud burp, patting his belly as though to punctuate the silence.

Chen Ren ignored it.

“Science,” he continued evenly, “is the study of the universe. For those who don’t know—‘universe’ is the wide space that holds our world, the heavens above and everything within. If that feels too distant to grasp, then think of it as this: the study of everything around us. The world we see, hear, and touch.”

His eyes swept the room. They were listening now. Even the confused ones leaned forward, sensing that this was not another lesson on ledgers or trade.

“You all know many things happen around us,” Chen Ren said. “But do you know how? Do you know why clouds gather and pour rain? Why does a fire start when you strike a flint? Or how your body is able to move, breathe, live?”

For a moment, silence hung, and then a boy—Chun—raised his hand hesitantly. His voice cracked slightly as he spoke. “But… Sect Leader Chen, why do we need to learn that? I don’t think it helps us in business.”

A ripple of agreement passed through a few of the others. Practical minds, bound by what they could measure in coin and gain.

“Hmm, Chun, our sect is more than business. We are also the first generation of people who will innovate. To create. To bring forth things the world has never seen. And to do that, you must understand how things work.”

He stepped forward, his tone steady but carrying a spark that drew their eyes. “If you don’t know how your body functions, how will you ever hope to heal it when the pills run out? You may have access to medicines that other mortals cannot dream of, but even cultivators admit, there is much they do not know. So it falls to us to learn what they overlook.”

The room was silent now. Mei Lin’s lip-biting was forgotten, Chun’s brow furrowed in thought, even Whiskey paused in his lazy belly rub.

“Today,” Chen Ren said at last, his eyes flicking toward the small lamp burning at the side of the room, “we will learn about fire. And how it truly forms.”

A hand shot up from the second row. Ping Hui, a boy with round cheeks and blue eyes, spoke quickly. “Doesn’t fire form by burning coal or wood?”

Before Chen Ren could answer, another voice cut in from the back. “But I’ve seen cultivators light fire out of nowhere. Elder Zi Wen said it’s by burning qi!”

“And we don’t have qi,” a third added flatly. “So how can we do it?”

Murmurs rippled through the room, the mortals half arguing among themselves, their voices rising as each clung to what they thought they knew. Chen Ren raised his hand, palm outward. His calm presence pressed down on the noise until the voices faded.

“What you are describing,” he said evenly, “isn’t how fire is formed. Coal, wood, qi—they are only the fuel. Fire itself…” he turned, chalk in hand, and wrote a single word on the board: Air. “…is not a thing. It is a reaction.”

Confused looks spread across the room, but the quiet held. Even Whiskey tilted his head, as though the lunari too was pondering.

Chen Ren tapped the word on the board. “All of you know that we breathe air to live, yes?”

Dozens of heads bobbed in agreement.

“But air is not just one thing,” Chen Ren continued. “It is many things, mixed together. We call them gases. You’ve all heard of poisonous mists from plants or swamps? Those are gases too. Just like that, many gases make up the air around us. Even qi flows within it, but qi alone does not make fire.”

He paused, letting them lean in a little.

“One gas among them is special. Without it, flames cannot live. With it, even the smallest spark can roar into fire. There is a name for it where I come from, but here you may call it…” his chalk scratched across the board again, “…the Spirit of Heaven.”

A murmur ran through the class, the title giving weight to the idea.

“Wood or coal is simply the food, the fuel. But without the Spirit of Heaven, fire will die in an instant. Even when cultivators burn qi into flame, they are not creating fire from nothing. Their qi is the fuel—the Spirit of Heaven around them is what lets it ignite. Understand this: the Spirit of Heaven is not only the root of flame, it is a major part of all our lives.”

For mortals raised on tales of cultivators conjuring miracles, the idea that there was a hidden law beneath it all was shocking.

Even Yalan, perched on the table, flicked her ears toward him, her eyes bright with interest.

Like that, Chen Ren wove his words around the flame. He explained how sparks and fuel were not enough on their own, how different things had to come together for fire to live. How flames could be smothered, not just by water or earth, but by stripping away the Spirit of Heaven from the air itself—a task difficult even for cultivators.

The disciples followed his words with wide eyes. Some nodded eagerly, some furrowed their brows in confusion, but none looked away. They leaned forward as though the unseen laws he spoke of were treasures being laid out before them.

Yet the one most absorbed was not a mortal at all.

From the side, Yalan’s eyes gleamed brighter with every word.

“If flames are not born from qi, then when I conjure them, am I only bending the Spirit of Heaven around me?”

“If flames die without this gas, then what of flames in sealed places, why do they choke?”

Her questions came one after another, each one sharper than the last. She had wielded fire for centuries, her body steeped in it, her very existence wrapped around it. Yet here, at last, was a framework, words to cage what instinct alone had taught her.

Chen Ren answered her every thought, careful and patient. He wanted nothing more than for her mastery to sharpen, for her flames to grow fiercer and more controlled. If she understood her own dao better through his words, then the lesson was worth more than any jade or gold.

Only Whiskey seemed unmoved. The lunari yawned so loudly a few mortals turned their heads, then promptly curled into a ball on the chair and began snoring halfway through the lesson. Chen Ren spared him a glance, lips twitching. Figures. That one only cares for wine and food.

At last, after an hour, he picked up the chalk once more. Upon the board, he sketched the simple formula of fire—Fuel + Spirit of Heaven + Spark = Flame.

“Write this down,” he said. “Today’s lesson was short, only the basics. But there is much more in this branch of study. You may call it chemistry. It is like alchemy, but stripped of mysticism—precise, structured, and usable even by mortals. If I have time, I will teach more. If not, Miss Xiulan will continue in my place.”

The scratching of brushes filled the room as disciples hurried to copy the words. When he set down the chalk, he lifted his hand. “That’s all for today. You may leave.”

At once, the students rose as one and bowed deeply, their voices unified. “Thank you, Sect Leader Chen.”

One by one, they filed out of the classroom, their whispers trailing like ripples on water.

When the last of the disciples slipped out and the doors shut, silence fell across the room. Yalan stretched, the faint glow of her eyes catching the lamplight. She stepped closer, her tail brushing lazily against the edge of the desk.

“That was… informative,” she said at last. “I knew the world you came from had strange tricks and baubles worth selling, but I did not know it held such knowledge as well.”

Chen Ren leaned back against the desk, a tired smile tugging at his lips. “We didn’t have qi. So we had no choice but to study. We used science, tore apart the mysteries of the world piece by piece, trying to understand how everything worked. You’d be surprised how much there is still to learn, even without a shred of spiritual energy.”

Yalan’s ears flicked at that, thoughtful. Her gaze lingered on the chalk-streaked board, the formula for fire still scrawled across it. But before Chen Ren could continue, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Both turned.

It was Zi Wen. He looked between Chen Ren and Yalan and came to a halt a few paces away. His hands clasped and he bowed slightly.

“Sect Leader Chen Ren,” he said, lifting his eyes.”

“What is it?”

“I believe I’ve found the location you were searching for.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

166. Red Peak City

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.”

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!”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

167. Chen Patriarch

Chen Leijun stood upon the high pavilion, hands clasped behind his back, his eyes half-lidded but clearly aware of what was happening. Below him, the training grounds stretched wide, dust rising with every clash of wooden spears and every tumble of a fallen youth. The echoes of shouts, the thud of fists striking flesh, the sharp clang of weapons—it was all a symphony he had heard countless times before. Yet today, to his ears, it rang hollow.

The elders of the Chen Clan gathered at his side, their robes embroidered with the emblem of their lineage. They dared not speak first, but their eyes betrayed them—always darting toward his face, searching, measuring, weighing his thoughts. They longed for approval, for reassurance that the seedlings they had so carefully watered would one day grow into towering trees capable of shaking Red Peak City itself.

Fools, Chen Leijun thought, his gaze sweeping across the youths below.

Since birth, these young ones had been tested, their spirit roots measured, their paths paved with manuals. Every resource the clan could spare had been poured into their bodies. But what use were treasures, when the spirit within was dulled? They moved swiftly, but not like thunder. They struck hard, but not like lightning. There was no sting in their attacks, no fire in their eyes.

They were… adequate. That was all.

Adequacy was death.

Someone among them would one day fight for his own seat… reach the realms of cultivation that would upgrade the clan. But a clan that wished to rule Red Peak City could not be carried by mediocrity. A Chen must not only stand above the masses but crush them beneath his heel, commanding the heavens with his blade and the earth with his will. None below seemed fit to inherit that mantle.

Yet the men around him smiled as though seeing dragons among carp.

“Father,” said his eldest son, Chen Chenglei, breaking the silence. His voice carried pride, his chest swelling as he gestured toward the arena. “Are they not fine? I believe they are the strongest of their age group in the city. The brats of the Yu clan or the feeble heirs of the Huang could only dream of matching them.”

Chen Leijun’s expression did not change.

Another voice followed quickly, eager to be heard. His third son, Chen Rong, stepped forward with a spark of excitement in his eyes. “And among them, your son stands tallest! Look, Father, he hasn’t even suffered a single scratch. Such endurance, such strength! Surely, the heavens favor him.”

Chen Chenglei’s lips curved into a smile at his son’s praise, eyes glowing with familial pride. The other elders murmured their agreement, nodding as though the boy below was already a peerless genius.

But Chen Leijun did not look at his sons, nor at the elders. His gaze fixed instead on the youth in question, watching with the cold patience of a viper.

The boy’s stance was steady, his movements precise. Every strike landed, every defense held, and indeed not a mark blemished his skin. To most, it was perfection. But to Chen Leijun’s eyes, it was a painted mask. The boy did not burn with hunger. His movements were polished, but without edge. His victories came not from desperation or indomitable will, but from calculation and comfort.

A flawless performance yet beneath it, not a trace of ferocity.

And Chen Leijun knew well: what was flawless today would be shattered tomorrow, the moment it faced true killing intent.

His sons could not see it. The elders dared not. But he did.

He alone saw the truth that would decide the fate of the Chen Clan.

The arrogance in each of Chen Eain’s moves was a flare of gaudy fireworks—bright, empty, fleeting. The boy wasn’t fighting; he was preening. Even from the pavilion, with the wind tugging at his sleeves, Chen Leijun could taste the sour bite of a personal grudge riding the boy’s lightning like rot in sweet wine.

The Chen Clan did not become Red Peak’s butcher by playing nice. Grudges were currency. Pride was a cultivator’s spine. But let pride leak into the wrist, let spite stain the breath, and a blade became ornament.

Below, a lightning lance scissored through the dust with a scream of air. Eain slipped past it in a lazy half-step, heel skimming sand, hair lifting as the spear of crackling qi tore the air where his throat had been. He laughed—actually laughed—rolling thunder around his shoulders until motes of silver-blue danced across his forearms like fireflies. His opponent, a wiry youth with too-wide eyes, bit down so hard Leijun could see the jaw tense from the balcony.

In a second, hands twisted, seals formed and more lances spat from the boy’s trembling meridians.

Eain didn’t rush. He rocked on his feet, head tilted, a smile tilting sharper with every gasp drawn from his foe. He let a lance pass so close the fringe of his sleeve smoked, and then he opened his mouth.

“Is that it?”

Soft words, but in the pit, soft words were knives. The other youth flinched, control faltered, the lances staggered off rhythm. Eain flowed through the gap as if strolling through a night market, not a duel. The air boomed; he stepped in, then out again, always just beyond reach, the storm coiling tighter around him until his skin lit from within. When at last he chose to close, the other boy panicked, hauling up a shield of knotted qi, thick and clumsy. Eain vaulted. One knee skimmed a shoulder. He drifted over the crown like a stray spark and stamped.

The shield shattered with a crack like splitting bamboo. The youth skidded face-first, furrowing the yard with his teeth. Eain landed lightly, brushing dust from his sleeve as if he feared stain more than retaliation.

Cheers rose from the elders as though this were artistry. Leijun’s sons stood among them, blinded by blood.

“Grand as ever!” Chen Rong breathed, his voice slick with pride. “Father, look at his control. Not a mark on him yet.”

Leijun did not answer. His gaze stayed on Eain, on the way the boy’s ankles opened too often when he pivoted, careless, trusting his speed; on the way his taunt had been timed for the opponent’s breath, not his own height of power, wasteful; on the way his shoulders loosened after victory as if the fight had never been a fight, as if battle were stage.

He watched arrogance drip from the boy’s movements and pool at his feet.

This was not new. He searched his memory, tracing rot back to root. The first flavor of it had come, perhaps, when Eain faced Chen Ren on these very stones. Ren—poor, impetuous, soft with excuses—had raised a wall and waited for the storm to pass. Eain had not been a storm then. He’d been a knife, and he’d been eager to cut. He broke Ren’s wall, broke Ren’s stance, broke Ren’s nose, then broke Ren’s will. Blood had made a dark fan beneath Ren’s head like a wilted peony.

Leijun had declared the banishment afterward. Ren’s mouth had opened for protest, but one glance at Eain’s contained delight, the bright cruelty loitering in his eyes, and the boy had swallowed his words and left without being escorted. The clan praised decisiveness, the city whispered of the Chen’s iron fist, and Eain’s name began to collect flattery like a magnet collecting filings.

From that day, each victory had been too easy, each opponent too small. The yardlings of the Yu and the Huang had fallen like reeds in a flood, and Eain had learned to mistake shallow water for the ocean.

Now, the same mistake shone from every step he took.

Another challenger stumbled forward, shoulders squared more out of duty than courage. Eain turned to meet him with a leisurely stretch, thunder purring across his knuckles. Their eyes met. The challenger’s gaze caught and slipped, as if drawn toward Eain’s smile against his own will. Eain tilted his head and offered that same soft, cutting voice:

“Come.”

The boy came in like a moth toward a lantern. Eain let him close. At the last instant, he bent time with a flicker of lightning, the world stuttering as his silhouette smeared and reformed behind the strike. A palm thudded between shoulder blades—no mercy—folding the challenger like wet parchment. No scratch marred Eain’s skin. Again.

Around Leijun, silk rustled as elders shifted, pleased. Chen Chenglei, the eldest, allowed himself a satisfied smile, chin high, as if he himself had ducked those lances, crushed those shields. Leijun’s hand tightened on the rail until old wood creaked.

He wasn’t blind to Eain’s skill. The boy had storm-seed meridians, quicksilver footwork, and a talent for catching a foe’s rhythm and breaking it across his knee. But he fought as a young lord twirls a fan—idly, mockingly, in a garden wind. He had not bled for a breath; he had not felt a strike that could kill. The field had encouraged a habit, and habit had become posture, and posture had become nature.

Leijun felt the faintest tremor of killing intent rise from his dantian and settle, cool and flat, behind his eyes.

This yard has grown small, he thought, realisation sinking in. And small yards breed fat tigers.

Below, Eain paced his beaten foe, the grin still fixed, a child admiring his reflection in polished bronze. He glanced up—just for a moment—toward the high pavilion. Pride met the old man’s gaze like a thrown glove.

Leijun did not blink.

He hadn’t foreseen that pruning one rotten branch would let a good bud grow so crooked, that talent could turn so arrogant it would take battle as leisure, victory as theater.

“Isn’t he really good, Father?” Chen Chenglei leaned forward, pride gleaming in his eyes as Eain toyed with yet another opponent below. “I believe he can even take on first star foundation establishment cultivators.”

Leijun turned his head. He didn’t speak. He simply looked.

The weight of that look hit like winter. Chenglei’s shoulders drew in a fraction, his heel slid back half a step, as if he’d remembered a precipice behind him.

“Do you truly think he’s good?” Leijun asked.

Chenglei rallied. “He’s completely overwhelming his opponent.”

“Yes.” Leijun’s fingers tapped the rail, once. “That’s the problem.”

Below, Eain let another lightning lance graze his sleeve, grin widening as if sparks were applause. The boy’s foe staggered, panting, dragging up a shield as if bracing against a tide. Eain circled, not striking but posing.

“The fight shouldn’t have lasted this long,” Leijun said, eyes never leaving the sand. “A wolf does not toy with sheep. Every breath he wastes earns him an enemy’s memory. Do you want me to send him to a sect for the next few decades to temper that pride?”

Chenglei’s head snapped up. “No, Father.” He shook it quickly, both hands raised as though to ward off a decree. “I—I will teach him better. I’ll rein him in.”

“See that you do.” The sigh left Leijun like steam off quenched steel. He knew what glimmered behind Changlei’s eyes: the itch for the patriarch’s seat. Letting the boy crown the young generation would polish Changlei’s name until it shone before the elders. Ambition wrapped in filial piety—pretty ribbon on a knife.

Beneath them, Eain finally ended it with a casual heel to the spine, the shield shattering like frost-glass. He didn’t look like a youth who had just risked his bones. He looked like a young lord finished with a stroll.

Leijun took one last, long look over the training grounds. The banners of crimson lightning snapped in a breeze that smelled of dust and medicine. Elders murmured, pleased; juniors stole glances at the pavilion, waiting for judgment to fall like rain.

He turned.

Patriarch Chen Leijun left the balcony. A ripple of surprise traveled the platform as he passed without a word. He did not need to explain what none of them wished to see: not one among the new generation had struck sparks enough to catch his eye. If the clan let this softness harden into habit, the Yu and the Huang would press, inch by inch, until Red Peak’s thunder belonged to other mouths.

On the steps, he paused only once, feeling the yard’s heat on his face.

“Temper him,” he said without turning. “Or the world will.”

***

Chen Ren watched Whiskey tilt back the barrel and drown the last of the moonshine. The Lunari’s throat worked like a bellows; the scent of grain and bite of alcohol rolled across the porch. When the barrel gurgled dry, Whiskey thumped it down, patted his round belly with both hands, and flopped onto the planks, limbs splayed to chase the sun.

End-of-winter light laid soft gold across the eaves.

Meltwater clicked somewhere under the steps. He almost felt like yesterday's torrent of qi might have been a dream. After that surge, Whiskey had slept an entire day—odd for a lunari, who could glide through weeks on handful of hours. Waking, he’d rampaged through Chen Ren’s pantry like a locust: jerky, roots, steamed buns, even the emergency pickled peppers. Now he lay smiling, eyes half-moons, as if the world held no sharp edges.

Yalan’s voice brushed Chen Ren’s ear. “He has a lot of foreign qi inside him.”

Chen Ren’s mouth tightened. “You already said that.” He crouched, resting his forearms on his knees, studying the lunari’s slow, pleased breathing. “We need to know what it is, and whether it’ll gnaw at him in the long run. Unfortunately, your eyes can't identify it. Lunari are attuned to the moon and star qi, right?”

Yalan purred. “They are. Whiskey isn’t yet. He’s still tier one. As he grows, the astral pull will take hold. But the foreign stream could interfere. It's already taking over his body slowly.”

Chen Ren dragged a hand down his face, thumb catching on an old cut at his chin. Problems had a way of multiplying; lately they bred like rabbits. He thought back to the egg Whiskey had eaten. The only reason he’d kept the dead egg at all was habit; he hadn’t wanted to toss it on the road, and it cluttered his spatial ring like a useless stone.

“You said the egg wasn’t worth anything,” he muttered. “So how did Whiskey pull qi from it by eating the damned thing?”

Silence hung long enough for Whiskey to sigh and roll, presenting his stomach to the sun like an offering.

“Lunari can take in almost anything they swallow. Even dull poisons. They digest more than food. That’s why he can drown a barrel and never stagger. The egg must have held a trickle—thin as dew under bark—but it was there. He drank it.”

Chen Ren’s gaze slid to Whiskey’s fur—no sheen of frost, no astral shimmer, only the faintest prickle of something that didn’t belong. He reached out and pressed two fingers to the lunari’s belly. Warmth. A lazy rumble.

Whiskey cracked one eye, saw Chen Ren’s frown, and chirruped as if to say more moonshine would solve this. Chen Ren snorted despite himself.

“Greedy beast,” he said, rubbing the fur once. “All right. We find what that trickle is, and we bleed it or bend it before it knots your meridians.”

The lunari’s eye drifted shut again.

“Even a trickle was enough to flood him. That egg belonged to something strong,” Yalan said with a sigh.

“You don’t know what kind of beast,” Chen Ren said.

“No. And it’s hard to taste the qi itself; it’s mixing with the little moon and star he already carries. We can only hope it marries well with those. Otherwise there will be knots later.”

Chen Ren nodded, gaze drifting past Whiskey to the courtyard’s edge. Children’s chatter rose and fell—barefoot brats chasing each other around the plum stump, wooden swords clacking, laughter spilling like millet. If he was honest, this felt like a problem he hadn’t asked for. He’d taken the lunari in because the creature was all bright eyes and foolish bravery; because the sect needed cheer as much as it needed guards on the gate. Whiskey was energetic, curious, and—damn it—cute. He’d become part of the sect without a ceremony or a seal, and he was likely the only beast not snapped up by Zi Wen’s collection of contracts. For whatever reason, the little glutton preferred him.

But to help him, they had to know what kind of qi was threading his insides. You couldn’t cut a weed you couldn’t see.

That wasn’t easy. Until—

A thought struck.

“I have an idea,” Chen Ren said.“What?”

“A fight.” He watched Whiskey’s flank rise and fall. “Let him move. He’ll call on whatever’s inside without thinking, and we’ll see how it colors him.”

Yalan considered. “A workable trial… if… he bothers to fight.” Her attention slid to the lunari, who was sprawled across the porch, one paw twitching in dream, a string of drool glistening from his lip to the plank below. He looked like he cared for nothing but warmth and sleep.

Chen Ren smiled. “He’ll fight. Where’s the weasel Xinxin? They always fight.”

“From what I heard, they’re in some sort of truce.”

“Huh? A truce?”

“I don’t know how it happened,” she said, amused despite herself. “But from what I overheard, they aren’t fighting as much.”

Chen Ren looked down at the lunari sprawled. “Then how are we going to get him to fight?”

“That’s on you to decide,” Yalan said. “You’re good at goading things.”

Chen Ren sighed, thinking, while Whiskey rolled onto his back and made small happy chirps, paws paddling at nothing. An idea slid into place. He stepped over, crouched, and poked the soft white stomach.

Whiskey twitched, snapped his little claws in a lazy go away motion, and tried to sink deeper into the sun. Chen Ren poked again. This time Whiskey’s lips peeled, a tiny growl rumbling up as if to ask what was wrong with Chen Ren’s hands.

“Do you want additional barrels of alcohol to drink every day,” he said, deadpan, “and some cake?”

Whiskey’s mouth fell open at “barrels,” excitement blooming, then he stalled, head tilting, ears cocked at the unfamiliar word. One ear flopped.

“It’s a sweet dish,” Chen Ren explained, straight-faced. “Very good to eat.”

The lunari’s eyes went round. He nodded so hard his whiskers blurred, then launched himself at Chen Ren in pure joy. He caught the little glutton mid-pounce, and set him back on the boards.

“But you have to fight me if you want it.”

Whiskey froze, glanced at the empty barrel beside the steps, and made a grumble that sounded suspiciously like a complaint about unfair market rates.

“That’s the only way you’ll get it.”

Silence. Whiskey’s gaze went from Chen Ren’s face to the barrel, back to him. He puffed out his cheeks, then deflated, and—very slowly—nodded. One paw lifted and touched the empty barrel with tragic solemnity, as if swearing an oath upon it.

“Let’s go,” Chen Ren said. “Let's see what you can do.”

They walked to the center of the yard.

At their entrance, Children paused mid-chase, wooden swords drooping, eyes bright with nosiness. Chen Ren kept his gaze on the lunari. Whiskey was patting his belly with both paws as if sealing a pact with his stomach, then narrowed his eyes at Chen Ren in a very serious way that clashed violently with the drool still drying on his chin.

No lightning today. Chen Ren rolled his shoulders, settled his breath. He wouldn’t call qi—not a spark. Body alone would do. Knuckles, tendons, bones. He’d hammered gains into his frame these last months; against a tier-one beast, that was plenty.

“I’ll go first,” he said.

Whiskey seemed to nod.

He moved—one clean step, the ground a drum under his heel. He cut in with a straight line of shoulder and hip, fist tracking the Lunari’s cheek… and let it slide past so close it kissed fur without pressing. Whiskey yelped, sprang backward, ears flat. Chen Ren followed like a shadow with teeth: another fist, another near-miss, a knee that bent the air, an elbow that sighed over Whiskey’s whiskers.

Panic showed in quick jerks of the tail. Whiskey snapped forward with a flurry of little claws—fast, honest, clumsy. Chen Ren’s head dipped; the strike went by; his hand touched the paw in passing and turned it aside like a leaf.

“You’re pretty weak,” he said, almost bored.

Whiskey puffed up at once, cheeks round, eyes sparking with outrage. He bunched himself and launched—tiny body a white bolt aimed at Chen Ren’s chest. Chen Ren caught him by the scruff and hip, turned, and threw. The lunari tumbled, flipped twice, landed in a skid with his paws splayed wide, fur full of dust. He spat out a pebble and glared.

No flare of qi yet. Chen Ren’s plan began to feel thin at the edges. He circled, hands loose, breath smooth. The yard held its breath with him.

Then, there. He felt a wisp.

It brushed Ren’s skin like a cool fog lifting off river stone. His mouth tipped, almost a smile—

—and the wisp swelled. It thickened in an instant, from thread to skein, from mist to pressure. Whiskey’s fur dulled, not dimming but clouding, as if a small storm had crept under his skin and was trying on his shape. The air cooled at once and the fine hairs on Chen Ren’s forearms rose.

Whiskey gave a little… shirk—half shiver, half strangled cry—and then let loose.

Rain burst out of him first: a sheet, not droplets, warm and sudden, drenching the dust into scent. Lightning rode the rain a heartbeat later, a white bar that erased all color and drew it again in ash and silver. It hit Chen Ren point-blank.

“Fuck!”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

168. Talismans

Chen Ren hadn’t expected the heavens themselves to open up against him. One moment, stillness—then the next, rain hammered down, lightning lashing through the darkened air like whips of white fire. The wet cold seeped instantly into his robes, clinging, dragging him down, forcing every step to feel heavier than the last. Lightning though, was nothing. It sizzled against his flesh, sparked along his arms, but barely numbed the skin. His body had long since grown tolerant to such fury.

No, it was the rain that bit the deepest. Rain that blurred his vision, soaked his sleeves, and made his grip slippery. And from within that storm, Whiskey shrieked. The beast leapt at him with claws flashing, its form breaking and reforming in the curtains of water, like a phantom birthed from the clouds. From every side it lunged.

Chen Ren did not summon his qi. He had no need to. His goal was already done. Instead, he let instinct and tempered reflex guide him. His body swayed and bent with the deluge, dodging narrowly, enduring the roar of rain and the sharp crack of thunder.

Through the chaos came the voices of the children. Their laughter, their little hands clapping, their excitement rising with every clash. It tugged at his heart, but he kept his gaze fixed on the storm-born creature before him.

At last, fully drenched, his hair plastered to his face, Chen Ren found his chance. He surged forward, caught Whiskey in both hands, and held fast. The beast thrashed violently—screeching, claws gouging shallow marks across his arms. Still, Chen Ren’s grip did not loosen. He endured until the madness bled from Whiskey’s movements.

The storm shuddered. Then it stopped. The rain slackened, the lightning stilled. Whiskey blinked at him with wide, gleaming eyes, a confused whimper sounding from his throat. Even his voice was small now, almost pitiful, as if to say: enough… put me down.

Chen Ren exhaled, releasing the beast. “The fight is over. You’ll get what was promised.”

Whiskey tilted its head, then gave a sharp nod, bounding away towards the children. Their chatter rose as they swarmed around it, unafraid, as if the storm that had raged only moments before was a lie.

Chen Ren straightened, dripping wet, and let a weary sigh escape him.

“That was pretty good,” came Yalan’s calm voice from behind, edged with approval. “He almost took you out.”

Chen Ren chuckled slowly, brushing water from his brow. “Only because I wasn’t using any qi. And it came too suddenly. That was… storm qi, wasn’t it? Up close, the pressure was overwhelming.”

Yalan’s amber eyes narrowed slightly as she studied the fading traces of energy in the air, she licked her wet paws. “I’ve seen cultivators wielding both wind and water affinities blend them like that. Rare… and always troublesome to face.”

Chen Ren’s gaze followed Whiskey, now happily basking in the attention of the children, and he let another sigh roll free. “Troublesome indeed.” He wrung out his sleeves, water dripping down his arms in steady rivulets. But his eyes lingered on the lunari, who was now rolling about shamelessly between the children, utterly unbothered by the chaos he had unleashed just moments before.

“Are they always as strong as him?” Chen Ren asked.

“No. Not even close,” Yalan said. “Storm qi is what we call a secondary affinity. It doesn’t exist on its own in humans—it’s born from mixing two of the original aspects together. Wind and water, in this case. For a human cultivator, achieving that requires years of cultivation, careful balancing, and often great risk. Even then, most fail. For beasts, affinities come more naturally… but even among them, storm qi is rare. Rarer still to see it as forceful as what Whiskey just wielded.”

Chen Ren’s brows furrowed. The rain was gone, but the heaviness seemed to linger in his thoughts. So this little beast has touched something even sect elites struggle to grasp.

After a moment, he asked, “So… what beast egg do you think it was?”

Yalan paused licking her paws, and looked at Chen Ren. “Hard to say. Perhaps a storm wyvern. Or maybe a marsh slasher. Both are known to wield storm qi in their own way. What’s certain is that it came from no ordinary beast.”

“Well, it was sitting in the Soaring Sword Sect’s treasury. If it really was a Storm Wyvern egg that he ate… then we’re unlucky. A mount like that would’ve been invaluable.” Chen Ren gave a wry smile.

“A dead egg, Chen Ren. Don’t speak of treasures that no longer exist. Besides, storm wyverns are legendarily difficult to tame. Even Zi Wen—despite his talent as a beast tamer—would struggle to control one. And Whiskey…” Her eyes softened briefly as she glanced at the lunari now happily receiving pats from small hands. “He’s still learning. He’s still new. But… I believe Whiskey will be fine. Storm qi may not disrupt his natural affinity. In fact, the way he wielded it just now… he might even learn to master it. A lunari with storm qi could grow very strong.”

She let her words hang in the air for a beat before adding, “But strength isn’t what Whiskey cares for. That much is plain.”

Chen Ren followed her gaze. The children were laughing, tugging on Whiskey’s ears and tail, and the beast only chortled and twisted about, tail lashing like a delighted pup. He exhaled slowly. “No, he doesn’t care for it. But we need to make use of him.”

“Exactly.”

Originally, Chen Ren hadn’t thought much of Whiskey beyond being a pet. The lunari’s nature had seemed so fitting—already adored by the children, always tumbling and playing, his cheerful presence lightened even the heaviest days. It was why Chen Ren had kept him in the first place: a companion, a source of joy, not a weapon.

But after witnessing that storm qi… things had shifted. A power like that couldn’t be ignored. If cultivated, if refined, it could make Whiskey into a formidable fighter. His size alone lent itself to versatility, small and agile enough to dart around foes. In battle, such a companion would be invaluable. Cultivators working alongside beast partners wasn’t rare; some sects even prized it as a sign of strength.

The real question was not whether Whiskey could cultivate—but whether he would. Chen Ren knew the beast could understand him. He’d seen it in those bright eyes, in the subtle nods and tilts of the head. The problem was never comprehension. It was willingness. Whiskey had no desire to grow sharper, no hunger to grasp power. Even when he had wielded storm qi, it hadn’t been with the sharp intent of a cultivator. It had been like a child lashing out in play.

Chen Ren watched as Whiskey collapsed onto the grass, children playing with him. That carefree laugh, that boundless energy—It was hard to imagine him bowing his head to serious training.

In the end, Chen Ren only sighed and shook his head, meeting Yalan’s steady gaze. “We can leave it for later. I don’t need to solve everything at once. Just knowing Whiskey can grow stronger is enough for now, especially if it stirs his competitive streak with Zi Wen’s beast.”

Yalan inclined her head, her whiskers twitching. “Yes. And besides, you have other things demanding your focus. Body and soul cultivation. Balancing your star space. And…” her eyes narrowed, “your trip to Red Peak City to meet your family.”

At that, Chen Ren grimaced as if the words themselves were bitter medicine. “Ugh, now that you reminded me of it. Honestly, facing the Chen Clan feels worse than my star space shattering.”

For a few seconds, Yalan was silent, eyes distant in thought. Then, slowly, she nodded. “In some ways… it is.”

***

The next few days blurred together, a restless weave of training, lessons, different kinds of worries, and quiet projects. Every hour was spoken for: his own cultivation, teaching the disciples science, coaxing Whiskey to grasp his newfound storm qi, and the looming shadow of his return to the Chen Clan. Between all that, he still made time to meet with Hong Yi and Feiyu, discussing schemes and ideas that seemed to grow heavier with each passing day.

Of all these tasks, the simplest were the first two.

Body cultivation was still a trial of sweat and strain, but it no longer broke him as it once had. The pain had dulled into something familiar, a rhythm that his flesh almost craved, and he could feel his movements sharpening with every round of training. Qing He had begun discussing the next step with him—an alchemical bath, infused with beast parts and essence, the sort that could temper his body further.

“Almost tradition,” she had said, her eyes steady as she listed the possibilities. “A body cultivator must hunt the beast himself. I can prepare the bath, but the essence must be worthy of you. Nothing less than tier two, or the advancement will be shallow.”

And so Chen Ren found himself poring over a bestiary in the nights, flipping through sketches of fanged maws, winged predators, and scaled titans, weighing which essence would mesh best with his growing strength. And every time he flipped a page, he sensed both danger and opportunity.

There were different things for him to consider, and compared to that, soul cultivation was calmer. He had already set foot on the path, already broken through the first step. Now it seemed like just a matter of steady persistence, moving slowly toward the second. Even Wang Jun, who had once pressed him harshly, had grown uncharacteristically silent. He only offered words when Chen Ren posed questions, leaving him space to refine his foundation. That suited him well enough.

And then there were the classes. Teaching was almost… soothing. A change of pace that steadied his heart after cultivation’s endless grind. Standing before mortals, guiding their fumbling hands through experiments, or correcting cultivators who sought sharper understanding. It all refreshed his own knowledge, grounding him in ways that training never could.

It was a balance, of sorts.

And even if half his students stared blankly whenever he delved into biology and chemistry, the other half filled the room with questions. Their confusion didn’t bother him—it meant they were thinking, grappling with ideas, forcing him to refine his own explanations. The more they asked, the more the lessons became a dialogue, and slowly the classes began to take on their own rhythm.

His days might have been brighter if not for Whiskey. The lunari was a nightmare to train. It was as if the creature believed storm qi was a toy it had been born with, not a power to be tempered. Whiskey didn’t practice, didn’t experiment, didn’t even bother to listen when Chen Ren tried to guide him. Instead, he learned to use the ability to drench the children in sudden sprays of cold water—an act that sent them squealing with laughter but had Chen Ren striding in before they caught fevers. Winter’s chill was not forgiving.

In the end, Chen Ren discovered a trick: Zi Wen’s beast. The weasel Xinxin—wily, stubborn, relentless—seemed to be Whiskey’s nemesis. The lunari hated it with a passion, and whenever the two clashed, both fought with a seriousness absent in every other setting. Storm qi crackled, claws flashed, and the weasel’s fierce refusal to yield forced Whiskey to sharpen his instincts. Chen Ren began to count those skirmishes as training sessions. He realized then that the only reliable way to push Whiskey toward strength was to pit him against creatures he despised. Hatred was a fire far stronger than lectures.

Evenings were calmer. After dinner, he sat with Feiyu and Hong Yi, reviewing the progress of their shared projects. More mortals had begun to join them—at Chen Ren’s urging—and while Feiyu welcomed the extra hands in her workshop, Hong Yi bristled.

“Only those who understand the art of puppetry deserve to stand within my workshop,” Hong Yi would say with conviction. He preferred solitude, and his craft demanded delicate precision. Materials were costly, mistakes ruinous. Allowing untrained hands near his work was a risk he could not accept.

Chen Ren understood. Puppet-making was not like Feiyu’s smithing where many tasks could be broken down into simple labor. Every stroke of Hong Yi’s carving knife carried weight, every sliver of wood or trace of spiritual metal demanded skill. Still, it was a problem he would need to resolve, one way or another.

Normal wood and metal were useless in puppet craft—Hong Yi had been very clear about that. Materials had to be conductive to qi, able to channel and hold it without warping. When Chen Ren promised him a share of the profits from the sect’s coming spirit stone venture—money earmarked specifically for acquiring proper materials—the man’s stance shifted so fast it was almost comical. One moment, Hong Yi was grumbling about unworthy hands in his workshop, the next he was talking about disciples that might be worthy to teach with a fervor that bordered on obsession.

Chen Ren didn’t mind. Subordinates often needed the right incentives, and he preferred to know exactly what made them move. Hong Yi’s pride might be a problem down the line, but at least his ambition was easy to direct.

Already, the puppet master was drafting blueprints for various things, even qi-infused wooden carriages they Chen Ren talked about. They would still require mounts to draw them, of course—strong, dependable beasts—but the interiors would be refined, luxurious even. Hong Yi had grasped immediately what Chen Ren wanted: not just functionality, but appeal. And beyond that, some of his designs had broader implications.

Chen Ren could see it clearly: a fleet of carriages, not just for sect members but for the masses. Not caravans or merchant lines, but buses. In this world, no such thing existed. Merchants occasionally offered transport between cities, but there was no dedicated, organized service. The idea of moving mortals in groups, safely and efficiently, could become its own business. A system.

The notion lingered in his mind, tempting, but Chen Ren shook his head. Not now. The pills had already been a success, their profits securing his current momentum. He wanted to expand, yes, but his vision was clear: businesses that catered to rogue cultivators. Those outside the umbrella of the great sects that had money to spare.

He couldn’t just sell noodles and cakes and expect them to hold interest. Cultivators would flock to novelty for a few days, but in the end, all their measurements, all their hungers, were rooted in qi. Without a dao of cooking to infuse food with real cultivation value, it was just mortal indulgence.

What he needed was something sustainable, something useful—products or services that offered true advancement. That, above all, was what rogue cultivators sought.

Chen Ren had come to a simple conclusion after long nights of thought: cultivators only truly valued three things—what made them fight harder, live longer, or climb higher on the ladder of cultivation. Everything else was luxury. That was why alchemy, blacksmithing, and talisman crafting had always reigned supreme among the auxiliary paths. They produced results that could be traded directly for resources.

He had already carved a niche for himself in alchemy. Pills sold faster than the sect could refine them, and their success had secured his position. Feiyu, meanwhile, was delving into firearms, his ambition already stretching toward armor, but that would not be ready for mass production anytime soon. Which left talismans.

On paper, talisman crafting was deceptively simple. A sheet of qi-infused paper that wouldn’t burn under inscription, the correct runes drawn with precision, and the cultivator’s own qi flowing into the strokes. In practice, it was maddeningly complex. A single tremor of the hand could ruin the weave. A flawed channel of qi could make a talisman sputter, crack, or explode outright.

Even when successful, no two talismans were equal. Two tier-one fire talismans, crafted side by side, could have wildly different results—one producing a weak puff of flame, the other a jet hot enough to char stone. It all depended on the strength of qi used, the precision of runes, and the resonance between the two. And once used, they were gone.

Yet, that very impermanence was what gave talismans their value. In the chaos of battle, even a disposable spark could mean the difference between victory and death. Demand for them would never fade.

Chen Ren could see the potential, and he could see the problems. If he wanted a steady supply, he couldn’t rely on individual artisans to hand-craft every talisman.

He needed a way to systematize the process, to strip away the uncertainty without stripping away the qi. For that vision, he needed both Hong Yi and Feiyu to work together.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

169. Printing talisman

Chen Ren stood in Hong Yi’s workshop. Before him sat the two craftsmen of his sect Feiyu and Hong Yi.

They had spoken for more than an hour already, drifting from mundane repairs of certain items to things that mattered more, but now—now he was getting to the most important product; the true matter of this meeting, the seed that might alter the very foundation of talisman craft in their sect.

Yet even here, within his own walls, Chen Ren found himself facing skepticism once he explained his idea.

Hong Yi’s brows furrowed. “Sect Leader Chen, I understand where you are coming from. But talismans are too delicate to mass-produce. Pills can be refined by cauldron batches, and stabilize their process. Talismans, however…” he shook his head. “Even with my experience in tier one talismans, I can only create three dozen in a single day, and by the end of it, I am drained to my marrow. Out of them, perhaps two or three might be flawless. The rest…” he exhaled sharply through his nose. “Mediocre at best. Some even failures.”

Feiyu, arms folded across his broad chest, gave a rueful chuckle. “And I don’t even have that much knowledge. My path lies in metalwork and qi infusion, nothing to do with talisman seals. How would I even help you? Sect Leader, if I were to try, I’d only waste resources. If you truly seek advice, Elder Qing He would serve you better.”

Chen Ren looked at them.

“I understand your inhibition. Yes, talismans are delicate, demanding, and everything you said. But that does not mean they are beyond reach. As for Qing He…” He turned toward Feiyu. “I have already asked her for a large favor recently. I will not burden her again so soon. And besides—” his fingers brushed the talisman papers stacked on the table, “—I already have some ideas for how we can move forward.”

Hong Yi frowned, stroking his stubble, unwilling to let go so easily. “Even with ideas, Sect Leader, we lack the numbers. To build any kind of production line, we would need far more cultivators than our sect can provide. It is not like forging where mortals can aid with labor. Talisman crafting… it is not forgiving.”

“That is certainly one idea, Hong Yi. But a line of cultivators… no.” He shook his head slowly. “That was never the path I had in mind. The problem with a production line,” he continued, “is that even if we filled this hall with cultivators, even if they all devoted themselves to talisman craft, not a single talisman would be the exact same as the other. Each stroke would carry variance, each rune bending under the weight of individual qi. Only a true talisman master can replicate consistency across every piece.”

Hong Yi gave a weary nod, the lines on his face deepening. “That is exactly the point. And a talisman master…” He let out a hollow laugh. “We cannot get one. We are too small a sect.”

“No,” Chen Ren agreed softly. “We cannot get a talisman master. But—” his eyes glinted, “we can create something that mimics one. A machine. One that inscribes with the accuracy of a talisman master.”

“Huh? A machine?”

Chen Ren nodded. “Yes. Humans falter, grow tired, waver. But a machine… a machine knows no such weakness. It is bound to a single task, and in that task it never strays. Accuracy without fail, replication without exhaustion. I think right now, that is what we need.”

Hong Yi scratched his head. “But how? What sort of machine could even attempt such a thing?”

Chen Ren didn’t answer at once. Instead, he took his time, trying to find the best way to approach his question. He thought and thought until a question struck his mind.

“Tell me, do you know how copies of books are made?” he asked.

Hong Yi frowned, brows knitting together. “Scribes. Patient men with steady hands who spend years copying scripture line by line. That is the only way.”

But Feiyu from the side scoffed and he shook his head. “Not the only way. I have heard whispers of artifacts—ancient ones—capable of copying a book a dozen times over in a single day. Rare treasures, though… and terribly demanding to operate. The qi consumption alone could drain an entire squad of cultivators.”

“Huh?” Hong Yi’s voice almost squeaked and disbelief colored his face. “Artifacts like that exist?!”

“They exist. Or rather, they existed. I have never seen one myself, but there are sects that maintain ties with Guardian Sects solely to borrow such relics. Of course, there is always a price. The Guardian Sects demand a copy in return for every book copied, feeding their own libraries. Even then, such artifacts are so few that I have not heard of anyone forging a new one in centuries. They say the craft is too difficult, too intricate. Beyond the reach of ordinary hands.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly, a faint gleam of recollection passing through his eyes.

He had indeed heard the same from Qing He when he had gone poking around for scraps of knowledge. Those ancient artifacts—their origins were shrouded in mystery, their creators lost to time—were impressive, yes, but inefficient. If they required such effort and drained so much qi for a mere dozen copies, then they were flawed.

His vision was something else entirely.

Hong Yi broke the silence, voice cautious but tinged with a spark of hope.
“So… are we to obtain such an artifact? But one meant for talismans?”

“Something like that. But no—I cannot lay hands on an ancient artifact, nor do I intend to scour ruins chasing ghosts. I don’t want to do that again. What I need is not what was, but what can be. I have an idea, and I need both of your hands to forge it into reality.”

With that, he reached into his sleeve and drew out a folded sheet of paper. He laid the ink stained parchment flat on the table.

It was filled with different lines sprawled across both sides, interlocking parts, gears meshing with rollers and strange, strange channels mapped like veins.

The two men got closer to take a long look. Both of them stared at it for a few minutes before their brows furrowed.

“Uh…” Hong Yi cleared his throat, breaking the thick silence. “I can understand fragments of it… but it is crude. Like looking at an unfinished rune.”

Feiyu flipped the sheet over, finding the reverse side marked with an even rougher attempt. His brows arched, and he gave a blunt snort. “This side is worse. Sect Leader, if we are to build something like this, the design must be far sharper. More precise. As it is…” He tapped the page. “It will collapse before it ever breathes.”

Chen Ren’s lips twitched, caught between embarrassment and stubbornness. He had juggled multiple things at once: cultivation, sect politics, leadership and still he had carved out time to scrawl this mess. He knew it was rough. But it was a start.

Suppressing the urge to defend his penmanship, he looked them both in the eye and asked instead, “So. What do you think of it?”

Feiyu scratched his chin. “It is… certainly thought out. But if such a thing is to function, we will need endless fine-tuning. Gears upon gears, apiece adjusted to a hair’s breadth. If even one moves out of alignment, the entire machine will seize.”

Chen Ren nodded. “Yes, it will be a lengthy process. There are many components that must interlock before it breathes as one. But among all of them, this—” his finger circled the carved plate sketched in rough ink, “—is the heart. The rune plate will determine everything. It must be made properly, and it must change depending on the type of talisman. One plate cannot serve all purposes. Flexibility will be vital.”

His hand slid along the drawing, toward the long rectangular sketch on the side. “As for speed, we cannot waste time on individual sheets. We will use a roller to feed paper into place. One disciple will run it, another will take the finished talismans out, both working in shifts. That way, the machine never rests.”

For a rare moment, Hong Yi said nothing, only narrowing his eyes, his gaze drinking on the page. “That does make sense…” But then he looked up from the paper. “How will you make this rune plate? With what material? Different runes require different vessels. Some demand jade to conduct properly, others respond only to metals, or specially treated wood. The vessel shifts with the meaning.

“And more than that, you are forgetting one thing.” His eyes locked onto Chen Ren’s, and for the first time there was a flicker in them that Chen Ren could not name. Not skepticism, not dismissal. Something keener. Was it… excitement? Hong Yi’s voice dropped to a near growl. “Intent. Talismans need qi and intent of a cultivator. I can envision channels to funnel qi into the plate, yes. But intent is not so simple. Intent is not something you etch into a gear. It is the will of the cultivator, and too arbitrary for us to do it. How do you plan to solve that?”

Chen Ren nodded. “That is one of the things we need to solve. I tried to think of a way… and I found nothing yet. But intent is not beyond us, I believe that. With the three of us working together, I believe we can find a solution soon."

Truthfully, even after intent, there were a few things he was confused about despite the printing press inspiration he had taken. That was why he needed both of them. If they could help, the project had a higher chance to succeed.

Feiyu groaned as he settled into his chair.

“Sect Leader, in the evenings, I can spare time to work on it. But tell me, what do we even call this thing?”

Chen Ren’s grin broke out.

I was waiting to say it, he thought to himself and said: “A talisman press.”

***

Chen Ren ended up spending a good chunk of the night with the two of them, the small workshop busy unraveling everything surrounding the talisman press. Questions came like waves, some he had expected, others so sharp and unexpected that they forced him to stop and think. Yet instead of irritation, he found himself filled with clarity—the more questions they asked, the more he realized how vital both of them would be for this endeavor.

Feiyu had been extremely useful with making designs. He’d an unmatched eye for turning rough sketches into breathing, working constructs and it was indispensable. And Hong Yi had long experience in designing puppets, understanding the interplay between qi channels, joints, and carved arrays. He was perfect not only to refine the design of the press itself, but also to integrate the countless internal adjustments that would make it function.

Chen Ren did not fool himself. They would not leap to production within days or weeks. But with their combined strength, he was confident that within the next month, they’d be able to come up with a prototype. Knowing the temperament of both men, he even suspected they would be too excited to not work on it, the challenge burrowing into their minds like fire into kindling.

As for himself, he would focus on securing materials. The plates, the reinforced paper, the treated inks—all costly, none easy to procure. But if they succeeded, if the talisman press became reality, their profits would rival even those of Divine Pill Apothecary. Perhaps even eclipse them.

Though he longed to continue, to push deeper into the endless maze of what-ifs and hows, fatigue eventually pulled at his limbs. He felt the strain. Daily training had taught him a lesson that too many cultivators ignored—that even cultivators needed rest if they wished to grow steadily. So, when midnight arrived, he excused himself with little hesitation.

When he woke up the next morning, however, he learned that the workshop had not fallen silent after his departure. Hong Yi and Feiyu had kept the discussion alive for quite longer than he expected.

That, more than anything, was what Chen Ren had wanted. It meant the talisman press had caught hold of their fancy. It meant the seed was already sprouting.

And that alone was a victory.

But Chen Ren never got the chance to seek out Hong Yi and Feiyu to ask whether they had wrestled more ideas out of the night.

Because that very morning, someone wholly unexpected walked into the village.

Tang Yuqiu herself.

Chen Ren had been waiting for news about his clan, and he had known a message would come eventually. Yet in his heart he had expected Zi Wen to get it through his bird or a nameless subordinate, some quiet courier who would hand him a sealed scroll and vanish again. Instead, Yuqiu strode directly into the sect building without the faintest ripple of warning.

So only an hour after waking, he found himself seated in a chamber, the fragrance of steeping leaves rising gently from the clay pot on the table. Beside him, Tang Xiulan moved gracefully, pouring tea into small cups, while Yuqiu sat across with a small smile playing on her lips.

Yuqiu’s gaze slid toward Xiulan, and her lips curved into a teasing arc. “I hope you have been well. You know, I haven’t found a better maid around the Tang Clan since you left.”

Xiulan’s smile was faint, her posture calm and dignified as always. “I’m sure there are plenty who could do better than me. But yes, I’ve been well. The sect keeps growing, and I am glad to play my part in that.”

Chen Ren interjected. “If not for Xiulan, the sect would have crumbled long ago. She’s the one holding everything together, managing matters I cannot afford to neglect yet lack the time to handle.”

Xiulan’s smile deepened just slightly at his words. She pushed the tea cups gently toward both of them, her sleeves brushing the table’s edge, before bowing her head. “Then I’ll take my leave. There’s still more work waiting.”

And with that, she slipped out, leaving Chen Ren alone with Tang Yuqiu.

The silence lingered for a breath before Chen Ren finally gave voice to the question that had been burning at the edge of his tongue since she arrived.

“So. How do you find the sect? You came here to inspect it with your own eyes, didn’t you?”

Yuqiu’s smile lingered. “I could have come only to speak with you,” she admitted. “But yes, I was curious.” Her eyes drifted across the modest room, noting the clean lines of the wooden walls, the simple furnishing. Then, she let her gaze sweep beyond, toward the bustle of the village outside the window.

“It’s far simpler than I expected,” she said finally. “But I see no scars of the rising. The village is whole, the people are smiling, and there is a sense of order here. It seems,” her eyes returned to Chen Ren, “that you’ve done a good job.”

Chen Ren set his cup down with a soft clink. “I’ve tried to.”

“Not only with the sect, Sect Leader. But your businesses as well. I’ve heard good things about your… exploits in the Darkmoon Sect.”

Chen Ren raised his cup again, sipping slowly before replying. “Tang Boming wrote to you.”

“Yes. Don’t worry, there was nothing in his report you would dislike.”

“It’s fine. We are partners.”

And truthfully, he wasn’t the least bit concerned about Tang Yuqiu knowing the breadth of his ventures. How could he be? He had been using her people, her network, even Tang Boming to push those ventures forward. For her not to be aware would have been impossible. More than that—given how profitable their joint undertakings had already proven, she would be a fool to sour relations over such trivialities. And Tang Yuqiu was no fool.

Her smile deepened, as if his words had been exactly what she expected. “Yes. Partners. And you have surprised me, Chen Ren. A partner who actually gives more than he takes, one who turns profit rather than burns it. But still…” She inhaled sharply. “I did not expect you to turn your eyes toward your clan so soon.”

“I’m only looking for information about them. You never thought I would?”

Yuqiu tilted her head, studying him with a look that was half amusement, half appraisal. “I thought they would be the ones to reach out to you. You’ve been making waves, Chen Ren—echoes of your name are already stirring in the great cities. But I suppose, it’s only natural for you to take advantage of a war and return to Red Peak City.”

Chen Ren froze. His brows drew tight, a faint chill racing down his spine.
“…A war?” He leaned forward slightly. “What do you mean, a war?”

Yuqiu’s smile slipped away like silk torn from a sheath. Her gaze turned hard. “Don’t play games with me, Chen Ren. Don’t pretend ignorance. You should have known already—it’s been going on for some time. Red Peak City is in chaos. The major powers are devouring each other from the inside, and your Chen Clan…your clan is at the very center of it.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

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Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

170. City in war

It took a long moment for Tang Yuqiu to realise the truth—he had no idea about any war in Red Peak City. War. The word itself felt heavy, far heavier than anything he remembered. In his memories, Red Peak City had only ever seen small clashes, sparks lit by the pride and arrogance of the younger generation. Fights over face, grudges between peers, the usual mess. They had always burned bright for a while and then been quickly smothered once the elders stepped in. The older cultivators rarely lifted their hands. They knew better. Every strike carried risks, and no one wanted to gamble their standing only to have it bite them later.

But from Tang Yuqiu’s tone, this wasn’t some childish conflict. There was that certain seriousness in her voice, a shadow of something larger. Something that carried the taste of blood.

The middle of her eyebrows knit together, her eyes narrowing on him. “You really didn’t know about it? I thought you did. That’s why I assumed you wanted to go back while there was still the chance.”

He shook his head slowly. “You’re the first person to tell me about this war. Even if I wanted news of Red Peak City or the Chen Clan, I wouldn’t turn my feet in that direction again.” he said without any hesitation in his voice. “I left them behind, and I don’t go back on my choices.”

The thought of stepping into the Chen Clan again felt like stepping into a pit of knives. For the current him, joining them would be nothing short of a nightmare. That clan lived and breathed strength, measuring worth with nothing else. And from what he remembered, behind their proud fronts, most were nothing but scheming wolves, ready to tear each other apart for a scrap of advantage.

If they ever discovered the dragon sealed inside him, he doubted they would hesitate. They would chain him, carve him open if they had to, just to see how far they could push his power.

He drew in a quiet breath. He enjoyed his sect and having businesses, running them and creating brands much more than… raw strength.

Tang Yuqiu saw his expression and lowered her eyes, her expression dimming with guilt.

“…I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just thought so. Even my father was sure of it.”

As Tang Yuqiu’s apology fell into silence, something flickered across her eyes—dark, fleeting, gone before it could be named. He noticed, but he didn’t dwell on it. Whatever storm she carried, it was hers to weather. There were bigger questions now.

“What is this war you speak of?” he asked as calmly as possible, but his voice was edged with curiosity.

She lifted her gaze to him, lips pressing together before she finally spoke. “The major powers of Red Peak City are fighting. The Chen Clan, Yu Clan, and the Huang Clan. All of them are at each other’s throat, and this time, they aren’t holding back. You know as well as I do that our family’s rice shipments run through Red Peak. For years, there have been skirmishes, yes, but always with restraint. They’d pull back their fists—well, their qi, in this case—before things went too far. But not now. Not anymore. Younger cultivators have been crippled… some killed outright.”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “The Emperor hasn’t stepped in. And the sect in the nearby mountains—the Rolling Bull Sect—they aren’t willing to say a word. Their ties with all three powers are… complicated.”

From what he remembered, sects like the Rolling Bull Sect were favored by the Emperor, treated as his extra eyes across the Empire. Their duty was to report unrest, because city lords often tangled themselves too deep in local politics and kept the truth buried. But Rolling Bull’s situation was different. Their relationship with the Chen, Yu and the Huang ran deeper than the city lord’s. Too deep. They drew rich offerings from each side, filling their stores with resources in exchange for silence.

He almost smirked at the thought. He knew this because the previous Chen Ren was made to climb up the sect’s mountain himself more than once. Not out of duty, but as punishment. His so-called hedonist lifestyle had often earned him the clan elders’ ire, and hauling bags of offerings up the long stairway was their way of knocking the arrogance out of him.

Funny thing was, he’d never minded. On the contrary, he’d accepted every punishment with a grin. The chance to flirt with the female disciples was a game that man had relished. He’d sweet-talked, boasted, and lied his way through too many encounters to count, leaving behind a trail of annoyed and exasperated disciples who, to this day, probably cursed his name.

His lips curved faintly, but the humor died quickly. Whatever games he once played, Red Peak’s situation was no laughing matter.

“But how did it start? A war like this—surely everyone knows it works against them. They’re burning through resources that should’ve been guarded, not wasted.”

Tang Yuqiu nodded through grave eyes. “It is against their interests. They’re only draining themselves, and the cost will haunt them. But…” She paused, a faint sigh slipping out. “I suppose it was simmering for a long while. Pride, suspicion, grudges. You know it is. It only needed the right spark to erupt. And now, the Chen Clan is hoarding food, buying up supplies, even searching for spiritual ingredients to boost their cultivators’ strength.”

She shook her head. “It isn’t an all-out war yet, but whenever the cultivators of the major powers cross paths, blood is spilled. And all of it… all of it is because of the promise of a ruin.”

Chen Ren raised a brow. “A ruin?”

Yuqiu bit her lip, her eyes flicking away before she forced herself to meet his gaze again. “Yes. It started a few months back. You know about the sinkhole around Red Peak City. It goes deep underground, crawling with spirit beasts. The clans hunt them constantly, drawing strength from the hides, cores, and bones. That sinkhole is one of the reasons Red Peak City’s powers rival even the sects nearby.”

Chen Ren nodded. That much he knew well. The sinkhole had always been a source of envy. Herbs that grew in impossible places, minerals formed under crushing pressure, beasts that no one outside Red Peak City had the right to touch. All of it was tightly monopolised. The sects in the mountains had no say.

“No one has ever understood how the sinkholes formed,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Exactly,” Yuqiu said quickly, seizing on his words. “And this ruin… it might hold the answer.”

Chen Ren leaned forward slightly, his interest caught despite himself. “How?”

“A few months ago, some of the Chen Clan’s men, along with members of the Yu Clan, went into the sinkhole. There was an earthquake. The ground shook so violently they barely escaped with their lives. But when it was over… a whole section of the sinkhole had collapsed.” She swallowed hard. “And what it revealed was a hidden entrance. Something ancient, sealed away for who knows how long. A place no one had ever seen before.”

“I’m guessing that’s the ruin?”

Tang Yuqiu nodded. “Yes, the entrance to it. From the rumours our Tang Clan has managed to gather, there were arrays woven around it, ancient ones, protecting whatever was sealed inside. But when the ground collapsed, those defenses broke. Since then, a surge of qi has been bubbling out, saturating the air. Everyone is desperate to reach the source. They say it’s a treasure… some even whisper it’s a peak sky-grade artifact. If that’s true, whoever claims it could dominate Red Peak City outright, and perhaps even beyond.”

Her words hung in the air like heavy stones. Chen Ren didn’t need her to spell out the rest. He could already see how the fragile balance of Red Peak City had shattered. For years, the three powers had glared at one another but kept their knives sheathed, knowing no side could afford to bleed too much. But with the ruin’s discovery, that balance was gone. If a treasure truly lay at the heart of it, then none of them would ever allow the others to have it. Not without blood.

And if it really is a sky-grade treasure… His thoughts tightened. It must lie deep, beyond easy reach. Otherwise, this war would already be over. Someone would have claimed it by now, and the city would have bent beneath their heel.

He turned his gaze back to Yuqiu. “Where is this treasure inside the ruin?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does. There are too many new pathways branching underground, and the beasts—more and more of them are being drawn in by the qi that’s been pouring out these past few weeks. It’s changed the whole area. When one of our Tang convoys passed nearby, we even heard an explosion echo from inside. The sinkhole is sturdy and won’t collapse easily. And even if it do… no one cares. Not anymore. This is war. And in war, every risk is worth it.”

That makes sense, Chen Ren thought and nodded slowly, his fingers were in a rhythmic tap against the armrest. The whole situation was a tangled knot. He hadn’t come here for war. All he wanted was to learn more about the economy of Red Peak City, find his way into the markets, make his mark, and then search for the medallion—whether he had to buy it or steal it. Clean, simple, controlled.

But war? War was chaos. A messy stage where blood drowned profit and strength dictated everything. His memories told him clearly. Red Peak City was crawling with cultivators, many of them seasoned, many of them ambitious. Too many were tied to sects scattered across the empire. If he made one wrong move, he wouldn’t just have enemies in Red Peak City, but across different regions he had no wish to cross. If he truly wanted the medallion, he would have to tread very, very carefully.

Even as he thought that, a question surfaced in his mind. He lifted his gaze to Yuqiu. “Why did you say it’s only right for me to take advantage of the war?”

Yuqiu finished the last of her tea, setting the cup down with a soft clink before answering. “Oh, that. When you first came to the Tang Clan, you swore in front of everyone that you’d return to your clan one day and prove them all wrong. That you’d trample over them.” Her eyes softened faintly, though her tone was blunt. “I doubt you were anything but delusional back then. But now… you have real power. Resources too. A war feels like the perfect chance for you to get back at them, to force the Chen Clan to recognise how much they’ve lost and how important you truly are—”

“That’s it.”

Chen Ren cut her off as a thought formed in his mind so sharp that he almost sprung out of chair.

And that startled the woman in front of him.

“That’s… it? What’s it? What do you mean”

“That’s the way,” he said quietly. “War. That’s the way.”

A pause followed, his words hanging in the air. Then he tilted his head and asked, “Let me ask you a question, Yuqiu. Do you know who wins in a war?”

Her brows furrowed as she leaned back. “I’m sure my father asked me the same question when I was a child.”

Chen Ren tilted his head slightly, his tone almost teasing. “And what did you reply back then?”

Tang Yuqiu huffed, folding her arms. “I said the one with the longer weapon.”

Chen Ren chuckled at that, the sound low and amused. Yuqiu only glared at him in return, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“If you want my answer now,” she said, her voice sharper, “I’d say the one with the best information. Power, weapons, manpower—they matter, of course. But information is just as important. The one who can control it can turn any battle in their favor.”

Chen Ren nodded, the laughter fading from his face. She wasn’t wrong. Information was the spine of war. Modern nations from Earth had long proven it. Spycraft, intelligence agencies, shadow wars fought in silence; they were often more decisive than the armies on the frontlines.

But Yuqiu had misunderstood the heart of his question.

“You are right,” he said quietly, “yet wrong.”

Her brows drew together. “How so?”

“When I asked who wins in a war, I wasn’t talking about the ones actually fighting it. Even if a side emerges ‘victorious,’ the losses they take can turn that victory into ashes. A pyrrhic victory at best. No, Yuqiu, in many wars, the ones who truly win are the third parties. The ones uninvolved in the battles themselves, who reap the profits from others’ blood.”

Yuqiu’s eyes flickered with understanding. “You mean a merchant.”

“A smart merchant,” Chen Ren corrected. “Most merchants wouldn’t dare meddle with war. And wisely so. But the clever ones—the ones who know how to play the board without drawing blades—can come out richer and stronger than anyone holding a sword.”

Yuqiu lowered her gaze for a moment, fingers tracing the rim of her empty teacup. Then she spoke, her voice quiet, almost heavy. “A lot of merchants never had a choice.”

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes slightly. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated, silence stretching between them. Her eyes looked anywhere but at him. Though he wanted to push for an answer, he didn’t. He waited patiently until she let out a breath.

Even her shoulders sagged slightly.

“Cloud Mist City was hit hard by the beast rising, you know.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly, not knowing where she was going with this.

“I know. I heard things.”

“So they deployed a lot of cultivators to guard the walls. Beast nests appeared—ones we never even knew existed—and some of them were… very unruly. Those so-called defenders demanded compensation from the commoners, claiming they were risking their lives to protect them. The merchant clans bore the brunt of it, stripped of resources again and again. They called it ‘duty,’ but in truth it was robbery.” Her jaw tightened. “The City Lord promised to reimburse us once everything was over, but I doubt he will. Even if he does, it won’t match what we lost.”

Chen Ren studied her carefully. He didn’t need her to spell out the details. The Tang Clan, with their lifeblood tied to food, must have been hit harder than most. He could picture it all too well—storerooms emptied, food taken, guards overwhelmed. Tang Clan cultivators were competent, yes, but compared to Soaring Sword Sect disciples? Against those blades, they’d be cut down like weeds.

Yuqiu’s worry was plain on her face. Her fingers were clutched into fists at the thought.

But Chen Ren’s thoughts ran in another direction entirely.

“Yuqiu, I know your clan went through a lot. But what I have in mind… it’s different. I don’t think anyone in Red Peak City can touch me.”

Her eyes sharpened instantly, suspicion and curiosity flickering in their depths.

“And what exactly is that?”

Chen Ren let a faint smile curl his lips.

“You’ll see soon enough. But one thing I can tell you now—” he paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “—the Divine Coin Sect is going to make a lot of profit again.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn 2 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

Magus Reborn - Volume 3 is Out Now!

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171. Burn like a sun

Yalan stretched out lazily, her long body curling with the smooth grace of a predator, though her amber eyes stayed half-closed. As a high-realmed spirit beast, she didn’t really need to sleep. Once a month, maybe twice, a few hours were enough to refresh her body and sharpen her senses. That was what instinct demanded.

But instinct wasn’t everything.

Maybe it was her nature as a great cat, maybe it was just a secret she preferred to keep to herself, but Yalan liked sleeping far more than she would ever admit. And if she had to blame anyone, it wasn’t her fault—she had simply discovered too many excellent napping spots scattered throughout the village.

Her favorite? Chen Ren’s bed.

The man always gave her enough space to stretch out, never pushing her off, and the warmth of the place seeped pleasantly into her fur. Then there was Little Yuze, who had finally learned that when she draped herself across him, it wasn’t permission for him to fidget—it was a privilege. He would go stiff as stone, refusing to move an inch until she shifted first. That, too, had its charms.

But above even those, she cherished the roof of the sect building. The surface was a little rough beneath her, yes, but every time she rose from her nap, the reward was the same: the first light of dawn spilling across the world, washing the land in gold and red. Winter had nearly loosened its grip now. The heavy white clouds that clung to the sky had begun to scatter, leaving the sun to rise unchallenged, bright and blazing. From her perch, Yalan could watch it in all its glory.

And as she basked in that light, it wasn’t just sleep that claimed her. It was meditation. Reflection.

She had been circling a thought for decades now, gnawing at its edges without ever quite piercing its heart. But recently, thanks to one of Chen Ren’s strange lessons, the pieces had begun to fall into place. Her element was fire—not just any fire, but a flame that could burn the world. That was the name of the technique she had walked upon ever since she gained true awareness, a cultivation path that harmonized perfectly with her instincts. Her fire was consuming, fierce and unrelenting in every way and form.

And yet… there was more to fire than just burning.

Beasts didn’t usually bother with cultivation techniques the way humans did. Their bodies were their greatest weapons, and their instincts guided them as naturally as breathing. With sharp senses and the endless wilderness to feed them spirit herbs, cores, and strange minerals, they rarely needed manuals. Growth came from living, fighting, and devouring.

But Yalan was different.

She had served humans long enough to see the value of structure, of logic laid over instinct. A cultivation manual didn’t replace her nature—it sharpened it. In her mind, instinct and logic together made the sharpest claw. That was why she had embraced [A Flame That Could Burn the World], the path she had walked for years now.

Only, she knew she hadn’t tapped into its full potential.

The manual spoke clearly—her flames had to grow hotter, burning hotter and hotter until they reached a level that could reduce the very world itself to ash. But her fire… wasn’t there yet. It was strong, yes, stronger than many spirit beasts of her realm, but not enough. Not yet. Even if breaking through to the next realm promised growth, what she wanted was more than just the usual leap forward. She wanted transformation.

Fortunately, she had been listening.

Chen Ren’s lectures, strange and confusing as they often were, had planted seeds in her mind. In one class, he had spoken of bodies that burned at different temperatures. The concept had eluded her at first—flames were flames, weren’t they? But the way he explained it made her pause. Fire wasn’t equal. There were flames that licked gently, and flames that could consume steel. Temperature was what separated them. Temperature was what made fire truly lethal.

And in that same lesson, he had said something else. Something that lingered in her heart like an ember refusing to die out.

The sun.

A flaming sphere in the sky, burning so hot that anything approaching it would cease to exist. The only reason their world wasn’t already ash was because of the distance, the vast space that kept it at bay.

The human children had gasped and whispered, too young to understand the weight of what he said.

But Yalan… Yalan had thought of something else.

If the sun could burn away anything that drew near, if its very existence was to incinerate without mercy… wasn’t that exactly the same as the cultivation manual she practiced?

Flames that could burn the world.

Yalan let the words roll through her mind like a mantra. If there were ever flames that truly deserved that title, it was the fire of the sun itself. No other blaze could compare. But how was she supposed to use something so distant? She couldn’t leap into the heavens and snatch a wisp of that eternal inferno for herself.

No, if she wanted it, she would have to forge it within.

She breathed in slowly, her chest rising and falling as she sank deeper into meditation. I will make my flames burn as hot as the sun… hot enough that they cease to be mere flames.

Yet, the more she thought about it, the more she realized that fire alone was not what made the sun what it was. The sun did not simply burn, it illuminated. It lit the entire world, driving back shadow, nurturing life even as it scorched. Her fire could light a campfire, yes, but compared to that vast brilliance it was pitiful, small, fleeting.

How can I make my flames not only burn like the sun… but shine like it as well?

Her tail flicked once, and with the movement a lick of fire ran along its length, flickering bright against the dawn air. She didn’t open her eyes. She let it burn, not as power but as thought, holding her mind fixed on the path ahead.

She continued to meditate.

Time slipped past her like water through claws. Minutes, hours—she didn’t know.

But… There was no breakthrough, no sudden spark of enlightenment, but that didn’t bother her. Progress wasn’t measured by leaps. For her, having a direction was enough. Once a cultivator set their feet on a path, reaching its end was only a matter of patience. Years, decades, centuries. It made no difference.

The world slowly crept back to her senses. There were voices and laughter, and she heard the slap of water on stone. She flicked her ears once, then opened her eyes.

Below, Whiskey was spraying arcs of water everywhere, the glittering streams soaking the courtyard as the children shrieked with delight. Xinxin darted in and out among them, her small weasel body weaving through the chaos with surprising speed, as though joining in the game. The lunari, in his youthful ignorance, clearly had no sense of restraint, happily drenching everyone within reach.

Yalan’s brows furrowed. Her tail lashed once, a flicker of disapproval crossing her face. But in the end, she let it go. Whiskey was still young, barely out of infancy by a spirit beast’s reckoning. Mistakes were part of his path. It wasn’t her role to scold him for every misstep.

She stretched languidly, the last warmth of her meditation still clinging to her, and turned her eyes away. She had more pressing matters to attend to than watching over a child who didn’t yet understand his own strength.

And if Yalan was right, today they would be leaving for Red Peak City. It was early, yes, but the journey would take time, and Chen Ren wasn’t one to waste it.

The thought left her conflicted. Red Peak had been her home once, for a long span of years. Going back meant walking into memories she had sealed away, faces she had no interest in seeing again, and burdens she had chosen to shed. Her tail twitched with irritation as she imagined it. Still… she didn’t have much of a choice.

At least Chen Ren would be there. With him, she could finally push through some matters that his predecessor—the careless fool that he was—had never bothered to settle. Closing those loose ends would give her a measure of peace, and that was worth something.

Resolved, she slipped from her perch and padded through the village. The air was cool with the fading touch of night, and villagers were only just beginning to stir. She passed Chief Muyang and a handful of men headed toward the palisade. The beast rising was almost at its end, and there was little real work left there. But habit was hard to break, and for these men, patrolling the wall had become routine.

Yalan’s steps were silent. A few villagers saw her and waved as she passed, and she dipped her head in return. To them, she was nothing more than Chen Ren’s pet, a great white cat trailing after him. She disliked the word—pet—but she let it slide. Better that than for them to know the truth of her strength. Hidden claws had their own advantage.

Moving lightly through the dirt paths, she reached the narrow trail that curved toward the cliffs at the back of the village. And there, just as the horizon brightened with the sun’s first reach, she saw him.

A sweaty Chen Ren.

He was walking back along the path, sweat glistening down his brow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Beside him strode Li Xuan, the young man’s posture upright, eyes still carrying the edge of training. The moment Chen Ren spotted her, his steps quickened, his smile widening as though he had been waiting for her all along.

Her voice brushed into his mind as easily as a whisper of wind. “Training over?”

Chen Ren nodded. “Yes. I’m ready to get in the carriage. Where have you been?”

Yalan stretched languidly, her tail flicking as fire briefly rippled at its tip. “Doing some training of my own.”

***

Chen Ren leaned back against the carriage wall, letting the slow rumble of the wheels and the faint creak of wood set a steady rhythm. His eyes wandered lazily over the faces gathered with him.

Up front, one of the mortal disciples—Zhou Ping, if he remembered correctly—handled the reins.

Inside, it was a stranger mix than he was used to. Luo Feng sat opposite him. Beside him was Li Xuan, back straight, jaw tight, clearly unwilling to waste even a moment in appearing disciplined. Yalan had taken up her usual place against the side, sprawled out with the ease of a predator at rest, her tail flicking now and then.

The oddest piece of baggage, however, wasn’t living.

The box.

It sat at Chen Ren’s side, unassuming save for the faint glow of the silencing array etched over its surface. Inside, Wang Jun’s head was tucked away—mute for now, though Chen Ren had no doubt he was itching to spit curses. The head had insisted on coming along, claiming it was for “soul cultivation training,” though Chen Ren suspected curiosity was the real reason. After their short talk about Red Peak City and his plans, the damn thing probably wanted front-row seats.

In the carriage ahead, Tang Yuqiu rode with her own guard and, to Chen Ren’s faint amusement, Whiskey. The little lunari had apparently refused to share space, sprawling across the seat as though it were a throne. Yuqiu, rather than complain, had only cooed about how cute the beast was. Whiskey had been brought along for training—if opportunity presented itself—but clearly the creature had already carved out his own privileges.

The arrangement was… unusual.

Normally, Chen Ren would’ve brought Zi Wen, Hong Yi, or Feiyu on such a trip. Familiar, reliable, predictable. His ties with both Li Xuan and Luo Feng were thinner. In fact, he had been surprised when Luo Feng requested to join the journey. But when the man explained he had read about certain rare spirit plants growing around Red Peak City, Chen Ren agreed. Luo Feng had been working himself half to death cultivating spirit rice and tending fields for the sect; granting him a chance to broaden his collection was the least Chen Ren could do.

So here they were. A different mix of people, beasts, and… boxes, trundling their way down the road toward Red Peak.

As for Li Xuan, his reasons for tagging along were plain enough. The man was preparing to return to the Soaring Sword Sect. With the beast rising nearly at its end, he had decided he had seen and learned enough. What exactly he had gained from his time in Meadow Village, Chen Ren couldn’t say, but Li Xuan carried himself with a calmness that suggested his stay hadn’t been wasted.

“When I started this journey,” Li Xuan said suddenly, breaking the soft clatter of wheels, “I never thought I would end it in this fashion. These last two months in the village have already opened my eyes to my purpose as a cultivator. They’ve given me insight into my dao.”

Chen Ren inclined his head, lips quirking faintly. “I’m glad you feel that way. You stayed longer than I expected. For a time, I almost thought you would be heading back the moment Cloud Mist City was struck by the rising.”

Li Xuan shook his head. “There were enough cultivators in the Soaring Sword Sect and Cloud Mist City to defend it. Meadow Village only had you all. And I know you are a busy man, Chen Ren. My stay here reminded me of something important, that I must use what I have been given for the sake of mortals. A good sword is wielded for others, not for yourself.”

Chen Ren studied him for a long moment before nodding again. It was a fine sentiment, one that made sense. A sword that lived only for itself would eventually dull. But still… Chen Ren doubted it was quite so simple.

Li Xuan wasn’t just any wandering swordsman—he was an important disciple of the Soaring Sword Sect. Chen Ren could not imagine his master being pleased that he had all but ignored the beast rising. Sect politics were stern. If he knew anything about how sects worked, performing well in the beast rising would have brought Li Xuan no small amount of prestige and resources. To cast that aside…

Either he is very sure of his dao, Chen Ren thought, or very foolish.

But it wasn’t his place to say so, and he let the thought slip into silence.

Li Xuan looked utterly content with himself, like a man who believed he had done a noble deed. Chen Ren didn’t see the point in breaking that illusion, so he let the silence sit.

But then Li Xuan added, “Also, thank you for your insights into body cultivation. It wasn’t something I’d ever considered before, but I believe it will help me.”

Chen Ren raised a brow. “Does the Soaring Sword Sect even have manuals on body cultivation?”

Li Xuan nodded firmly. “It should. We have at least one elder who practices it, and I plan to seek him out once I return.”

At that, Luo Feng let out a quiet chuckle. “It must be nice, having elders for everything. Even here in Meadow Village, the Soaring Sword Sect is held in reverence.”

Li Xuan smiled at the remark, shoulders straightening a little. “The sect is a long-standing one. When you survive for centuries, you naturally attract all kinds of talent. Every path has its place there, in one form or another.”

From there the conversation shifted easily—Luo Feng asked about other elders, Li Xuan indulged him, offering details that were largely public knowledge. Names of sword cultivators, stories of great duels, the usual things that made people revere the Soaring Sword Sect.

Chen Ren, however, let the words wash past him. His thoughts wandered elsewhere. If the Soaring Sword Sect housed such a wide range of cultivators, perhaps other sects did too. Esoteric daos, paths overlooked by the great clans—there was likely a wealth of knowledge hidden behind their gates. Knowledge that might be worth his time.

But before his thoughts could deepen, the carriage jolted slightly as its pace slowed. The rhythm of the wheels softened. Everyone inside noticed it.

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes. A beast attack? Or something else?

He leaned to the side, sliding open the small window. Outside, the road ahead was crowded. Several carriages rolled in front of them, slowing to a crawl. Others surrounded them on both sides, forming a loose cluster.

Luo Feng leaned forward, peering out the same way. “Why are there so many carriages all at once? A merchant caravan?”

Li Xuan considered it, then nodded. “Probably. With the rising nearly at an end, merchants are more willing to take risks. It makes sense for them to travel now.” He paused, his brows furrowing. “Or… it might be because of the tournaments.”

Chen Ren’s gaze sharpened. He turned to face Li Xuan.

“What tournament?”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

172. Small time tournaments

As soon as Chen Ren heard the word tournament, his first thought was of Cloud Mist City’s grand annual contest—the one he had once claimed victory in. For a breath, he relived the moment he’d won. But he soon shook the thought away. That tournament was far off yet, and besides, it was always tied to the city’s trade season. The Cloud Mist City officials never acted rashly; they used the gathering of cultivators not only to test rising talents but also to draw merchants, treasures, and wealth from every corner of the empire.

To hold something of that scale so soon after the rising… that felt unwise.

Chen Ren’s brows knit as he thought further, until a faint glimmer of understanding flickered in his mind. “Is it some sort of sect tournament?”

Li Xuan, who had been watching him with that patient smile of his, gave a small nod. “Yes. You could say so. But it is not the kind of trial used to accept disciples. This one serves another purpose.”

He paused, then explained slowly. “In our vast empire, sects are scattered like stars in the sky. But only the Guardian sects, and a handful of old Established ones, possess the strength to gather endless spirit stones and attract the brightest talents. The Emerging sects… they are left struggling in the dust.”

Chen Ren nodded at once. He understood this bitter truth well. He had been fortunate enough to stumble upon treasures, fortunate enough to gain resources when needed. But not all were so lucky. More than once he had heard of small sects bending their knees, swearing loyalty to Established sects in exchange for protection and a trickle of cultivation resources. As for talent… Emerging sects often had no choice but to lure the naive, promising them glory and guidance, when in truth they could barely provide scraps.

Luo Feng, who had been silent so far, finally leaned forward, eyes sharp. “So, by holding a tournament, they gather both talent and spirit stones?”

Li Xuan nodded, maintaining a neutral expression. “Yes. Basically, a group of Emerging sects join hands to host a tournament. They open the gates wide for the spectators so even mortals from villages can enter, so long as they pay a few wen. And they set aside enough prizes to draw the attention of rogue cultivators as well.”

He gave a small laugh. “The Cloud Mist City tournament is grand, far too grand. A rogue cultivator without fame will be crushed before they even see the main stage. But in these smaller tournaments, they can shine. They can prove themselves before the watching sects.”

Chen Ren fell silent at that. His mind drifted back to the Cloud Mist City tournament, to the qualification match. So many cultivators had been defeated too quickly in those. There might have been cultivators with skill among them, but they didn't get the chance to display it. A smaller stage might indeed allow them to show their worth more clearly.

Still, one doubt gnawed at him. He turned to Li Xuan, brows furrowed. “Even if the sects host this together, what do they truly gain? A few wen from mortals is nothing to a sect, and there is no guarantee rogue cultivators will actually join them. Yet they spend valuable resources on prizes. I don’t understand… how do they make money from this?”

Li Xuan’s lips curved into a knowing smile. His eyes glittered like a teacher watching a student finally approach the right answer. “I would have thought you’d be able to guess. They earn it all back—and more—through one simple thing. Betting.”

Chen Ren’s eyes widened. He turned his gaze back toward the road, where lines of carriages rattled onward in the distance. Each was laden with crates, silks fluttering, banners painted with merchant crests. His breath caught. “They get the merchants to bet?”

Li Xuan inclined his head. “Exactly. The sects invite merchants wealthy enough to dabble in spirit stones. These men of trade take the risk, placing wagers on the contestants. And with so many watching eyes, so much greed and hope stirred into motion… the sects hardly ever lose.”

The sound of rolling wheels grew louder and Chen Ren imagined such a scene.

Li Xuan paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully before he added, “If the merchants win, their profits rise far higher than the stakes they risked. But if they lose, the sects take their investment back, and often more, especially if those cultivators join under their banners. I believe there’s more to it behind the curtains, but that much I know. These tournaments are quite famous across the empire. They’re held often enough that people always look forward to the next one.”

Chen Ren slowly nodded, his thoughts already wandering. The model was clever—far more clever than he would give the Emerging sects credit for. He remembered the Cloud Mist City tournament, and the way wagers had flown like sparks from a fire. Back then, he had no spirit stones to spare, so he had only placed bets with wen. Even so, he had earned a tidy sum. But he remembered clearly: many others had bet spirit stones instead, and the amounts exchanged had been staggering.

A faint glint appeared in his eyes. Perhaps it wouldn’t be bad to attend one of these smaller tournaments. Even if it was just for entertainment, there was much to learn. And who knows? I can see some exciting cultivators.

The Divine Coin Sect already had decent numbers, but more cultivators would never hurt. Esoteric Daos were fine… but sometimes what a sect needed the most most were straightforward fighters who could stand on the front lines.

The hours that followed slipped away like drifting clouds. Luo Feng and Li Xuan carried the bulk of the conversation, speaking at length of sect tournaments, sect politics, and the looming reputation of the Soaring Sword Sect. Chen Ren added a word here and there, but more often than not, he listened in silence, his mind turning with its own calculations.

Yalan leaned against the side of the carriage, drifting into a quiet nap, her breathing soft and steady. Wang Jun was shifted now and then in Chen Ren’s lap, his tiny body trembling faintly but otherwise still.

And so, time passed.

At last, through the haze of dust and sunlight, the walls of Cloud Mist City revealed themselves in the far distance.

The closer they drew, the stronger the pulse of the city seemed to thrum in the air.

But as the carriages rumbled closer, Chen Ren’s sharp eyes caught something interesting.

The rumours had not lied. If anything, they had been gentle compared to reality.

When the convoy finally halted, he stepped down, boots crunching against gravel and looked up at the walls of the city.

A massive section of the Cloud Mist City wall had been shattered, as though some beast had hurled its entire body against it. Charred stone crumbled in places, dust spilling like ash. Parts of the once-proud barrier leaned at odd angles, blackened and cracked, ready to collapse at any moment.

And on the ground below… carnage.

Dozens of beast corpses sprawled across the earth, their hides stiff, some still leaking foul black blood. Mixed among them were humans, pale and still, their faces twisted in the silence of death. The stench of scorched flesh clung thick in the air.

Chen Ren felt his stomach lurch at the sight of it. A handful of weary men and women carried the fallen toward the inner city. Others loaded beast corpses onto wagons drawn by spirit-beasts, carting them away for dismantling. The scene was chaos trying to claw its way back into order, but all Chen Ren saw was the aftermath of war. His heart sank.

At the front of their convoy, another carriage door swung open. Tang Yuqui stepped down. Behind her, the Lunari slept on in careless silence in the carriage, unbothered by the ruin around them.

Yuqui’s steps slowed as she came closer, her gaze moving over the broken wall and the strewn dead. For a moment, she simply looked, and then a quiet sigh slipped past her lips.

“The Tang Clan is trying to help the injured,” she said softly. “But there are too many. Every alchemist’s chamber is overflowing. Every healer’s hall is the same. No place left to treat them.”

At her words, he saw how Li Xuan’s face tightened. It was colored in conflict, his jaw set and he turned to her.

“The Soaring Sword Sect should have the space. The resources. Enough to tend to all of them.”

Yuqiu’s lips curled. “They claim too many of their own disciples are injured. And so they refused the city folk, saying their hands are already full. City Lord Li Baolong agreed with them.” She let out another sigh, her eyes cold. “So now, we are left to take care of everything ourselves.”

Li Xuan’s lips parted as though he meant to argue, but the words caught in his throat. Yuqiu had no reason to deceive him, and her tone carried only weariness, not spite. At last, he bowed his head slightly. “…I’m sorry. The sect… my father and I… we have let the city down.”

Yuqiu shook her head at once, strands of her hair swaying. “No. No, you have already done much. I only wished the elders had come. If they had been here, the casualties would have been far fewer.”

Her words struck Chen Ren. He found his thoughts drifting. The elders of the Soaring Sword Sect—men and women whose strength could shatter mountains—had they intervened, the damage here would not have been so severe. A single elder would have been enough to slay the higher-tier beasts that had breached the walls. Yet none came.

He could guess the reasons. Many elders secluded themselves in closed-door cultivation, unwilling to be disturbed. Others likely deemed it beneath them to descend into the chaos of saving mortals. And besides… he had a feeling that the sect often used the beast rising as a measure of disciples’ worth. To them, perhaps, this was little more than a trial by fire.

But no matter the reasoning, the truth lay before him. Cloud Mist City had suffered greatly. Too greatly.

Li Xuan’s gaze lingered on the ruined walls and the corpses strewn across the ground. His eyes darkened, and then, after a long silence, he turned to Chen Ren. “Thank you. For the hospitality these past few months. I’ve learned much from you and from everyone. But… I’ll be on my way now. If you wish to remain in Cloud Mist City, I can arrange for you to stay at my estate here.”

Yuqui gave a small nod as well. “I still have the room you stayed in before. My father would be glad to see you again, after all these months.”

Chen Ren listened quietly, then shook his head. “Thank you. Truly. But I wish to travel on. Staying here would be good, but I need to reach Red Peak City as soon as possible.”

The disappointment in both their eyes was plain, though neither tried to persuade him further. They simply nodded, the silence between them heavy with words unspoken.

After a few more minutes of idle talk, they parted ways, each turning toward the battered city.

Chen Ren lingered at the edge of the road, his gaze sweeping over the destruction one last time. The fallen walls, the blackened stone, the motionless forms scattered across the earth. He let out a long, quiet sigh.

***

The journey ahead was mostly peaceful, aside from one brief moment. Chen Ren had finally taken Wang Jun out of the box, and in an instant, chaos stirred.

Whiskey’s eyes bulged as though he had just seen a ghost. The Lunari stiffened at once, refusing to come closer, its lips curling into low growls whenever the talking head so much as twitched. Even Luo Feng froze on the spot, stunned speechless at the sight.

But Chen Ren trusted him enough to reveal Wang Jun’s existence. Besides, he had another reason: he didn’t want to hear the endless flood of complaints from the head if he waited until they reached the city.

But still, Wang Jun complained the moment he was free. “Hmph! Hours in a box, as if I’m some tool to be stored away. This is an insult to my dignity!”

On and on he went, his voice sharp and unrelenting. Most of them chose to ignore him, but Luo Feng surprised Chen Ren. Instead of fear, the young man engaged him in conversation, asking questions, laughing lightly at Wang Jun’s tirades. Chen Ren had half expected someone who had spent most of his life as a farm boy to shy away from such a strange, eerie thing. But Luo Feng bore himself like a cultivator from the start.

Other than that, the journey was uneventful. Chen Ren kept their carriage within the steady stream of merchants heading toward the tournament. He did not want distractions before reaching Red Peak City. Still, he could not shake the pull of curiosity. He would not be taking part in the tournament, nor wasting spirit stones or even wen on betting, but he wanted to see how it worked. The idea that had been simmering in the back of his mind since Li Xuan explained the business of small sect tournaments only grew stronger.

And so, at the break of the third day, the convoy slowed. Before them stretched a small town, lively with banners fluttering in the wind, vendors setting up stalls, and crowds already thickening the streets.

The signboard over the eastern gate declared its name in bold, weathered characters: Xianglu Town.

This, it seemed, was where the tournament would be held.

The place wasn’t much. Xianglu Town was barely larger than a village, the kind that only stood out because it had more inns and a few extra stalls lining its streets. The walls were low, the houses looked… plain, and the air smelled of dust mixed with the faint tang of roasted grain. Still, there was life here—life drawn in by the promise of the tournament.

After asking around, Chen Ren learned it would begin the very next morning. That was enough for him. He had no reason to linger long, but watching the start of it would satisfy his curiosity before he continued on to Red Peak City.

The others had no objections. The only voice of protest came, as usual, from Wang Jun.

Back into the box he would not go. He made that much clear, loud enough for half the inn to hear. But he also refused to stay behind alone, complaining that leaving him in the room was no different from locking him up. After much grumbling and back-and-forth, he ended up with them anyway, perched close in Luo Feng’s robes, muttering under his breath about dignity and respect.

And like that, Chen Ren and his companions found themselves seated in the front row of the tournament grounds. The stands were hastily built, wooden planks nailed together, their smell still fresh with resin. Around them, villagers, merchants, and wanderers murmured in excitement. The stage—a wide square of packed dirt and stone—waited at the center, banners of minor sects flapping weakly in the breeze.

Chen Ren got comfortable and crossed his arms as he watched the first participants step forward. His expression remained calm, but as he saw them, he shook his head, disappointment clear in his eyes.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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173. Tournament 101

Chen Ren felt the wooden seat graze against his butt as he heard the excitement in the voices of the crowd that was sitting around them.

The benches creaked. Splinters poked through old planks. A boy behind him swung his legs and thumped the board with his heels which he felt in his back. And the rest of the surrounding was equally chaotic.

His eyes caught the movements of vendors shuffling past with baskets of steamed buns, and some other snacks.

And the stands—they looked slapped together. There were ropes knotted in a hurry, posts leaning like drunk men but they held. Men, women, kids, all jammed shoulder to shoulder, craned their necks toward the ground below.

The field was a rectangle of hard earth, the color of old tea. Someone had dumped a circle of pale sand in the middle, not quite round, like a coin that had been chewed on. The grass around it was patchy, tufts sticking up like bad hair. It didn’t look grand. It looked cheap. But the noise said otherwise. The crowd buzzed and bubbled, voices tripping over one another, feet scraping, hands clapping for nothing in particular.

“This looks like it used to be a pasture,” Chen Ren talked to Yalan through his mind. “Now it’s a ring.”

“Pasture or pigsty,” Yalan retorted.

They didn’t get to continue the conversation for long.

An old man tottered into the sand, luxurious looking robe sleeves dragging dust. The robe said cultivator; the body said retired farmer. His hair was thin. His back was thinner. Qi leaked off him like the last wisps from a dying incense stick. One glance and Chen Ren knew: an outer sect disciple from the Soaring Sword Sect could fold this man in half by accident.

Yalan saw it too. She snickered.

The old man raised both palms for the crowd to quieten. The sound dropped by half, then slowly died down, until only coughs and the soft wheeze of the wind moved the air.

“Everyone,” he called, “we thank you all for coming here to watch the Rising Star Cultivator Tournament. Some of you have come from long distances, and others are from Xianglu Town, coming here as a tradition. None of you will be disappointed by the display today of the most talented young cultivators in the whole empire!”

Every single word that came out of the old man sounded false.

Chen Ren felt the gap between what the man said and what the field could hold physically. But the crowd drank it anyway. They drank it like they’d been parched their whole life.

A woman near the aisle dabbed her eyes like the speech had stirred her soul.

“Larpers,” Yalan said again. “All of them.”

Worse than the state of the tournament, the old man seemed to relish the sound of his own voice. His words dragged on like a priest reciting scripture, weighed down with empty grandeur. He spoke of sects that had sponsored the event, naming one after another, some so obscure Chen Ren doubted even their disciples could point them out on a map. He thundered about the “glorious history” of the Rising Star Tournament, as though the very ground they sat on had been blessed by emperors.

He doubted the crowd even understood the difference between an Emerging sect struggling for recognition and a true Established one. But it didn’t matter. Every word that tumbled from the old man’s mouth landed like divine decree in their ears. They nodded, they gasped, they lapped it all up as though the heavens themselves were speaking.

Halfway through the rambling, Yalan tilted her head toward him.

“Can we leave already?”

Chen Ren shook his head.
“No. I want to see the competitors at least. There might be someone worth watching.”

Yalan scoffed. “I’ll eat my paw if that’s the case.”

He didn’t bother answering. He simply kept his gaze fixed on the old man, who at long last seemed to be wrapping things up.

The man spread his arms wide, the sleeves of his robe fluttering weakly. “Now, without further ado, we shall begin! And what better way to open than with the most thrilling of duels? Our first match will be between two rogue Cultivators who have already carved their names into the world. One is Xianglu City’s own shining prodigy, and the other has triumphed in tournaments across the Empire itself!”

The crowd stirred, leaning forward.

“Raise your voices,” the old man bellowed, “for Lu Tianyi and for Biyu!”

A fervent cheer erupted from the crowd. There were simultaneous feet stomping, hands slapping the rails and even voices that rose until the rickety benches seemed ready to splinter apart.

Girls near the front waved their handkerchiefs and blew kisses toward the figure stepping out from the far side.

It was a young man with a spear. His chin lifted high as he looked at the crowd. His smile carried the arrogance of someone who’d been put on pedestal by the crowd. It was probably Lu Tianyi—the hometown star.

But Chen Ren’s attention slid past him, drawn instead to the opposite side.

There, emerging from the gate, was a tall figure with a bow resting easily against his shoulder. His presence was quiet, unadorned. Yet what set him apart was clear even from a distance: his golden hair. In the empire, such a hair colour was rare. And rarer still was his chosen weapon. A bow and an arrow.

Yet Biyu walked with the calm of a man who had no need to prove himself.

The crowd roared for the spear, but Chen Ren found his eyes locked on the bow.

“Interesting,” he thought.

Biyu seemed far more composed than Lu Tianyi, who was still sneaking glances at the girls blowing kisses instead of the opponent standing across from him. Chen Ren could already picture how this might end, and it wasn’t pretty.

Unfortunately, both of them felt weak. Their steps, their breathing, even the faint fluctuations around them—none of it carried the weight of true qi. If Chen Ren had to guess, whatever “brilliance” the crowd expected would come only in footwork and speed. It was a performance, not a true qi battle.

The referee, the same frail old man, raised one arm. His robe sleeve flapped like a dying banner. “You are about to witness a contest between two young cultivators who may one day shape the empire itself!” He raised his voice, but it cracked in the middle. “But remember—” he cleared his throat. “the rules are clear. No killing, and no demonic techniques! You both know what to do.”

With that, he turned and shuffled away, vanishing into a door beneath the stands as though eager to escape before anything actually happened.

The moment his back disappeared, both fighters moved.

Biyu’s bow bent like a crescent moon. Three arrows whistled free in the span of a heartbeat, streaking across the sand toward Lu Tianyi.

The spear wielder grinned, showing too many teeth. He twisted aside, cloak fluttering as the arrows struck the ground in a neat triangle around him. He straightened, ready to jeer—only to freeze as more shafts came flying, one after another.

Chen Ren’s eyebrow lifted. The crowd around him exploded in cheers and gasps, as though the heavens had split open at the sight of a man shooting arrows quickly. But Chen Ren had to admit—Biyu’s hands were fast, smooth and looked well practiced. Each arrow left the bowstring with no wasted motion.

Lu Tianyi darted and spun, spear flashing as he kept his distance from the storm. To the crowd, it looked like dazzling footwork. But to Chen Ren, it was clear: the man was simply waiting. Waiting for the barrage to end. Waiting for Biyu’s quiver to empty.

But then it happened.

Another arrow hissed toward him, its flight no different from the rest. Lu Tianyi leapt, body twisting gracefully to clear it. But the shaft clattered to the ground and burst.

A sharp hiss filled the ground. Smoke curled upward, thick and fast, swallowing the ring in a choking veil.

The crowd gasped as the smoke blossomed outward, curling like a living thing. The girls who had been swooning over Lu Tianyi moments earlier now went pale, clutching at each other’s sleeves.

For common eyes, the ring was gone. The smoke had swallowed everything. But Chen Ren saw through it as easily as parting mist on a mountain path. Within that gray shroud, Biyu had already closed the distance, his bow abandoned at his side. Two curved daggers slid from his robe, steel glinting faintly.

The arrows, the rhythm, the relentless barrage—it had all been a lure. The archer had never intended to stay at range.

Inside the haze, Lu Tianyi hacked and coughed, his spear slashing through empty air. His thrusts were wild, driven more by panic than aim. Biyu slipped around them like a shadow, his movements sharp but economical. Then—swift as a snake—one dagger bit into Tianyi’s shoulder.

A cry rang out. Blood spilled, dark and hot against pale sand.

Biyu’s other hand shot forward, seizing the shaft of the spear.

To his credit, Lu Tianyi didn’t release it. Even with his shoulder torn, even with blood running freely down his arm, he gritted his teeth and held on. But strength was not with him. Biyu’s arms tightened; his body shifted. A single, brutal kick drove into Tianyi’s chest, hurling him out of the smoke.

The crowd roared in shock as their star champion rolled through the sand, coughing, clutching his weapon.

A moment later, Biyu stepped from the gray curtain. His hands snapped the spear in two as though it were nothing more than kindling. The jagged halves fell to the ground. He drew his bow once more, nocked another arrow, and leveled it at his fallen opponent.

“Surrender.”

The word was flat. His eyes were cold, almost manic when he tilted his head.

But Lu Tianyi’s eyes burned with rage. His voice cracked with fury as he pushed himself upright. “My father gifted me that spear!”

He lunged, blood dripping, fury carrying him forward. Chen Ren shook his head at the sight.

Anger is the end of a cultivator.

The match was already decided then.

Two arrows left Biyu’s bow in the same breath. The first Tianyi evaded, twisting aside with the stubborn instincts of a fighter. But the second hit. Biyu had already read him and mapped his movements. The arrow drove clean into his leg.

Lu Tianyi crashed into the sand, the fight torn from him in an instant.

The crowd screamed again, voices splitting between shock, despair, and awe.

Chen Ren leaned back against the wooden seat, eyes narrowing slightly. For all the smoke and spectacle, one truth was clear: Biyu wasn’t just an archer. He was a predator used to hunting.

Because the next second, without wasting a breath, Biyu closed the gap again.’

Lu Tianyi was still writhing in the sand, blood soaking into the dust, his leg pierced and his pride shattered. He had no chance to rise. Biyu seized him by the throat with one hand, lifting him like a farmer might lift a struggling chicken, and began to strike.

Fist after fist.

There were cracking sounds one after another.

The crowd that had cheered seconds ago now stared with wide, horrified eyes. Mothers covered their children’s faces and some men even shouted for him to stop. But Biyu didn't hear, or he didn’t want to. He hammered Tianyi again and again until his features swelled and blood streamed freely down his jaw.

Beside Chen Ren, Luo Feng exhaled through his teeth. “He’s ruthless,” he muttered.

But Chen Ren shook his head. “No. He’s doing it for a reason.”

Luo Feng turned, disbelief in his eyes. “What reason could there be for this?”

“Lu Tianyi belongs to a local power. That's pretty clear going by the support for him. If he lost, he would never let it stand. He would seek revenge, call it regaining honor. But if Tianyi is crushed so thoroughly that his spirit itself breaks, then there will be no will left to seek vengeance. That’s what Biyu is destroying—not the body, but the courage.”

“Won’t the clan still come after him for the humiliation?”

“They won’t,” Chen Ren replied. “Clans weigh profit above pride. They’ll see a youth capable of breaking their own favored son and will think of recruiting him rather than offending him. Especially when there’s a chance some sect will claim him by the end of this tournament. By then, he’ll either be gone from Xianglu or protected by a sect’s banner. To them, it’s not worth the risk.”

Slowly, Luo Feng nodded, though his eyes lingered on the scene with unease.

Down below, Biyu’s fists finally stilled. He released Lu Tianyi’s limp body, letting him crash to the ground like discarded meat. The hometown star didn’t move, his face swollen and unrecognizable.

At that exact moment, the referee shuffled back into the ring. His eyes softened as they fell on the unconscious youth, sympathy written in his lined face. But he quickly turned, raising his voice to the crowd as he gestured toward the archer.

“Victor of this round, in a most… spectacular display—Biyu! He will advance to the next stage of the tournament!”

The announcement was met with a roar, though it was fractured—half awe, half fear. The crowd cheered, but their voices carried a different note now, as if they weren’t sure whether they should be applauding or trembling.

Still, Chen Ren brought his hands together, offering his own measured clap.

It had been a performance far sharper than he’d expected. He doubted the other competitors could match it, much less surpass it.

Below, Lu Tianyi’s limp body was dragged out of the arena while Biyu walked calmly toward the exit, bow once more slung over his back.

He walked extremely calmly for a man who had pulped his opponent to a thin sheet.

He has a presence, Chen Ren thought. That much is clear.

Beside him, Yalan’s voice slipped into his mind.

“I believe we should move now. Unless you truly want to waste time watching more of this backwater tournament.”

“Okay. I’ve seen enough.” His eyes followed the departing figure of the archer. “But give me a while. I want to speak with him first.”

Yalan’s thought curled with amusement.

“Why? Do you want to recruit him to the sect?”

“No. Someone like him would have already been claimed long ago, even with poor spirit roots. If he isn’t, it means he isn’t willing. My interests are different. I just have a business proposal for him.”

“A business proposal? What? Do you plan to create a tournament yourself?”

“Yes. Actually, that’s exactly what I have in mind. I believe it could be a very lucrative endeavor. But it wouldn’t be like this,”—he gestured faintly toward the sand ring—“not a tournament like this as people know it.”

Yalan tilted her head.

“What do you mean? A tournament is a tournament. They’re all like this. Some just have better arrangements and fighters.”

“I agree. But these matches don’t guarantee spectacle. Most are one-sided. Many lack fire, lack drama. If the crowd isn’t stirred, if their hearts don’t race, then it isn’t worth watching. I would change that. Add spice into it.”

“I don’t know how you can put ‘spice’ into a tournament. Spice is for food, not fighting.”

“You will see. From where I come from, entertainment is as important as the fight itself. People crave it. Feed that craving, and you control more than their cheers—you control their eyes, their coin, their time.”

While speaking with Yalan, Chen Ren rose and began threading his way down through the crowded stands. The planks creaked underfoot, and the murmur of the audience still lingered in the air, half shaken from the ruthless display they had just witnessed.

His eyes, however, were fixed on the ground floor. If he moved quickly, he might reach Biyu before the inevitable happened—before recruiters from petty sects or ambitious clans swarmed in with offers, dangling promises of tutelage and advancement.

Chen Ren knew his own idea wasn’t something he could act on immediately. The foundation alone would take time. Marketing, gathering cultivators, influence—such things couldn’t be built in a day. And he already had his hands full: the pill business was steady but growing, talisman production was waiting to begin. His table was full.

But still, this was worth planting the seed.

A tournament. Not this ragged parody of one, not these empty boasts and half-trained fighters. A true spectacle. A new kind of gathering that would draw not only the eyes of commoners, but the attention of rogue cultivators across the empire.

The genius of it was simple. Chen Ren would not make them fight for vague rewards. He would pay them. Spirit stones for every participant, win or lose.

If there was a rogue cultivator in the Empire foolish enough to reject such an offer, Chen Ren would call him an idiot. And if Chen Ren himself failed to turn a profit from such an endeavor, then he would be an even bigger idiot.

But he doubted that.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

174. Red Peak

Like he had thought, Biyu already had a cluster of sect members packed into his room, each one talking over the other, dangling promises of glory and status. The tournament officials had assigned each participant a room for this exact reason, and sure enough, the recruiters circled like hawks.

Chen Ren stood outside with arms folded, waiting.

One by one, the visitors filed out. He saw the soured faces, as though Biyu had spat in their tea.

Once the last recruiter walked past the doorway, Chen Ren finally stepped inside.

The man on the bed didn’t even bother to look up.

“Get out!”

Chen Ren hadn’t spoken a word. For a moment, he almost smiled. Then, without raising his voice, he let a ripple of qi stir from his body—though it was a ripple, it was strong.

The air grew heavy, and the floorboards gave a low groan.

That finally earned him a glance. Biyu’s shoulders stiffened, and his eyes narrowed, but his tone softened. “What do you want?” he asked, standing up.

“I’m not here to recruit you,” Chen Ren said.

By this point, Chen Ren had realised certain things about cultivators; especially about how there were types of them. Some of them aimed for the heavens, wanting eternal life—freedom from mortal constraints. But there was another group, the ones who just wanted… a better life and money. Of course, they wanted to increase their cultivation, but not more than a better life and money.

And the man in front of him was the second type.

As soon as he said he didn’t want to recruit him, his eyes perked.

“Then… What do you want?” he raked a hand through his blonde hair.

“I’ll be direct, because I know you must’ve been tired by now. There’s a tournament I want you to join. Win or lose, you’ll be paid in spirit stones just for standing in the ring.”

The word spirit stones changed the air. Greed and hesitation flickered across Biyu’s face, and when Chen Ren drew out his sect token, the decision was made. The faint glow from the carved jade, the seal of authority, silenced any doubts of his identity.

“I’ll tell you no more than this,” Chen Ren said, slipping the token back into his sleeve. “Six months from now, be there in Meadow Village if you are interested. It’s not very far from here…” Chen Ren gave the simplest way to reach the village, but by the end of his explanation, the man was frowning.

“And what if it just turned out to be a waste of my time?”

Chen Ren didn't reply and simply flicked his fingers. A single spirit stone arced through the lamplight and landed with a soft thud on the wooden floor between them. Its glow spread faintly across the walls.

Biyu’s hand darted down faster than he meant it to. His thumb ran across the smooth surface, and the greed in his eyes hardened into belief. Spirit stones were rare enough for rogue cultivators; to be given one as a mere promise was something else entirely.

“I’ll be there,” Biyu said at last.

Chen Ren turned without another word.

With the display of a spirit stone and spatial ring, at the very least, Biyu would grow curious enough to seek out Meadow Village when the months had passed. That was all Chen Ren needed.

With that matter settled, he didn’t linger in Xianglu Town. There was little point. The tournament still dragged on, but his interest in watching more hopefuls swing fists and blades was shallow at best. More importantly, if Wang Jun kept lying dormant inside the box, there was no doubt the proud head would raise a storm the moment he was let out. Chen Ren had no patience for that kind of tantrum.

So they set out for Red Peak City.

The roads were undeniably long, dust rising under each roll of their carriage, and Chen Ren let the days fall into rhythm. Mornings, he would call halts at small streams or roadside clearings, tempering flesh and bone with body cultivation drills until his muscles burned and his breathing grew sharp. Afternoons belonged to his mind, Wang Jun’s arrogant voice never failing to cut across his concentration with jabs, boasts, and scorn. Evenings, when the light dimmed and the campfire cracked, Chen Ren sat in silence, forcing himself to dredge up every memory of Red Peak City that the body’s former owner had left behind.

Most of them were like poison.

His predecessor had been careless, a man who treated enemies like weeds that would never grow back. But weeds always returned, and sometimes with sharper thorns. Faces surfaced in his mind: fellow clan members wronged, rivals mocked, alliances shattered.

One memory stood out clearer than the rest. A banquet. His predecessor had smashed a jar of strong liquor across the face of a young master from the Huang clan—glass, blood, and alcohol soaking the man’s eye. He had nearly been blinded. What followed was not a duel, not an apology, but weeks of simmering tension between the clans that could have ignited into bloodshed at any spark.

Chen Ren let out a quiet breath as the fire cracked. No wonder so many wanted him dead. No wonder so many women would rather bury a blade in him than spare a word.

He touched the inside of his sleeve, where Hong Yi’s face-changing mask lay hidden. It was worth more than spirit stones to him now. With it, he could walk into Red Peak City as a stranger, learn the currents of its politics, and move unnoticed. Without it… revealing his face was nothing but an invitation to old grudges and fresh trouble.

Trouble he had no interest in shouldering.

In this era, chastity was important for a woman, one that everyone took very seriously, and Chen Ren’s predecessor had trampled it often with his loose mouth. Rumors, real or imagined, lingered in the mind of others far longer than wine did on the tongue, and Chen Ren had no desire to shoulder that mountain of resentment.

Yet even with all his unease, there was a spark of anticipation burning in him. But more than the city itself, there was the sinkhole that he was excited to see.

He had seen it in his predecessor's memories, but well, the truth was, memories were a poor substitute for sight.

The first glimpse came as they crested the main road through the mountains. The path wound narrow, curling upward through stone passes, until at last the horizon widened.

Red Peak City stood above, even its foundations carved from a mountain peak long ago, the stone flattened by the hands of cultivators whose names were now lost to dust.

From this height, Chen Ren could see far: rolling hills painted green with pine, a silver river winding through the valley, caravans like ants moving beneath the sun.

But none of it mattered.

All eyes, his included, were drawn to the sinkhole.

He inhaled sharply and forgot to exhale for the briefest moment.

The sinkhole dominated the land like a wound in the earth, vast enough to swallow a city whole. The edges were curved downward in perfect darkness, as though the heavens themselves had pressed a thumb into the soil and left behind a void.

It was huge, whole and void.

From its depths, mist coiled upward in slow, endless streams. Not mere fog, Chen Ren could feel it from where he stood. Qi. so dense it had form, curling in pale waves that shimmered faintly in the light.

He narrowed his eyes. Even mortals, dull to the flow of heaven and earth, would see this haze. For a cultivator, it was blinding. He could almost taste it in the air, invigorating, seeping into his pores without effort.

Then he stilled.

Something moved along the sinkhole’s edge. A shadow, broad-winged, gliding in slow circles. Another followed, then a third, wings beating against the rising mist. Beasts. Not ones he knew, their forms strange, part avian yet too large, their cries muffled by distance.

Chen Ren’s grip tightened on the window's edge. If such creatures soared freely along the mouth of the pit, what lurked in the depths below?

The road bent onward toward Red Peak City, but his gaze stayed on that void. He felt as though it watched him back.

Wang Jun’s voice drifted out, lazy but edged with interest.

He was propped up by Luo Feng, his gaze fixed on the sinkhole as well.

“There’s definitely a higher-realm beast down there,” he said. “Maybe more than one. Hibernating.”

Chen Ren turned his head. His eyes narrowed. “You think the qi is coming from the beasts, not some artifact like the clans claim?”

“Both,” Wang Jun replied without hesitation. “I’d wager the beasts are leaking qi without even knowing it, enough to keep weaker creatures away. But this pit… no. Too unnatural. A place like this was carved open for a reason. I wouldn’t be surprised if a cultivator’s entire inheritance slumbers down there. And I doubt anyone’s mapped even half of it.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly. That lined up with his own suspicions. If the local clans had the strength to claim such a prize, the sinkhole would already be theirs. But they didn’t. Even united, they would bleed themselves dry to bring down a single higher-realm beast. Against multiple? Their bloodlines would end in the pit.

His gaze lingered on the void, mist curling upward like breath from some hidden giant.

Then a soft brush against his side drew him back. Yalan had padded close, her paw pressing lightly against his leg, her feline eyes narrowing as if she could read the thoughts forming in his mind.

“You’re not planning to dive in there, are you?” she asked. “Compete with half the clans for whatever artifact might be inside?”

Chen Ren gave her a small smile and shook his head. “I still like living. Jumping into that pit for treasure is just a fast way to make every clan in the region my enemy.”

“Then what are you scheming?” Luo Feng asked.

“I’m reaching the peak of the first step of body cultivation. To temper my bones permanently, I’ll need the blood of a beast. A tier two at least. Preferably at the peak.” His gaze drifted back to the sinkhole. “And I’m wondering if I’ll find one worthy enough down there.”

“Why not hunt around Meadow instead? You know the land. There’ll be a tier-two beast somewhere, and you’ll have home ground advantage.”

“What I need isn’t just blood. I need a beast with strong bones, harder than the ones near our sect. None of them are enough for what I want. Around the edges of the sinkhole, though…” His eyes lingered on the mist-shrouded abyss. “There, I might find one worth the effort, and sharpen my skills in the process.”

Yalan’s tail flicked once. “You can't even use much qi without risking your star space breaking. How do you plan on fighting something like that?”

Chen Ren gave her a half-smile. “The same way I always fight. With tricks. We’ll worry about the beast once we find it.”

Before anyone could answer, Zhou Ping’s voice called from the driver’s bench.

“We’re close to the city, Sect Leader Chen. The gates are in sight.”

Almost on cue, Whiskey stirred from his nap, blinking blearily at the carriage walls before slumping back into his seat with a grunt.

Chen Ren chuckled, then glanced toward Wang Jun. The man’s expression was already sour.

“I’ll let you out once we reach the inn,” Chen Ren said. “At this point, I should just make the box bigger, throw in a book, and leave you there.”

Wang Jun clicked his tongue, though a spark of amusement slipped through.

“Some spatial arrays on it would do nicely.”

“I don’t have the means to carve spatial arrays.”

“I can teach you,” Wang Jun replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes. “And why is it you always reveal some new piece of knowledge only when it benefits you?”

“To keep myself useful,” Wang Jun said without hesitation.

Chen Ren shook his head with a low laugh, but his mind was already turning, tracing possibilities. Spatial runes. The uses were endless.

Wang Jun probably knew the secrets behind a spatial ring. Chen Ren could feel it—the old head always had that thing about him, the kind that came from walking through eras most people only read about in crumbling jade slips. But knowing was one thing, having the means was another. Even mighty sects couldn’t casually forge such treasures. Spatial rings weren’t like swords or talismans; they were rarities pulled out of ancient tombs, dusted off from forgotten ruins, and passed down like heirlooms.

Anji had once told him that the few rings the Void Blade Sect owned were relics, each older than the sect’s current generation of elders. Some might even date back to Wang Jun’s own youth. Chen Ren tapped his fingers against the box on his lap, eyes narrowing.

Expanding its space with runes wasn’t the same as crafting a ring, but it would be a step in that direction. He could practice, and lay the foundation. A way to dip his feet into the vast river of artificing.

His thoughts spun faster. Maybe the sect really did need its own artificer branch. Hong Yi and Feiyu could use it well… but both were only two people. Runes and treasures ate up time like a beast devoured meat. To grow strong, the sect needed more. More hands, more minds, more cultivators willing to burn incense and nights over spirit ores and runes.

The carriage jolted, slowing to a crawl before finally stopping. Chen Ren leaned out the window. At the gate, Zhou Ping was speaking with the guards. A small line of carriages clogged the entrance, wheels creaking, horses snorting impatiently.

Chen Ren’s gaze lingered on the guards. Different faces than what he remembered from memories. Good. Even so, Zhou Ping had to bargain, give them some coins and nod more than once before the armored men finally waved them through. Chen Ren exhaled softly. Cities never changed; gates were always a wall of obstacles, and guards always enjoyed stretching their authority. Always.

Once past the threshold, the city unfolded. It laid bare, welcoming their caravan.

Red Peak.

There were familiar roofs of dark tiles sloping beneath the afternoon sun, one after another. The streets were alive—hawkers shouting over each other, children weaving through the crowd, and cultivators in robes of every cut and color. Each style marked a different faction, and together they painted the streets with rivalry and uneasy peace.

Chen Ren’s chest tightened. Memories stirred from the predecessor. Years had passed, yet the city looked almost the same, as if time here dared not move too quickly.

Zhou Ping guided the carriage through twisting streets until the tiled roofs gave way to the quieter edges of the city. It all went by so fast yet so slow, he absorbed as much as he could.

When they reached where the lamps grew fewer and the noise of the markets faded, a squat three-story building stood beneath the shadow of old cypress trees.

HEISHU INN

Big, bold letters carved themselves in front of it.

Few people lingered in this district. Most travelers preferred the busy inns near the central square, where rumors and wine flowed freely. Heishu was different—too far, too quiet, the sort of place that only those with something to hide would choose.

Chen Ren stepped down first, his boots crunching against the gravel path. His eyes lingered on the dark windows. Strange… an inn with so few guests should have long gone under. Unless the owner has another way of surviving.

He didn’t think further and moved forward. From behind, Luo Feng grabbed Wang Jun. Zhou Ping, Yalan and Whiskey followed them.

The door creaked open. A man in plain gray robes emerged, his aura faint, but it was there. His eyes swept over Chen Ren and the others, pausing just long enough to make his wariness clear. Rogue cultivator, no doubt. Someone who had learned to survive by watching too much and saying too little.

The man didn’t bow, and didn't offer the usual inn owner’s smile. Instead, he walked around the desk, and silently led them to the first floor, showing them the first set of rooms in the corridor. “Rooms are clean.”

Chen Ren flicked a small spirit stone toward him. The owner caught it, weighing it in his palm. “Don’t disturb us,” Chen Ren said evenly. “And if anyone comes sniffing for news, you’ll let me know.”

The owner tucked the stone away without so much as a raised brow. “Food will come when you call for it. Beyond that, I ask nothing.”

Chen Ren inclined his head. He liked men who knew when to stay quiet.

Without another word. They walked in.

Inside, the room was modest but clean. A low bed, a lacquered table, and shutters that sealed tight against prying eyes. Chen Ren sank onto the mattress, its straw filling rustling under him. Not the most comfortable, but this would do.

He pulled out Wang Jun from the box and placed him on the bed.

“So… what now?” Yalan stretched on the floor.

“Very simple. First, we gather information. We need to know what the clans have been up to, who’s grown fat, who’s grown weak. Only then can we plan.

“If we want the medallion, we don’t need to steal it. That’s just asking for problems. We make ourselves strong enough, valuable enough, that the Chen Clan has no choice but to sit down at the table with us. At that point… we can ask for the medallion in exchange for the business.”

Luo Feng raised two fingers. “That… is assuming they don’t know its worth. If they do, it won’t leave their hands.”

Wang Jun snorted. “They let you walk out of the city with one already. Do you really think they understand what they hold? Hmph. If they had the faintest clue, it would never have left the clan’s ancestral vaults.”

“All right. Let’s say you’re right. How do you plan to get this information? The clans won’t exactly hand it to you,” Yalan looked at him with a huge question in her eyes.

Chen Ren’s smile widened, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “That part is even simpler.”

He raised two fingers.

“I need two things. Good alcohol…” He paused, his grin turning sly. “…and a dumb young master.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

175. Alcohol and young master

Chen Ren had come to understand something about the world: there were many ways to make people talk. Some required silver, some required patience, and some required nothing more than the right ear in the right place. The most common way was to buy information. Every major city had its shadowy network of brokers, men and women who made their living whispering secrets for coins. Another was to scatter men across inns and taverns, listening as drink loosened tongues and gossip slipped free. With sharp senses, even a body forging realm cultivator could catch every slurred word, every careless slip. Chen Ren was almost certain Tang Boming had used both methods to gather the flood of knowledge he always seemed to possess.

But Chen Ren did not want to follow that road.

Money was easy to spend, difficult to protect. A broker who smiled today could sell him out tomorrow, and Chen Ren had lived long enough in the Chen Clan to know that information was guarded as tightly as cultivation manuals. As for placing men in taverns—who would he send? How long would it take before they earned trust, before rumor separated itself from truth? Too long, too messy. And every word still needed to be weighed and tested.

No. He had no patience for that. What he needed was information that was quick and clean, something he could use the moment he heard it.

He had thought of this even before their journey to Red Peak City. A simpler method: find someone who talked too much. A blabbermouth was worth more than a dozen spies, and thankfully, every city was full of them.

So, once they were settled, Chen Ren stepped out into the streets with Yalan beside him. A slight change in posture, a different rhythm in his step, and the mask hid his true features so well even his own clan would not know him. The city buzzed around them—merchants calling out wares, hawkers shoving food at passersby, drinkers already stumbling out of inns despite the hour. Somewhere in this sea of faces, Chen Ren knew, was a loose tongue waiting to betray its secrets.

Wang Jun had been left behind with a book. Luo Feng had gone to wander the seed market, chasing after rare sprouts and the chance of new books on spirit farming. Zhou Ping had been sent to scour the city’s markets. Alcohol, perfume, cloth, even dyes—if there was a coin to be made, Chen Ren wanted to know about it.

Red Peak City was no dusty backwater. Wealth flowed here in carriages and silk bundles, and merchants came from half the empire to taste a share of it. If he could find the right person, someone with loose lips and a weakness, he might draw out not only gossip but also business opportunities.

Beside him, Yalan’s voice slipped into his mind like a whisper of wind. “That face and robes. You look… unappealing.”

Chen Ren glanced down at himself. The robes were fine, cut from spirit-woven silk that shimmered faintly in the light. Lines of silver ran along the hems, catching the eye even when he wished they wouldn’t. Classy, expensive, the kind of clothing that turned heads. And they did—everywhere he walked, people stared. Yet he knew it wasn’t only the robes. The mask had given him a face sharper than his own, handsome to the point of arrogance, sculpted to draw attention rather than hide it. Exactly what he wanted.

“Unappealing?” He let a small smile curl at the corner of his mouth. “You know why I chose this look.”

Yalan gave him a side-eye, her whiskers twitching. “It feels less like you’re searching for someone to manipulate and more like you’re looking for a lover.”

Chen Ren visibly shuddered. “That’s the last thing I want. Just play along.” His gaze swept the street ahead, where tavern signs creaked in the afternoon breeze. “We’re almost at the ‘Wooden Gold Tavern’”

Yalan arched a brow. “In the afternoon? Who would even be there this early?”

Chen Ren’s smile widened. “Someone who loves alcohol and good food. The kind of person who talks too much, and exactly the person we want.”

The tavern was easy to spot, its wide red roof gleaming under the afternoon sun. Like most buildings in Red Peak City, it carried the color that had given the place its name. Chen Ren knew the place well from memory—its reputation, its patrons, and most importantly, the kind of talk that spilled freely within its walls.

He pushed open the heavy wooden doors without hesitation.

The air inside was warm, thick with the smell of stale wine and roasted meat. Yet the place was far from lively. Only a scattering of men sat around the tables, most of them mercenaries by the look of it. Their armor was battered, their blades resting casually at their sides. The scrape of tankards and the low murmur of conversation filled the room, but Chen Ren’s eyes moved quickly across them. These weren’t the kind of men who hoarded secrets—brutal, straightforward types at best. Nothing he wanted.

He strode past them anyway, boots clicking against the wooden floor, and claimed a table at the back. The largest one in the tavern. Yalan slid into the chair beside him and sprawled out.

A waiter hurried over, bowing with the careful respect given to someone who looked wealthy and important. Chen Ren ordered without hesitation: the finest alcohol they had and a plate of steak to go with it. When the man retreated, Chen Ren leaned back in his chair, settling into patience.

“You should have ordered something for me too,” Yalan said, her tone flat but her eyes glinting with amusement.

“You can share my steak,” Chen Ren replied, tilting his head toward her.

“I doubt it will be spirit beast meat.”

“This place is more about alcohol than food,” he said, lips curving slightly. “I’ll get you something proper once we’re done here. It shouldn’t take more than a few hours."

“You’re awfully confident.”

Chen Ren’s eyes flicked toward the door, already imagining who might stumble through. “Afternoon is when the worst of the young masters stagger in here, demanding wine. Half-drunk already, their tongues loose before the first cup even touches their lips.”

“And with a war going on?” Yalan asked softly. “Do you think they’ll still come?”

Chen Ren let out a quiet snort. “More, during a war,” he said, his tone certain. “These drunks are useless even if they’re born into the right families. When swords are drawn, no one cares about them. They’re left behind, ignored, and so they drink all the harder.”

Yalan only sighed, shifting into her seat, stretching as though she had settled in for a nap.

Chen Ren, meanwhile, let his ears wander. The mercenaries nearby spoke loud enough for half the room to hear. At first, their talk brushed against something interesting—a hunt in the Sinkhole, chasing some beast for its parts. His focus sharpened for a moment, but the subject passed as quickly as it came. Soon enough, the talk returned to what truly stirred their blood: prostitutes. Crude laughter, boasts, and comparisons filled the air, drowning out anything useful.

Chen Ren’s lip twitched in disappointment. Mercenaries were cultivators in name, but their ambitions rarely reached higher than their next cup of wine or warm bed.

Time slipped by in this haze of voices. The steak and alcohol arrived at last, carried by the waiter who bowed with exaggerated respect. No doubt he had mistaken Chen Ren’s bearing and robes for that of a powerful clan heir. That was fine. Illusions were meant to be believed.

Chen Ren tasted the steak first—decent enough, though nothing to impress. The alcohol burned more than it pleased, but he drank anyway, letting the image of indulgence build around him. He wasn’t fond of alcohol, but appearances mattered more than preference.

Even after half the meal was gone, the door remained quiet. No spoiled young masters barged in demanding cups, no loud voices spilling secrets with their arrogance. But Chen Ren did not mind. Patience was a blade he had learned to sharpen well. If it took another round of wine to keep the mask in place, so be it.

Yalan snorted beside him, eyes half-lidded. “I could have been exploring the city instead of sitting here. Checking on some… past matters.”

Chen Ren tilted his head, studying her. “What matters?”

“Just things I left unfinished.” She changed her posture to turn to his opposite side. “Nothing that concerns you.”

Chen Ren opened his mouth, ready to press Yalan further, but the creak of the tavern door broke his thought. A loud, grating voice followed almost instantly.

“Bring me the best wine you have! Young Master Yu has come to drink!”

Chen Ren’s head turned. The newcomer strode in with the swagger of someone who believed the world owed him respect. He was a burly man, his robes embroidered with gold threads that screamed of wealth, though the way he wore them made them seem more gaudy than noble. His long black hair was tied up with a bright ribbon, bouncing as he moved toward the counter.

The waiter who had served Chen Ren earlier stiffened, color draining from his face as the young master bore down on him.

“Where’s my wine?” he demanded, slamming a heavy palm on the counter.

The waiter swallowed, his voice trembling. “Young Master Yu… the boss said… you must first pay your tab before we can serve you more.”

The man’s nostrils flared. “Didn’t you already send it to my family?”

“We did,” the waiter stammered. “But there was no reply. We even went to your clan’s gates, but the guards said… you must pay for it yourself.”

Young master Yu’s face darkened. He stomped his foot so hard the floorboards rattled. “Nonsense! Lies! The great Yu Clan would never turn away their own young master.”

“I’m only repeating what happened…” The waiter edged backward, clutching his tray like a shield.

“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped, stepping forward with clenched fists. “Bring me the wine and food now or else!”

It looked as if the young master was about to strike the poor man. Around the room, the mercenaries kept drinking, their eyes glinting with amusement at the unfolding scene but not a single one moving to interfere.

Chen Ren’s gaze slid to Yalan. I told you so.

Yalan answered only with a soft, dismissive snort.

Pushing his chair back, Chen Ren rose and walked toward the counter. His steps were unhurried, deliberate, and yet each one drew eyes in the quiet tavern. The waiter noticed him first, his desperate gaze locking onto Chen Ren as if he were salvation itself.

But instead of helping, Chen Ren reached out and seized the waiter’s collar in one smooth motion.

The waiter’s eyes went wide as Chen Ren’s grip tightened on his collar.

“Don’t you hear the young master?” Chen Ren asked crudely. “He wants food and alcohol. Why aren’t you understanding your place and giving him what he wants?”

The man trembled. “It’s not my decision—it’s what the owner—”

Chen Ren cut him off sharply. “It doesn’t matter. Can’t you see? Young Master Yu is from a reputable family. By forcing him to make a scene in your tavern, you drag down his reputation. Do you really think you’ll keep your head if word of this spreads?”

The waiter’s face drained of blood. His knees seemed ready to buckle, and for a moment Chen Ren thought the man might faint. A pang of guilt flickered through him, and he resolved to leave a generous tip later. But the act was working—better than he had hoped.

Across from them, Young Master Xu’s scowl faded into surprise. Then his expression shifted, a pleased, almost smug smile tugging at his lips. His gaze lingered on Chen Ren, a spark of wonder glinting in his eyes.

Chen Ren turned smoothly, offering the man a shallow bow. “Young Master Yu, this waiter—and his owner—are nothing but fools. I’ll deal with them properly later. For now, if you wish to dine, why not join me? A man of your standing deserves better company. I would be honored to share a table with someone from such a distinguished family.”

Yu’s gaze flicked up and down, taking in Chen Ren’s robes of spiritual silk, the handsome face carved by the mask. After a moment, he gave a satisfied nod. “I would like that. Are you a traveler?”

“Yes. Of a sort.” Chen Ren inclined his head, voice smooth. “My name is Renjie. Why don’t you go ahead and take a seat at my table? I’ll be with you shortly, after I deal with this man.”

“Good. Good.” Young master Yu’s smile widened as he strutted toward the largest table at the back, clearly pleased with him.

As the young master moved away, Chen Ren loosened his grip on the waiter. With a subtle motion, he pressed a small pouch of coins into the man’s hand before letting go.

The waiter still stood frozen, clutching the pouch of coins as if it were the only thing anchoring him to the world. His eyes were wide, a man who had just glimpsed death in the space of a heartbeat was now handed a lot of money.

“Wha—why?”

Chen Ren leaned in and cleared his throat. “Just bring me the strongest alcohol you have and good food—whatever that man likes. Don’t question anything. I’ll cover it, and there’ll be another tip once I’m done.”

The sudden change left the waiter blinking, mouth half open, as though his mind could not catch up. But Chen Ren was already turning away, moving toward the back table where Young Master Yu had planted himself like a lord on a throne.

His gaze wasn’t on the wine, nor the food, but on Yalan. She sat there lazily, tail curling with bored grace, her feline eyes half-lidded as if the world itself wasn’t worth her time.

When Chen Ren slid into his seat, the man's chin tilted. “That cat is yours?”

Chen Ren’s lips curved. “Yes. A spirit beast I bought from a beast master. Just a hobby of mine.”

Yalan’s snort was soft, derisive, but Young master Yu didn’t even notice. His eyes widened instead, surprise and envy mixing on his face. “Must have cost a fortune.”

“A little,” Chen Ren admitted easily, and crossed his arms. “But I’m generous with money. A cultivator measures wealth in years, not coins.”

He lifted a glass and slid it across the table. “Here. Try this. It’s good. I’ve ordered more.”

He accepted it, lifting the drink with both eagerness and vanity. He took a sip, his frown melting into a grin. “Mm. It is good. You’re generous and well studied. Refined, even.”

Chen Ren waved the compliment away smoothly. “I could say the same. You carry yourself with distinction. Strong, dignified.”

The words hit their mark. Young master Yu's face flushed, pride blooming where anger had wilted earlier. “You have a good eye, Renjie. I’m from the Yu clan. Most here aren’t worth my time, but you—” he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret, “—you seem like someone worth knowing.”

Chen Ren returned the smile, his eyes warm, his posture open. “Then I would be honored to know such a personality as yours.”

But behind the mask of courtesy, his thoughts were sharp. He was never taught to not take free food and flattery from a smiling man… a fool who thinks himself clever is really the easiest prey of all.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

176. Drunk ramblings

It turned out Young master Yu was far more stupid than even his expectations, the man only needed a little bit of alcohol in his system and feeling like he was heard before babbling about a lot of stuff. From his name which was Yu Murong to even about his clan.

The tavern’s lamps burned low, smoke from incense coiling into the beams above. The tables near them were filled with merchants and travelers as the day moved, the clatter of dice and laughter rising like waves.

Yet at Chen Ren’s table, only one voice mattered. Yu Murong’s voice.

His face was red already, eyes half-lidded, lips loose. He wasn’t drunk enough to fall asleep, but drunk enough that all his pride and guardedness had melted away. A cultivator should have been able to hold his liquor better, but from the way the man swayed after a single jar, Chen Ren was certain he had only just stepped into the peak of the body forging realm, if at all. That explained everything—the way his qi felt shallow, the way his body gave in to wine like a weak reed in water.

Chen Ren did not need much effort to guess the truth. Yu Murong wasn’t listened to in his clan. Nobody important gave him a voice. When he had companions, they were nothing more than lackeys chasing free food and prostitutes. Lackeys didn’t last long, and once his novelty faded, he was left to sulk in his silks, resenting everyone. So now, finding someone important, someone rich, and—more importantly—someone who nodded at his words, Yu Murong forgot to build any walls at all.

The alcohol did the rest.

Chen Ren sat quiet, barely sipping from his own cup, while Murong filled the silence with the entire history of his shallow life. From his preference in silk colors to his obsession with embroidery styles, from his collection of boots made from imported leather to his endless dream of owning a spirit beast.

“I almost got one, Brother Renjie,” he said, his voice thick as he slapped the table with a wet palm. “A wyvern egg! Do you know how rare that is? It was right there at the auction, mine for the taking! But no—my clan elders pulled me back, said it was too expensive. Too expensive! When have they ever cared for me? I should have had that egg, do you hear me? It was fate!”

He scowled into his cup, shoulders slumping, before pouring again.

Chen Ren only smiled faintly, tilting his head as if he truly cared.

Yu Murong’s resentment didn’t stop at missed eggs. His voice grew louder with each jar, circling back to the same wound—his cousins.

“They’re not even as talented as me. Fewer spirit roots, weaker bones. Yet every time I turn around, one of them has broken through, and what do I get? Mockery. The elders say, ‘Murong, you must put your heart into cultivation.’ My heart? My heart wants wine and freedom, not meditation in some cave!” He stabbed a finger in the air, nearly spilling the jar. “And when I tell them that, they look at me like I’m worthless. Worthless!”

Chen Ren let the man rage, let him pour out all the poison. He had no reason to remember most of it. He only sifted, like a miner washing sand away to glimpse specks of gold beneath.

He guided gently. “Your clan seems harsh. Do they treat everyone the same?”

“Of course not,” he snorted. “The main family shines while the rest of us polish their boots. I’m expected to obey, to nod when they give orders, to take the scraps of glory when battles end. Do you know what I did last season in a beast hunt? I counted arrows. Arrows! While my cousins rode to the front.”

“Arrows are important,” Chen Ren said mildly.

“Not when you are me.” Yu Murong leaned across the table, breath thick with wine and oyster brine. “I was born for more that that…”

On and on it went. Childhood embarrassments, tutors he hated, servants who had betrayed his trust, friends who vanished after using him. Yu Murong spoke of jade pillars in his clan manor, hidden granaries, small gates in garden walls. He even bragged of the sneaky routes he used to escape curfew.

Chen Ren stored only what mattered. The rest washed past him like rain on stone.

The hours crept by. Five jars were emptied, the dregs dripping sticky across the table. A mountain of meat bun crumbs and oyster shells piled between them. Yu Murong’s eyes shone with the pride of a man who thought himself understood for the first time in years.

Chen Ren finally nudged the conversation to the main topic, voice smooth and calm. “I’m also hearing things about a war that's going on. Your clan must be a part of it. What's that about?”

Yu Murong froze for a heartbeat, then puffed his chest, pleased at the chance to speak of grand matters. His words slurred.

“Yes… yes, the war. You see, Brother Renjie, the three clans are tearing each other apart.”

He suddenly stomped the table. The plates jumped, shells rattled, and an oyster flew into the air.

To Chen Ren’s amusement, the man actually leaned forward and snapped it out of the air with his mouth. He chewed triumphantly, wine dripping down his chin.

“Can you believe it, Renjie?” Yu Murong said, voice muffled with oyster flesh. “My own father is ignoring me these days all because of some artifact the clans are fighting over in the sinkhole. I tried talking to him, but he waved me away like I was air. How is that fair?”

Chen Ren set down his cup and clicked his tongue. “It’s horrible. Those types of people shouldn’t be parents.”

Yu Murong froze, then nodded quickly, pleased to be agreed with. He gulped his wine, swallowed the oyster whole, and banged his chest.

“But what is this war that’s going on? I haven’t seen anything. I’ve been in the city for two days, and it’s calm. I’ve only heard things.”

Yu Murong gave a snort, waving his greasy hand. “That’s because the city lord forbade us from destroying public property. Otherwise half these streets would already be rubble. No, the real fighting is at the sinkhole and outside the city walls. It’s a mess, Renjie. A big mess. No one’s figured out the way to the artifact yet, so the three clans—Huang, Chen, and my Yu clan—just fight each other more than the beasts inside. Hah! Do you know? Some of my cousins are already dead! And still it goes on.”

“If it’s so dangerous, why doesn’t your patriarch or the stronger clan members step in? Surely they could end it.”

Yu Murong barked out a humorless laugh. “Because they are fucking cowards. That’s why. They hide behind excuses. They say if any elder goes, it will make it look like the clan’s younger generation is weak. They say if a strong man dies, the whole clan will suffer. Bah! So they send us instead—the young ones, the cousins, the ones who can be replaced. They hide their fear behind words about ‘face.’ Face!”

He sneered, poured another cup with unsteady hands, and downed it in a single swallow. The jar clinked hard against the table.

Then he grabbed another meat bun, tore it open, and stuffed it into his mouth. Grease smeared across his lips as he chewed, still muttering. “Cowards, all of them.”

Chen Ren chewed slowly on Yu Murong’s words, his mind turning them over one by one. They were the same reasons he had already guessed. If a higher-up in any clan moved, then the others would be forced to move as well. In the Kalian Empire, the old monsters rarely stirred. They only acted when the matter was truly grave—like when the Blazing Ember Sect Leader had personally struck down Shen Linao.

He reached for a meat bun, tore it in half, and let the steam roll out before taking a bite. He chewed, swallowed, then looked across the table at the young master.

“So,” he said quietly, “the younger generations are just killing themselves.”

“Precisely! You see why I’m here drinking in the afternoon? If I stay in my clan, they’ll send me to die too. Hah! And for what? They aren’t even winning.”

Chen Ren tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Who is then?” The words left his mouth faster than he intended.

Yu Murong paused mid-chew, oyster juice dripping from his lip. His eyes blinked slowly, as if the thought needed time to move through his fogged mind. Chen Ren held himself still, wondering if he had pushed too quickly.

But then he swallowed hard and said, voice low and grudging, “Not the Yu clan. Not right now.” He shoved the bun into his mouth, speaking around it. “Both my clan and the Huang clan are doing badly. They charged in early, rushing to claim the artifact, but the Chen clan was already there. They ambushed them. My clan’s top fighters are still bleeding in their beds. Wounds like that, even if you drown them in pills, they don’t vanish overnight. If the injury’s deep, it takes months. So the Chen clan… they’ve already got the lead.”

Chen Ren’s gaze flicked toward Yalan, who had been quietly watching from the side. Their eyes met, a silent current running between them. Then Chen Ren turned back, his voice calm and even.

“Why do they think they’re close? The artifact hasn’t even been found yet.”

“Because recently the Chen clan went deeper into the sinkhole and found gold coins. Old ones. Relics. They think the artifact’s right under their feet. I won’t tell you how I know this, but it’s true.”

Chen Ren didn’t even need to ask him. He could already guess the truth. It would be strange if the clans hadn’t put spies in each other’s camps. Even if not spies, there were always loose tongues willing to trade information for coin, pills, or favors. That was simply how the world worked.

Still, what Yu Murong said about the coins and the Chen clan’s lead made something tighten inside him. The balance of power around the artifact—whatever it truly was—was shifting fast. If the Chen clan really was close to uncovering it, then he didn’t have much time. His plan wouldn’t work if the Chen clan gained the artifact first. He needed them off-balance, pushed back, scrambling. Only then could he move.

He took another slow sip of wine, watching Yu Murong. “It seems like a pretty bad predicament for your clan, Young Master Yu.”

He sighed, his head sinking low, eyes glassy. “It is. And what can I do? Nothing. Some of my clan even whisper that it’s my fault we’re losing—me! As if me doing anything would change a war. They talk about ‘responsibility of the younger generation,’ just because I’m a few years older than them. Hah. They don’t understand that I don’t want to die an early death. They can have their glory. I’ll keep my life.”

Chen Ren gave a slow nod, the same polite mask as before.

Yu Murong slammed another bun onto his plate, tearing at it as his rant spilled out. He cursed his clan’s hypocrisy, the way they used him as a scapegoat, the way his father ignored him, the elders’ cold eyes. The words tumbled over themselves, bitter and slurred.

Chen Ren didn’t interrupt. He didn’t even change his expression. He simply let the man vent, let him drain himself like an opened wineskin. Every so often he asked a careful question—about the war, about which groups were stationed where, about how his clan and the others planned to even the odds.

But Yu Murong only shrugged, his voice dull. “I don’t know. I’m not in the inner circle. They don’t tell me anything real. I’ve only been in the sinkhole once, and that was enough. You go down there, you don’t know what will swallow you. Beasts. Falling rocks. Darkness. Not for me. Not worth dying over.”

He stuffed the rest of his bun into his mouth, glaring at the table as if it were an enemy.

That was probably the only time Chen Ren related to the man. For a brief moment—when Yu Murong ranted about not wanting to die young, about being forced into battles he had no interest in—Chen Ren understood him. That sliver of honesty was the closest he had come to being more than just a spoiled young master.

Hours bled away in the smoky tavern. At one point, Yalan whisked her tail and padded off, muttering through their bond that she was too bored to sit through such useless chatter. She only returned an hour later, eyes half-lidded, as if confirming the ordeal was still ongoing.

Fortunately, Yu Murong finally decided he had ranted enough for one day. By then the food and alcohol were gone, reduced to greasy crumbs and empty jars. Chen Ren didn’t feel like ordering more.

Yu Murong leaned back, his robe askew, face flushed but smiling faintly.

“Thank you, Renjie. You don’t know how much I’ve enjoyed talking to you today. Truly. If you’re staying in the city for long, I’d love to show you around. Maybe even bring you to my clan. Hah, they’re all stuck-ups, but they’d appreciate meeting someone like you.”

“I would love that, Young Master Yu. I’m staying in Heishu Inn. If you want to visit, you can always find me there. But for now,” he rose to his feet, brushing his sleeves, “I have some work in the city. Private matters.”

His lips curved into a smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I understand completely.”

Chen Ren didn’t bother correcting the misunderstanding. He simply lifted his hand and gestured for the waiter. The man hurried over, wiping his hands on his apron, and Chen Ren handed him a bag of silver wen.

“This should cover everything and more.”

The waiter pulled the drawstring open, peered inside, and his eyes widened. He felt the weight quickly and bowed with vigor. “Yes, honored guest! Of course!”

As Chen Ren turned, he caught Yu Murong’s eyes lingering on the bag, following it until it disappeared into the waiter’s hands. Then those eyes trailed back to him, watching with a mixture of envy and calculation. But he said nothing. He only slouched deeper into his chair, lips pressed tight.

Chen Ren preferred it that way. He had done everything right. There was no need to say anything more.

He pushed open the tavern doors and disappeared into the street.

Yalan’s voice slid into his head the moment the tavern door shut. “Looks like you made quite an impression on the man,” she purred.

Chen Ren kept his steps even. “Certainly seems so,” he replied.

“But what did you achieve by it? A fool’s favour won’t help with a war.”

Chen Ren folded his hands behind his back and looked up at the moonlit street.
“No,” he said. “It won’t win the war by itself. But it gives me what I need — access. Young Master Yu is small, useless maybe, but his rank in the clan lets him hear things. People trust him enough to talk. If I go straight to the Yu clan now, they won’t open the door. If I go with him, they will at least listen.”

Yalan clicked her tongue in his mind. “And once you are inside? What then?”

He smiled faintly. “Simple. Let the Chen clan think they are about to win. They press forward. If I help another clan push back, not by winning the whole war, just by making Chen stumble — the Chen clan will grow desperate. When clans are desperate, they start bargaining. Pride falls away. They will trust anyone who offers a way out. That’s when I ask for the thing I need. The medallion. They won’t think twice if it saves them.”

Yalan padded close, tail whipping. “Chen Ren, your plan sounds tidy on paper. But it has many variables. I guess that's how every plan is. Anyway, are you going to be selling them pills?” she asked.

Chen Ren nodded. “Yes. I would have liked to sell them talismans too, but it takes time to make a good prototype for the printer. For now, pills will do. I know Hun Tianzhi had made progress on some pill recipes in the last report from Anji. We will use that.”

Yalan’s eyes blinked slowly in his mind, then she hummed once.

“How do you plan to move all these pills from Broken Ridge? It’s on the border.”

Chen Ren’s smile faltered a little. He looked away from the streetlamps. “Actually, that’s why I wanted to ask for your help,” he said. “Can you—”

Before the sentence finished, Yalan snorted in his head, a low, sharp sound. “I’m no mule.”

He chuckled to hide the sting and tried a lighter tone. “Not a mule. I was thinking more… glorious spirit-beast transporter. It sounds better.”

The joke landed flat. Yalan’s tail flicked in irritation. “Glorious?” she sent back, claws unsheathed in thought. “You want me to carry bottles of various pills because it sounds glorious?”

Chen Ren met the glare in her eyes and held up both hands and understood one thing. More than selling the pills to Yu clan, the hardest part might be to convince Yalan.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

177. Bloody training

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.”

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.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

178. Stalemate

Apparently, even after trying for hours, Chen Ren could not convince Yalan to move the pills out of Jadefire Hall. She had listened, argued, and then shut the matter down entirely. No tricks or persuasion worked on her. Still, Chen Ren did not feel pressed. According to Yu Murong the very next day, the clans had fallen into a strange stalemate. None of them wanted to lose more members or resources, so the clan heads had decided to “talk things out.”

Chen Ren did not believe much would come of those talks. The clans had never been able to work together in the past. At best, this would be a pause, a chance for each side to catch their breath and prepare for the next round of attacks. But even a pause had its uses. It gave him time.

He was thankful that fortune had led him to Yu Murong. Meeting him had been chance at first, but now they crossed paths nearly every day. Of course, keeping the young master company cost Chen Ren a fair bit of coin, yet his businesses were growing so quickly that the spending hardly mattered. By mortal standards, he was already wealthy, and he could afford the indulgence. More importantly, the information Murong let slip was worth far more than the wine or food that bought it.

From what Chen Ren gathered, the Yu clan was showing signs of nervousness. They had started teaching certain techniques to their ordinary clan members—techniques that were usually reserved for the most promising members. At the same time, they were quietly seeking to hire alchemists and talisman makers to strengthen their position. If the Yu clan was doing this, Chen Ren reasoned, then the other clans must be following the same path.

Yu Murong had complained about it one evening, slurring his words over a cup of strong liquor. His father, apparently, was furious at having to deal with low-life rogue alchemists, but even anger could not hide the clan’s desperation. To Chen Ren, it sounded less like a problem and more like the chance he had been waiting for.

So, that night, once he had plied Murong with enough wine to cloud his pride and loosen his tongue, Chen Ren leaned in with a smile and steered the conversation toward the young master’s own background.

Chen Ren had no wish to tie himself to the Divine Coin Sect here in Red Peak City. His stay was meant to be temporary, a stop along the road, not a place to lay down roots. So instead, when the wine had loosened Yu Murong’s tongue enough, he wove a story of his own.

He spoke of a master—a great alchemist who had once worked for the Guardian Sects before leaving the lofty peaks behind. A master who had chosen to wander the mortal world, to test himself outside the polished walls of sects and halls, taking only one core disciple with him. Chen Ren himself.

It was a thin story, patched together with plenty of lies. Still, with the firelight warm on his face and Murong’s cup constantly refilled, it sounded real enough. Chen Ren even went into detail, talking at length about his master developing a lot of unique and cheap pills that were suited for combat until anyone with half a mind would understand what he was really offering.

But Yu Murong was either too drunk or too dim. He laughed, nodded, and clapped Chen Ren on the back, yet somehow missed every hint. Chen Ren’s patience thinned. In the end, he had to spell it out.

“Young Master Yu,” he said, leaning closer. “If your clan is looking to buy more pills, I might be able to help. And if the deal goes through… your standing in the clan would surely rise.”

Those words broke through his thick skull. Murong’s eyes widened, and he shot upright as if struck by lightning. “That’s a great idea!” he shouted, nearly tipping his cup. He stumbled toward the door, already shouting that he would speak to his father at once. Then, without another word, he ran off into the night.

Chen Ren sat back, watching the doorway with calm eyes. He had not expected Murong’s hunger for his father’s approval to be quite so sharp, though in hindsight, all his complaints and bitterness had pointed in that direction. Still, enthusiasm was one thing—results were another.

For the next two days, there was silence. There was no sign of Yu Murong at the bar. No message. Nothing.

Chen Ren didn't think too much about it and simply waited patiently. If this path was blocked, then he would find another way to reach the clans. Red Peak City was not short on desperate people looking for advantages, and desperation always opened doors.

In the meantime, he turned his focus inward. He trained his soul and body with steady discipline, refining both step by step in the morning. At night, he went over the list of spirit plants Luo Feng had circled out in the markets.

Not all of the spirit plants Luo Feng had wanted would survive the climate around Meadow Village. The winds there were harsh, and the soil was too stubborn for delicate roots. But some of them—Chen Ren had noticed—were hardy, their leaves were rich with energy that could strengthen even a mortal’s body. If he could secure a batch of those, he could turn them into fields, whole stretches of medicine growing under Luo Feng’s careful hand.

With such crops, Jadefire Hall’s foundations would only grow firmer. And if any of it could be tied into Wang Jun’s unique pill recipes, then the sect’s growth might take another giant leap.

That kept Chen Ren steady through the two days of silence. But by the third morning, a little bit of impatience had set in. He had nearly made up his mind to march to the Yu estate himself and look for the man to at least get an answer.

As fate would have it, he didn’t need to.

When Chen Ren came down from his room at the inn, the innkeeper at the counter looked up and said, “A young master’s waiting for you.”

Chen Ren’s gaze followed, and there stood Yu Murong—robes wrinkled, face flushed, eyes bright with excitement. The way he was practically bouncing on his heels told Chen Ren everything before a word was spoken. The plan had taken root.“My father has agreed to meet you!” he announced, almost too loudly for the quiet inn. His smile was so wide it seemed to split his face.

Chen Ren inclined his head, keeping his expression calm even as his chest lightened. “Then we should not delay.”

And so, without a pause for rest or food, Chen Ren followed Murong northward.

The Yu estate sat on a wide expanse of land, the walls of it were tall and polished, its gates bristling with guards in neat formation. Surrounding streets were lined with shops—goldsmiths, tea houses, cloth sellers—all thriving under the Yu clan’s banner. Chen Ren’s predecessor had walked these streets many times, and he knew well enough that even the stalls selling roasted chestnuts answered to the Yu coffers.

The Yu clan might not match the other two great powers in martial strength, but in wealth, they reigned supreme. And in Chen Ren’s eyes, that made them the best partners of all.

Murong strode ahead proudly, not even slowing for the guards’ inspections. “He’s with me,” he said offhandedly, and the guards only bowed and stepped aside. Chen Ren noted their discipline—and how carelessly Murong took it for granted—but said nothing.

Inside, the estate opened into a vast hallway paved with polished stone, its walls lined with lacquered screens and painted lanterns that cast a warm, golden glow. Murong marched through without hesitation, and Chen Ren followed silently, yet keeping a sharp eye on everything.

Every detail mattered when walking into a lion’s den, even one padded with gold.

As they walked deeper into the Yu estate, Yu Murong kept his voice loud and cheerful, pointing at one thing after another as if he were a guide in some grand museum.

“See that?” He jabbed a finger at a massive drake skull mounted high on the wall, its jaws open in a permanent snarl. “That one was taken down by my third uncle in the lower reaches of the Sinkhole. Cost him half a leg, but he got it. And that painting—our ancestors slaying three drakes in a single battle. The blood ran like rivers!”

Chen Ren smiled politely, nodding as though impressed, but inside he dismissed the tales. He knew better. It was an open rumor in Red Peak City that the Yu clan had purchased many of these skulls from traders and passing hunters, dressing up their halls with them to mask their lack of true achievements. But Chen Ren did not care. If anything, it only proved they had silver to spare. Money, after all, was the only measure that mattered in the deal he was here to strike.

For nearly half an hour, they moved through long corridors, the scent of polished wood and faint incense lingering in the air. At last, Murong stopped before a pair of towering sliding doors carved with curling patterns of cloud and flame. His steps slowed, and his usual chatter vanished.

He swallowed hard. So hard that he almost lost all breath.

“My father should be inside,” he whispered, glancing at Chen Ren. “I’ve… talked you up to him. But he won’t give us much time. Make sure you don’t mess this up… Please.”

Chen Ren gave a small, steady smile. “I won’t let you down.”

Murong nodded once, bracing himself, then pressed his palms against the doors and slid them open.

The room beyond was a world of wealth. Paintings hung in ordered rows along the walls, their frames gilded and polished until they gleamed. A tall bookshelf stood against one side, its shelves heavy with scrolls, ledgers, and thick-bound tomes that gave off the faint musty perfume of age. The floor was layered with the pelt of some great beast, its fur thick and dark, serving as a carpet underfoot. Lantern light glowed warm, reflecting off bronze fittings and lacquered wood.

In the center, seated behind a broad low desk, was a bald, bearded man well into his middle years. His face was lined but firm, his eyes sharp despite their weariness, and in his hands rested a half-open book he had been reading.

As the doors opened, he lifted his head slowly, gaze falling on Murong first.

“You are finally here,” he said, his voice gravelly with age and authority. “I told you I don’t have much time, yet you make me wait.”

Murong stiffened, his bravado melting into hurried defense. “I wasn’t dallying, Father. It took some effort to find Renjie here, but once I did, I came straight to you.”

At that, the older man’s eyes shifted, settling on Chen Ren with the weight of a hammer.

Chen Ren stepped forward, bowed slightly with practiced grace, and spoke in a calm, respectful voice. “It is an honor to meet one of the pillars of the Yu clan.”

The bald man did not move, did not smile, did not even tilt his head at him. His voice came steady and unbothered, like stone rolling down a slope.

“My name is Yu Daoxing,” he said. “You don’t need to know more than that. You can ask around if you wish. My son claims you might be able to sell us batches of cheap and unique pills. So, I am giving you five minutes. Explain your offer. I will extend the time if I find you worth it. Otherwise, you may leave. Is that clear?”

Chen Ren bowed once more, unhurried. “It is clear. Thank you for your time, Master Yu.”

He noted immediately that no gesture had been made to offer him a seat. He would stand. And he also knew the five minutes had already begun to tick away. Yet he didn’t rush into words. He let the silence hang, as if weighing its worth.

Yu Daoxing raised a single eyebrow. “You do know your time has started?”

“I do know,” Chen Ren answered evenly. “But I am thinking of how best to speak my next words. I do not wish to offend your clan.”

“You won’t do that,” Yu Daoxing said flatly. “Just speak your mind.” His beady eyes looked at him pointedly and waited.

At that, Yu Murong’s face tightened with worry. He looked as though he wanted to tug Chen Ren’s sleeve and beg him to tread carefully.

Chen Ren, however, inclined his head once and said, “Then allow me. What I am offering is not the pills and potions you purchase from other alchemists. What I intend to place before the Yu clan are resources that could let you win the war being fought in the Sinkhole.”

For the first time, Yu Daoxing’s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing faintly. “You know of it?”

Chen Ren met his gaze without flinching. “It is an open secret in Red Peak City. Everyone with ears knows of it. And, to speak plainly, it is also clear that the Yu clan, unfortunately, will not be the one to come out on top.”

Beside him, Yu Murong went pale, his hands curling into fists, his whole body tense as though he might drag Chen Ren from the room to stop his tongue.

But Yu Daoxing only leaned back slightly in his chair, his sharp eyes fixed on Chen Ren with a look that weighed more than any words. He did not shout, nor strike the table. He simply listened.

Chen Ren took Yu Daoxing’s silence as a small victory and went on.

“It’s not that the Yu clan is weak,” he said. “You have power and gold—more than most. But the Chen clan has something you don’t: expendable fighters. They throw men away like dice. Against that kind of number, strength alone will wear anyone thin. When the scale tips that way, brute force loses. You must be smart.”

“And that is where pills and potions matter,” Chen Ren continued. “Not just to heal or to restore qi, but to change how a battle is fought. My master’s recipes are not the usual tonic or elixir you buy from alley alchemists. They are made to work with a cultivator’s body—sharpen reflexes, harden tendons, wake latent channels and do much more to control a battle. Used right, they let a qi refinement cultivator hit like someone far above him. They make a handful of fighters into a blade that can split ranks.”

Yu Daoxing’s eyes narrowed. “No war is won by pills alone, child. We seek more healing and qi pills so our fighters last longer. You promise miracles. Yet I'm afraid you won’t be able to deliver them. ”

Chen Ren let a small, easy smile cross his face. He had expected the doubt. “That’s where you’re looking at this the wrong way,” he said. “Most alchemists in Red Peak City only think as healers. They patch wounds and refill qi. They do not think of pills as tools of strategy. It’s not incompetence alone—it's tradition. What I offer is not better bandages. It’s a different art. If used properly, the pills I can supply will let your qi refinement men strike as if they were foundation establishment cultivators. They can wound, cripple, and even kill the enemy’s stronger cultivators.”

At that bold claim, Yu Murong’s eyes widened. From his peripheral vision, he could see that Murong’s thoughts were plastered on his face. The man was probably thinking that it was too much boasting.

Yu Daoxing, meanwhile, sat without changing much—only his head tilted a fraction, as if measuring whether Chen Ren was bluffing or exaggerating. The skepticism in his gaze was blunt and final. He regarded Chen Ren like a young, reckless alchemist who had drunk too deep of his own pride.

Silence fell hard enough to be felt. The carved clock on the shelf kept its slow, steady ticking. Chen Ren felt the time slip by like water through his fingers. For a moment a tight wash of panic ran through him — the five minutes were still counting — but he kept his face calm. He had to.

Finally the man spoke, voicing the question Chen Ren had been dreading.

“Who is your master?”

Chen Ren’s mouth stayed soft and controlled. “I can’t name him,” he said. “He forbade it. He used to belong to a Guardian Sect before he came down to the mortal world to change how pills are made. If I give you his name, you’ll know him, and his wish is to remain anonymous.”

Yu Daoxing made a sound like a dry branch breaking — a scoff meant to cut. Chen Ren did not flinch. He read something else in the man’s face: a sliver of doubt, it was hard to see, but it was there. His nose scrunched ever so slightly. Yu Daoxing looked ready to order him out, but his hand stalled. And Chen Ren knew why. Tales of great cultivators leaving their peaks and walking among mortals, taking new names, hiding their pasts were common and true. Qing He had been one such rumor. If Chen Ren’s claim were true, the Yu clan might be losing a real chance.

“You boast a lot for someone so young,” Yu Daoxing said with a sigh. “Words are cheap. If you speak like this, show me something practical. Otherwise you’re just another blabbermouth.”

“I always carry proof. But before that, you should take a look at this.” Chen Ren reached into the inner fold of his robe and drew out a single roll of parchment. It was sealed with a strip of red wax and smelled faintly of camphor and alchemical herbs. He unrolled it on the desk with care, laying it where both men could see.

The parchment was neat and precise. Columns of ink named each pill, its function, recommended use in battle, and a clear price per batch. In marginal scrawl he had added suggested formations and small tactical uses, the sort of things a strategist might pair with an alchemist’s product.

Yu Daoxing reached for the paper and read, slow and cautious at first. His fingers paused over a line describing a pill meant to quicken tendon response — the sort that might let a qi refining realm cultivator land a crippling strike they could not normally manage. He frowned, then read on. Chen Ren saw the faint change: the skepticism folding some, curiosity pressing in.

“Can you really bring me batches of all these pills?” Yu Daoxing asked at last.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

179. Making a deal

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.

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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Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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180. Chen Eain

Chen Eain looked down on the massive sinkhole, breath held without meaning to. Cold air rose from the dark like a living thing. It slid under his robes and pricked his skin. A shiver ran down his back and the hair on his arms stood. He did not see anyone, and yet the feeling of eyes on him would not leave. Many eyes. Hungry eyes.

From where? He had no idea.

Even with the improved sight he had worked so hard to temper, he couldn't see everything. It didn’t let him see what was beyond, or what was lurking the sinkhole. He only noticed the wind that whistled along broken rock ribs and the loose pebbles that fell and kept falling.

At the rim, beasts crawled over one another. Slasher maws, lizard monsters, low tier one. The kind that lived only on the edges of the sinkhole, cold-blooded with pale bellies stained the color of dust. Their tongues flicked. Their eyes were small, dull, and always moving. They were snacks, nothing more, the first to die when something bigger climbed up for a look at the world above.

He curled his fingers until his knuckles ached. The ache steadied him. He rolled his shoulders, shook off the bite of the wind and the whisper of unseen things, and reminded himself of his name.

Chen Eain.

He said it inside his skull. Chen Eain, young master of the Chen clan. Chen Eain, the future. The sinkhole was not a mouth to swallow him; it was a gate. Below lay an artifact or a cultivation method as old as the sinkhole itself. He could feel it. The sensation sat under his bone like a hot coal. Once he had it, Red Peak City would not be able to cage him. Not only Red Peak City, but also the empire would be a road, and he would walk it.

If it were up to him alone, this would already be over. He was already close to finding whatever lay buried under the sinkhole. But the clans chose to hold peace talks.

His father had laughed without smiling. “A show,” he’d said. “They want time to gather grain, buy pills, call in debts. Let them posture and we’ll do the same.” Then his father’s hand had found his shoulder and squeezed until Chen Eain winced. “Don’t be reckless.”

He had not been reckless. He had wanted to run to the sinkhole anyway, run until his lungs burned and his legs shook and then keep running, but he was not an idiot. The hole was thick with beasts. More than he could count. Even from the rim, the stink of them climbed up—wet scale, old blood, something like iron and old leaves. He would not last alone under that weight. He needed bodies to take on the stronger beast, to hold them back while he went for the kill.

His cousins and mercenaries. Fodder as his father called it. He did not like the word. He did not flinch from it either. Those who followed him would be paid in coin and favor. Those who fell would have their names spoken in the clan hall. The rest was fate.

He had waited. He had sharpened his blade. He had trained until moonlight turned to dawn and the world outside the courtyard wall began to wake. He had nodded through the council talks. He had smiled the way a son should. Now the waiting has ended. The clan elders had sent their messages. The temporary peace had broken like a clay plate on stone.

He stood at the edge and let the cold air work on him until the shake left his legs. He shifted his weight and stones slid off under his boot. The sound was like tiny bells falling. A few slasher maws turned their heads up at him, tongues tasting, then turned away.

He would go down. He would kill whoever stood in his way. If he found the bastards from the Yu clan or the Huang clan, he would take their lives and everything they carried—their maps, their weapons, the talismans they hid under their robes and the pills on their belts. Anything. Everything—he’d take it all. He imagined the looks on their faces when his blade found the seam in their defenses. He breathed out slowly, and the image faded. No need to rush that joy. There would be time. But the imagination was a sweet taste.

If they sent a lot of girls, maybe he could even strike up a good deal in exchange for their lives. That thought brought a faint smirk to his lips. In cultivation, everything was a transaction. Power, favors, blood—all of it measured and traded. He had been taught that since childhood, and he hadn’t forgotten. Mercy had no value unless it bought something in return.

Once he had seen enough of the hole’s darkness, he turned away. His group waited a short distance behind. His cousins looked back, and his eyes went to their clan armor—then toward the mercenaries who wore worse gear, but held far more pouches around their belts.

He didn’t waste time on speeches or plans. He didn’t care. They wouldn’t understand his methods anyway. He simply pointed toward the sinkhole.

“Let’s go,” he said. “We head down to the newer tunnels. Deep enough to find what the others missed.”

A few of them nodded, uncertain but obedient. Others exchanged quick looks. One of his cousins opened his mouth—perhaps to question, perhaps to complain—but Chen Eain didn’t care to hear. The world didn’t wait for the hesitant.

He stepped forward, and the next moment lightning crackled around his legs. The air snapped sharp and blue-white. Before anyone could say a word, he leapt from the edge.

Wind screamed past his ears as he dropped. The sinkhole swallowed him whole.

Qi gathered around him, wrapping his body. He felt it everywhere, even inside his bones. The lightning around his limbs turned brighter, sharper, as if alive. He breathed in deeply, and the air burned rich with spiritual energy—thicker here than anywhere above. It rolled through him, heavy and sweet, until his chest felt full.

He fell for a long time. As he descended, the faint glow of his lightning threw light on the walls, revealing shapes that moved—the twisted bodies of beasts clinging to the rock, scales glistening, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. Some watched him fall, their heads tilting, tongues flicking. None dared leap toward him. They knew what lightning meant.

He kept going deeper.

The sinkhole widened, narrowing again in places like a throat.

The air grew denser with qi, so strong that his skin prickled and his thoughts grew sharp. Finally, he spotted a jagged protrusion of rock jutting from the wall. He twisted his body mid-fall, lightning flaring around him. The energy surged down his arm and shaped itself—a solid hand of light extending outward, reaching far below him. It caught the rock with a loud crack and pulled him in.

He landed hard on the protrusion.

The lightning dimmed to a faint vibration around him as he straightened. The air down here was alive. It seeped into his bones with every breath.

He sat cross-legged on the uneven stone and closed his eyes. The scent of damp rock and raw qi filled his lungs. Slowly, his breathing steadied, matching the pulse of the energy around him.

He remembered the first time he’d come here—he was trembling, foolish, barely more than a boy. He hadn’t even dared to look down for long. Yet even then, a few breaths in this place had been enough to push him through the barrier and into the qi refinement realm. That memory stirred something fierce inside him—hunger, pride, and the certainty that he was meant for more.

He pressed his palm against the stone beneath him and drew in another breath, deep and slow. The qi flowed freely here. And he tried to relish in it. This place had made him once, and it would make him again.

Thus, time flew.

Ten minutes later the sound of boots and ragged breath told him they were coming. He had been sitting still so long that the knots in his shoulder had gone numb. Down here, ten minutes could be an hour. He opened his eyes.

His party moved awkwardly through the gloom. Unlike him they had to stop and assimilate themselves to the qi concentration in the sinkhole. They hadn't been here often enough for their body to be naturally molded to it. A few even wore shoes that pushed a thin cloud of qi under their soles, helping them traverse. The cloud bubbled and hissed as they stepped, soft light underfoot. Chen Eain snorted. If a man needed tricks to walk, he had no business in the sinkhole. Still, his cousins were useful. Useful, and replaceable.

They formed up slowly at the rim of the chamber. Faces were pale in the mosslight. The mercenaries shifted their weight; the cousins checked armour and blades. He counted without thinking—this was muscle memory etched into him to be a leader. When the last pair of boots whispered into place, he pointed to a dark throat carved in the far wall.

“There,” he said. “The big hole at the back. That leads to the newer veins. I went in before the truce. Lots of paths we haven’t taken.” His voice was flat. He did not need to sell it; the men already knew what he wanted.

“Keep your qi in your dantian,” he added. “Don’t leak. If you let it out they’ll smell you. These beasts see in the dark and sense qi, better than you do. We fight only when we have to. Stay tight. Back up, no heroics.”

Heads bobbed. A few mouths formed questions that died when he looked at them. He could feel their fear like a draft. He liked it. Fear made things orderly.

He drew in breath. The cave air tasted of wet stone and something sweet and old—the glowing growth on the walls. It looked like moss, but it pulsed faintly, as if every cell had a heartbeat. Alchemists valued it. It fed on stray qi and cast it back like a lightbulb. Some of the mercenaries’ hands itched toward it already. He watched the movement and let the shadow of a threat pass across his face.

He tucked his qi down. The warm hum in his bones dimmed and folded into the place behind his navel. The lightning that had followed him here thinned to threads and vanished. He felt naked and full at once.

They moved into the cylinder of the cave. The place swallowed sound. Stalactites hung like the teeth of giants. Every step raised a fine rain of dust. Once in a while a spike loosened and smashed to the floor. The crash was a hard slap that set teeth chattering. When that happened a dozen heads would snap up, eyes hunting for movement. The beasts answered with small sounds like the rustling of dry leaves. Sometimes a shadow slid along a wall but was gone before they could do anything.

The moss painted everything in green-gold. It lit false corners and made deep places look shallow. Its smell clung to fingers—iron and honey. But due to it, he was able to traverse easily—no beast could ambush from the front. One of the mercenaries knelt and scraped at a patch with a fingernail, pocketing the crumb. Chen Eain watched him, but ultimately put it to the back of his mind and moved.

The tunnel opened to the hidden path he’d found before—the one under the giant boulder. In his last expedition, he had explored a little, but after a beast fight, they had little strength to move forward—therefore, the party he’d come with chose to leave.

Although the entire sinkhole was full of concentrated qi, he could feel a stronger current of it coming from this path. If they kept following it, he was certain that they would reach the artifact.

“Do you know what we’ll meet down there?” one cousin asked, voice barely a whisper.

Chen Eain looked at him and gave a bored look. “Not the name,” he told him. “A lizard that hangs from the ceiling. Its tongue carries a fireball. Don’t stand under it. Use qi projectiles to pull it down so we can cut it open. It moves alone, so it shouldn’t be hard to kill.”

The cousin’s frown split into complaint. “You should say that before—”

“A cultivator should always be ready,” Chen Eain cut him off. “Besides, they flash before they strike—”

The words died in his throat.

Above them, the ceiling flared like a lantern. Light poured down in a single, bright bloom that stole their sight for a heart-beat. Chen Eain’s skin prickled and every hair on his arms stood. He looked up.

The lizard hung like a dark scar against the glow. Its body clung to the stone with hooked claws. Black scales shone in the flare. Its mouth worked and a tongue uncoiled from between teeth. On the tip of the tongue a small ball of living fire burned. The creature rolled the ball like a gambler rolling dice, then shot it forward.

“Get away from it!” Chen Eain shouted.

The warning came too late for one mercenary. The lizard’s tongue whipped out like a rope, the fireball on its tip hissing as it struck. The man screamed. The tongue slammed him into the wall with a sick wet crack. He slid down, dazed, arm smoking where the heat had seared leather and flesh.

Chen Eain muttered, “Useless.” and lightning unfolded in his palm and he hurled it. The bolt struck the wall with a sound like snapping bamboo. The beast hissed and skittered, claws scraping stone as it ran across the ceiling and wall, jerking its tongue to fire again. It moved too fast for any one blow. It was only one creature, but it used the roof like armor.

Another cousin finally hit it. A clean bolt struck the tongue as it shot out, and the fireball went dead in a spray of sparks. The lizard convulsed in midair, slamming onto the floor with a thud that shook dust down from the stalactites.

Chen Eain’s lips thinned. He charged.

Lightning wrapped his forearm like a glove. He slammed his palm into the beast’s belly. The shock tore the scales open. The creature went still then gave one long, ragged shudder. Blood exploded from the wound, hot and dark, spraying across stone. The smell hit Chen Eain—iron and singed flesh. He stepped back fast, boots sliding on wet rock, careful not to let the blood touch his enchanted armor. He had been taught not to mingle his fortune with filth.

He let himself smile. “Peak tier one. Nothing special,” he said aloud. “I’ll take it. We can use the materials.”

The cousin who’d landed the bolt leaned on his staff and grinned through the grime. “Half,” he said bluntly. “You killed it, but I struck the blow to get it on the ground. I want half.”

Chen Eain cold-eyed him. “I killed it,” he said. His voice had the weight of a decree. “You’ll have the limbs. That’s enough for your work.”

The cousin opened his mouth, something sharp on his tongue, but Chen Eain moved first. He slipped his hand into his robe and drew the small ring his father had given him. The spatial ring hummed faintly when he brushed it. He pressed the beast’s body to the opening and the lizard folded inward like water poured into a jar. The ring sealed with a clean click.

He held the ring for a second longer, feeling the hum against his palm. The ring was more than an inventory. It was a promise—a promise from his father that the things Chen Eain found in the sinkhole would always be his. He had wanted one of these since he was a boy.

He slipped the ring back into his robes and let his eyes move over the men. The mercenary with the burned arm was sitting up, face white but breathing. The others were steadying themselves, hands on weapons, eyes on him.
beast
“Let’s head inside,” Chen Rong said flatly. “It’s not good to stand in one place for too long.”

A few nodded. No one dared to argue. He could tell that they were still shaken by the memory of the fire-tongued lizard. Regardless, they gathered their packs and followed him deeper into the sinkhole.

Chen Eain noticed the change. The way their necks craned upward, the way their weapons twitched at every drip or rustle. It was good—fear made them sharper and more guarded. He did the same, eyes scanning the jagged ceiling.

Maybe it was because of that vigilance, but the next few battles went better. The next lizard that appeared barely had time to drop before a spear of qi pierced its chest. The second tried to ambush them from behind, only to be crushed against the rock when Chen Eain sent a bolt of lightning snapping through its skull. The third and fourth were slower, older perhaps, but both died without leaving a single scratch on his party.

Four kills. Four beasts. No injuries this time.

Chen Rong didn’t let the faint thrill show on his face, but inside, his blood buzzed. Efficiency was its own form of pleasure. He absorbed each corpse into his spatial ring, the shimmer of the storage spell flickering for a moment before sealing again. The weight of his growing collection was a quiet satisfaction in his chest.

After another hour of winding paths and uneven stone, they came across something new. A tunnel—one he hadn’t seen before. It curved downward, dark and narrow, air thick with qi. The moss-light grew faint, and only the glow from their torches gave the tunnel a shape. He didn’t hesitate. “Inside,” he said, and stepped in first.

They walked in silence. The air felt heavier the deeper they went, like something pressing against their lungs. Halfway through, Chen Eain slowed. Something wasn’t right.

He lifted his hand for silence, then moved closer to one of the tunnel walls. The surface was cracked, blackened at the edges. A few steps ahead, the ground was gouged—there were sword marks. Beside them, a cluster of vines lay torn and scattered, some still pulsing faintly with leftover energy.

He crouched and ran his fingers over one of the cuts in the rock. The qi residue stung faintly at his skin. Not beasts. No, these were definitely cultivators.

“Someone fought here,” one of his cousins said quietly.

Chen Eain didn’t answer. His eyes narrowed, tracing the pattern of destruction; the direction of the strikes, the broken stone, the faint scent of burned qi still lingering in the air. It hadn’t been long. Whoever had fought here, they weren’t far.

He straightened slowly. “We’re not alone,” he said. “One of the other clans is surely here.”

The thought made something sharp twist inside him. His lips curved in a small, dangerous smile. The idea of another clan finding something before him—that was unacceptable. But catching them here, deep in the sinkhole, cut off from their support? That was an opportunity.

“Move faster,” he ordered.

Some of the mercenaries hesitated, exchanging uneasy looks. “Young master,” one of them said, “if there was a strong cultivator among the clan members, then—”

“I said move!” Chen Eain interrupted. His eyes flicked toward the man, and the mercenary’s words died in his throat.

A strong leader did not change his mind. Chen Eain’s orders were not for arguing. The men and cousins behind him moved without question. That saved him a show. It saved time.

They followed him down the tunnel. Marks of battles cut the walls. Broken vines lay like ropes. Each new scrape told him they were close and finally they reached an opening. He pressed himself into the shadow at the bend and peered.

The chamber opened and his breath stopped.

A huge lizard lay in the middle of the room. It was like the others they had killed, only far bigger. Molten skin dripped from its flank in dark beads. The smell of hot iron and cooked meat hung heavy.

Around the corpse stood a dozen cultivators. Their robes were scarred with soot. Their armor caught the mosslight and glinted. Chen Eain recognised the faces in seconds. Yu clan.

He had even beaten two of them in duels a year back right outside the sinkhole. They were very weak then. How they had killed such a thing he could not tell. Maybe it had been weaker than it looked. Maybe they had been lucky. That did not matter.

He turned to his group and said, “We attack.”

A dozen faces went pale. One of his female cousins stepped forward, eyes wide. “They just killed that beast,” she whispered. “What if one of them is an expert?”

Chen Eain looked at her like the question was stupid. He did not raise his voice. He only said, “I know them. They are not experts. They probably burned their qi in the fight. They are tired. This is our best chance. They have spatial rings, I see them. We take them.”

He did not wait for answers. He faced the chamber one more time. “Wait for my mark,” he told everyone. “When I launch, you fire projectiles. Surprise them and kill as many as you could.”

They nodded. They did not ask. They had learned that arguing got nothing and obedience kept them breathing.

Chen Eain bent his knees and drew breath. He gathered qi at his dantian. It slid up through his veins like cold water. He shaped it with his hands until a thick bolt of lightning stood in his palm, blue and humming. He felt it weighty and sharp, the kind that could shatter bone or break a ring.

The Yu clan members were talking in low voices, still distracted by the corpse. Chen Eain could hear the scrape of a boot. He could hear one of them laugh quietly. The chance sat in his mouth like a ripe fruit.

He raised his arm. The bolt pointed toward the chamber. He let his fingers curl, ready to throw.

Then something pricked his skin. His hair lifted. Instinct flared inside him like an alarm bell.

Before he could name the warning, a black tide rolled over them.

Smoke hit. It came fast, thick and bitter. It stole the light and choked the air. Chen Eain’s bolt in his hand sizzled and died. For one small instant the world went grey and hot, and he couldn’t breathe normally anymore.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

181. Get wrecked

Smoke ate the world.

A scream cut through it—close, sharp, and—who voice was it? Chen Eain snapped his focus to his eyes and drove qi there, trying to burn a tunnel through the dark. But nothing happened. He only saw black. The smoke tasted like metal and ash. It crawled into his throat.

The next thing he knew, something slammed into his head. His ears rang, and his body staggered sideways and down. First, stone scraped his shoulder, then his hip, and then his ribs.

“Son of a—”

He hit the cave wall hard enough to make the rock shiver. Chips of grit skittered across the floor.

“What the fuck!”

He immediately felt qi flared ahead of him. Instinct took over and he threw lightning up in front of his face, a thin skin of light cracking over the smoke. It was rushed, too thin and too light. A fist punched through it like it was paper and crashed into his cheekbone. Light burst behind his eyelids.

His head snapped back and warmth rushed from his nose and ran into his mouth.

All of a sudden, everything was worse.

He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe right. And the air—air tasted all foul.

A voice came out of the smoke, close to his ear and smiling. “Chen Eain. I’ve wanted to teach you a lesson for a long time. I’m glad you walked into our little trap.”

His stomach dropped. Threads linked in his head one after another. Of course, it was the Yu Clan doing after all.

Stupid. He’d marched into it like a cow to a butcher.

He couldn’t think anymore. Another blow landed, and his teeth snapped together while the world lurched. For a single heartbeat, he could hear nothing but his blood throbbing hard and fast inside his skull.

Anger found his hands. He shoved lightning out from his chest, an uneven wave that crawled over his forearms and bit the air. The blast chewed a hole in the smoke and he heard someone yelp.

He bared his teeth without meaning to. Good. I will shock all of you all and cripple—

A leg hooked behind his knee and kicked. He lifted without wanting to, then flew. The ground met him flat. Air rushed from his lungs with a grunt.

“Argh!”

Dirt filled his mouth. The smoke burned his eyes till water leaked out and turned the dust on his lashes to mud.

He tried to stand. He made it to one knee.

Qi clamped his wrist like an iron shackle and drove him down. Stone kissed his cheek. He pushed back, pulling from his dantian, drawing more and more, but the weight didn’t budge. It pressed through his arm and into his shoulder, slow and steady, like someone laying a mountain across him by hand.

“Too slow,” the voice said, closer to him now. Breath raked across Chen Eain’s ear.

He swallowed blood and spit. His tongue tasted iron and grit. He pulled more qi. It slid through his channels, but when it hit the pressure pinning him, it broke and ran like water against a dam. That strength wasn’t normal.

It was unnaturally strong.

He gritted his teeth and wanted to pour every drop of qi into the air—rain lightning until the cave burned. He pushed, felt the current answer him, then something screamed in his head and his focus wavered. Around him other screams flared, the sharp crack of his party’s qi snapping like broken ropes. He could hear them, but he couldn’t see where they came from. The sound slid under his skin.

A cold whisper tried to curl into his thoughts: give up. You’ve already lost.

Chen Eain spat the whisper away with a cough. He was the scion of the Chen Clan. He was born to climb the peak. He would not fold to a trick. Pride and hate braided in his chest and he poured more qi out, a thin, frantic thread at first, then thicker, hotter. The foreign pressure pressed back like a hand on his chest, but he shoved anyway, unleashing a [Lightning Frenzy] to hit whoever was around him.

He was soon rewarded with screams, and thankfully, it didn't seem like his people’s this time.

A grin spread under the blood on his lips.

He drove his qi into the knot at his wrist, into his shoulders, into the hollow behind his breastbone. The metal weight on him shuddered. He felt the hold loosen, a fraction. He shoved again, raw, blind and furious, and lightning flared in every corner he could sense. If he pushed a little more, he would break out of the hold.

He knew it.

Even when he couldn’t see, he wouldn’t give up. He would kill every single one of them and send their bodies back to the Yu clan.

“I was told—” his thought halted. “One of you would try this,” the voice said. “Renjie gave something for someone exactly like you.”

Before Chen Eain could turn his head, a hand clamped over his mouth. Fingers like iron dug into his cheek and jaw. The palm smelled of smoke and oil. Pain shot up his arm, then a pressure locked his throat. He gurgled, tried to bite, tried to unleash a bolt out through the pressure, but the hand held fast.

Something hard and little slid between his teeth.

Before he could spit it out, another blow smashed into the side of his head. White burst across his vision.

The world tilted, and he hit the ground hard.

He tasted dirt. Blood. The pill rolled down his throat as he tried to cough it out, but his body wouldn’t listen. It went down anyway.

Rage boiled up inside him. He wanted to tear everyone apart, to make the Yu clan regret ever touching a Chen. He clenched his jaw, pulling at every scrap of qi he had left—

Then it hit.

Something foreign bloomed inside him, cold and slick like oil poured into fire. It spread fast, climbing his veins, slipping into his core. His chest tightened. His heart kicked against his ribs. When it reached his dantian, pain exploded.

It wasn’t just pain—it was knives. Thousands of them, scraping, cutting, twisting through his core. He screamed before he even realized it, the sound tearing his throat raw. His back arched. His fingers clawed the dirt. Lightning flickered from him in broken bursts, but it was useless now. He couldn’t focus or tame the lightning like he wanted to.

He rolled on the ground, choking on dust. The taste filled his mouth and his muscles seized. His vision swam. Every breath hurt, and every heartbeat burned. He wanted it to stop, wanted anything to stop—

—and then he felt it.

Wet warmth on his face.

Tears.

Chen Eain blinked, stunned. He’d seen enemies cry before. He’d made them cry. But him? The proud heir of the Chen clan? Crying in the dirt like some beaten stray?

He wanted to laugh, but another wave of pain folded him in half. His scream mingled with others echoing through the cavern—his party, his people. Their voices cracked and faded one by one until only silence answered him.

For the first time, real fear sank in.

What if none of them survived? What if this was it—his end?

The Yu clan had always used this sinkhole to bury their enemies. Even the Chen clan had profited from it often, using it to erase rivals and nuisances alike. It was an unspoken rule for a reason: no one went in alone.

Chen Eain did not want that. Nothing in him wanted that end. He was meant to climb, to break the heavens, to become the immortal people bowed to. A sinkhole full of bones was not part of that picture.

The pain stole his words. He couldn’t do anything about what was happening to him at the moment, but roll in the dirt, each turn a blade through his chest as his dantian felt like it was being ground to dust. Smoke pressed at his nose.

Through the damn torture, he momentarily forgot where he was, because everything was painful—too painful for him to think like a normal person.

A face cut through the blur, and it felt like a momentary escape from pain, but when it got close, he saw a huge man, grinning like someone who had chanced upon a treasure.

He blinked as his senses suddenly recognised who the man was. Someone he’d seen only on brief occasions, but knew, simply because he was one of the famous wastrels of the Yu Clan.

Yu Murong. The bastard stood there with a polearm on his arm and a grin on his face.

He spat, the wet smack loud in Chen Eain’s ears. The spit hit his cheek, mixed with the tears.

Something hot and furious rose in Chen Eain—shame, rage, and pride bleeding into one. He reached for his qi, pushed with everything he had. Lightning wanted to tear out of him and turn Murong to ash.

Pain answered instead. It flared through his core like a belligerent furnace, so bright and raw his teeth hurt. His eyes bulged and he threw his head back with a howl that tasted of grit and metal. He felt the dantian press, a hot, brittle knell like bone about to snap.

Murong laughed slowly and softly. “So loud,” he said, as if Chen Eain were an annoying insect. “Keep screaming. It makes my enjoyment far better.”

How fucking dare he?!

He felt lightning surge through his body in anger so strong that it could make the bastard a charred corpse, but when he tried, another excruciating pain erupted through him.

His eyes widened as another scream left his lips.

His body hurt, his eyeballs felt like they were about to burst and his dantian… His dantian was on the verge of breaking down. He felt—no, he knew it.

“You… filth. What… What did you do to me?” his voice came out ragged, each word a scraped whisper.

The coward only smiled. “A little gift from a friend,” he said, voice oily. “It floods your dantian with strong foreign qi. You can’t use your own anymore.” He spat on the floor. “Don’t ask how it works, I don’t know or care. Feels good to see you like this after you killed so many of my cousins. Father was right. Sinkhole trips are fun.”

Chen Eain’s mouth went dry. He felt the foreign qi like ice pouring into his core, cold and crawling. He stared at the man’s face until the grin looked carved. “You crippled me,” he managed.

The man shrugged, amusement in the curl of his lip. “Not yet. You’ll recover. But crippling you—that’s a lovely idea. Could fetch me more resources.” He turned his head and called, loud enough for the cave walls to echo it back. “Hey, you lot, how do you feel about crippling Young Master Chen Eain?”

An uproar answered him, they were hungry voices and a chorus of “Yes!”. Chen Eain felt his heart fall into a bottomless pit. The world tilted and his stomach went hollow.

By sheer will he rolled his head to find his party. The sight hit him like a second blow. Cousins he had trained with since boyhood lay like broken idols: one face up, eyes wide and empty; another curled against the rock, blood dark at his mouth; a sword stood from a younger man’s belly, the handle slick with mud. Some had been smashed against the wall until their bones sang under the skin.

Were they alive? He couldn’t tell. Chen Eain didn’t care which of them would live or die. All that mattered was that he survive—to spit vengeance into the faces of every man standing here. Maybe that single, savage need was the only reason he kept his eyes open: to memorize the faces of his tormentors, every sneer, every smirk.

He forced the words out, each syllable a flint: “You don’t know what you’re doing. The Chen clan will never—”

He felt a jab right on his cheek and lost his words. The man leaned close. “I don’t care what the Chen clan will do. You’ve lost. But I don’t like the look in your eyes.”

Then his fist hit Chen Eain full in the face.

Pain cleaved through him and Blood filled his mouth again, warm and bitter. The edges of his sight went soft and gray. He tried to spit, to speak. “Let me go,” he ground out, each word a broken stone.

They did not care. Around him boots scuffed on rock and voices argued like trading merchants. A short Yu man spoke up. “What do we do with him? Kill him? He looks like he has a spatial ring.”

Another voice answered. “Kill him. He’s killed so many of our kin in this sinkhole.” Chen Eain’s chest dropped as if someone had cut his rope. The thought that he might die here burned colder than any wound.

A cautious voice tried to hold them back. “That could start a clan war. He’s prized in the Chen clan.”

Laughter snapped out from someone else. “He went down too easy for someone supposed to be strong.”

A cruel sneer followed. “He’s been coddled. Strip him and he might turn out to be a woman.”

More anger flared under the pain like a flare in his gut, but when he tried to move his hand the effort crashed through him like a struck bell. Knives of fire stabbed his dantian and his arm fell back useless. He could not even lift a finger.

Smoke curled again and shadows leaned in. The voices above his head argued whether to bury him or break him. But he stayed still in the dirt.

Even if the Yu bastards didn’t kill him, the pain might. He wanted to keep listening—to lock their words in his mind—but smoke pulled at his sight until the burly man’s face blurred, then ran together like wet ink. His lids grew heavy.

He groaned; the sounds were small and ragged. No help would come this deep in the sinkhole. The voices above him thinned, words melting into a low, hollow hum. He fought to stay awake, to catch breath and meaning, but his body was uncooperative: muscles slack, qi weak, and the knives in his dantian stinging with every heartbeat.

Sleep pressed at him like a warm hand. He did not know if he wanted to wake. Would he wake at all? Fate held the answer, not him.

Darkness slid over his vision slowly. Before it closed, one clear thing rose up in him—not fear, not pity, but a red, cold promise. If heaven showed him mercy, he would take it and pay them back in full. If heaven did not, the names of every man standing above him would be carved into the world by his hand—one way or another. If not in this life, then in the next one.

Then the dark took him.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

182. Beast selection

As soon as the first batches of his new pills landed in the hands of the Yu Clan, Chen Ren knew something in the air had changed. The stillness before a storm—he could feel it even without hearing the reports. The balance of war was about to shift.

He didn’t need to wait long for proof. Four days later, the inn doors slammed open with a loud bang, and a familiar voice rolled in before the man himself did.

“Brother Renjie! Are you here?!”

Chen Ren didn’t even have time to put down his teacup before Yu Murong burst through the doorway like a gale, hair unkempt and eyes bright with wild energy. The young master’s grin was wide enough to show every tooth as he threw himself forward and crushed Chen Ren in a hug that made his ribs scream. He felt his body tightening with every second, and he couldn’t breathe.

“Murong, let me breathe—” he tried, but the man only laughed and patted his back hard like he wanted to crack his spine.

When Murong finally dropped into a chair, Chen Ren drew a breath so deep it felt like he hadn’t breathed in days. His lungs burned, but he let it pass. The moment Murong sat across from him, he started talking.

And he didn’t stop.

For the next few hours, the air around their table turned thick with words—boasts, laughter, half-drunken stories, and more boasts. Murong talked about the war, about how the ceasefire had ended, and how every other clan had been stunned by the Yu Clan’s rapid push into the sinkhole. Apparently, no one could believe how fast they were clearing the beasts or how easily they were advancing into the deeper zones.

Half of it was information. The rest? Pure self-praise.

From what Chen Ren gathered between the boasts, Murong had decided to enter the sinkhole again—his second time ever—after his father had showered him with rewards for securing Chen Ren’s pills. The man had wanted more merit, more favor, more glory. Fear had followed him in, but the pills had burned that away.

According to Murong, his party had been unstoppable. The beasts never even reached them. They spotted and killed their prey long before any threat drew near. The whole expedition had gone so smoothly that Murong swore the heavens themselves had been on their side.

Chen Ren only smiled faintly, fingers tracing the rim of his cup as he listened. He already knew which pill had done the most work.

Among all the concoctions he’d sold to the Yu Clan, none wax as valuable as the Infernal Vein Pill—a creation that borrowed the instincts of beasts themselves, granting sight through heat.

In the depths of the sinkhole, qi flowed like wild rivers, chaotic and unrestrained. It drowned every trace of life force, making most techniques for detection useless. But heat remained loyal. The living always burned, no matter how deep the dark or how thick the qi.

With that pill, Murong’s men could sense the warmth of a beast’s body long before it struck. What was once a death trap had turned into a hunting ground.

Murong, of course, had no idea how much theory or danger had gone into creating such a thing. He just drank his wine, laughed too loudly, and talked about how the Yu Clan would soon dominate the sinkhole.

Other than that, Chen Ren had sold them dozens of other pills, each one crafted for a different purpose. There were Sensory Bloom Pills, which sharpened the five senses until a cultivator could feel the shift of wind or the pulse of an approaching beast. There were Elemental Surge Pills, amplifying a person’s elemental affinity so that even a basic fire spell could roar like a dragon's breath. He had also sold Dantian Sealing Pills, dangerous things meant to block a cultivator’s core for a short time—perfect for capturing enemies alive—and even Thunderburst Pellets, small bombs Hun Tianzhi had made after getting blown up so often that could be thrown, and carried the detective spark of compressed lightning.

He had even drawn out crude strategies for them: smoke bombs mixed with Elemental Surge Pills to mask sight and confuse beasts, allowing the hunters to strike deadly attacks from safety. All of it—every pill, every idea—had turned the expedition into child’s play for Yu Murong.

The man couldn’t stop bragging.

“Brother Renjie, you should’ve seen it! We cleared half the outer tunnels before dawn! The beasts didn’t even know where we were! Hah! The Chen Clan dogs were also so surprised and were weeping when we taught them a lesson!”

That last part made Chen Ren pause.

“The Chen Clan?”

Murong grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Oh yes. We ran into one of their parties down there—small group, looked weak. Captured them all. You know the name Chen Eain?”

Chen Ren’s fingers tightened around his cup. The name hit like a spark in dry tinder. Images surfaced—memories that weren’t entirely his, but ones that pulsed with old pain. A young man sneering down at his predecessor. The sound of laughter. The crack of a kick.

Chen Eain had been one of the worst of them. The one who’d turned his predecessor’s life into a cage—every bruise, every humiliation, every insult rooted back to that smirking face. The man had mocked him for his poor talent, beaten him every time he dared to touch cultivation, and gathered others to do the same.

Murong’s voice dragged him back. “Have expected much more from him, honestly. But he looked more like a servant than a cultivator. Barely put up a fight. I beat him bloody, partly thanks to that Dantian Seal Pill you told me about. Worked perfectly. He couldn’t even summon a spark.”

Chen Ren forced his tone flat. “And after?”

Murong waved a hand lazily, as if it were nothing. “I wanted to kill him, or at least cripple him. But the others thought it’d be better to ransom him and his party instead. We sent a letter to the Chen Clan—sweet words, you know. Said we found their people ‘injured’ in the sinkhole and would kindly return them… for a price.”

He chuckled at his own wit and leaned back in his chair, swirling his drink he had gotten from the inn owner.

Apparently, it was common practice among clans to ransom their enemies rather than kill them outright. It kept the balance—blood for gold, pride for silence. That was what had happened in the sinkhole. Murong, for all his arrogance, wasn’t stupid enough to start a major conflict by killing someone like Chen Eain, who was considered one of the Chen Clan’s strongest younger cultivators, if not the strongest.

Chen Ren imagined the scene—Eain crawling back to the clan, broken and humiliated, wrapped in the Yu Clan’s terms of mercy. It must have burned. The man’s pride had always been larger than his strength. And when that pride was wounded, it would look for someone to blame.

Chen Ren already knew who that would be.

Yu Clan and the one who made the pills.

He didn’t care. Let Chen Eain rage. Fear was something he had long forgotten how to feel, especially against young masters. Even without using his qi, his body alone would be strong enough to take him on, especially with his mastery in cultivation disciplines.

Murong, however, didn’t stop talking. For nearly another hour, he went on—boasting about the beasts he had slain, the rewards he had gotten, and, with a sly grin, the maids who now threw themselves at him.

Chen Ren’s expression didn’t change. He let the man talk, offering a polite hum or nod whenever there was a pause. But when the stories started to grow more vulgar, he raised a hand and said quietly, “Young Master Murong, I still have work to attend to. Can we continue this later?”

Murong blinked, clearly disappointed the audience was ending, then waved a hand dismissively. “Work, eh? Fine, fine. I was actually here to invite you anyway. Father wants to host a family dinner tonight—he’s been singing your praises ever since those pills proved themselves. Come. You’ll be the guest of honor.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Chen Ren nodded. “I’ll be there.”

Murong grinned and finally took his leave, swaggering out of the inn like a man who owned the heavens.

Chen Ren exhaled slowly and leaned back in his chair. A family dinner meant that there would be more orders; hence more profit.

But his thoughts weren’t on the spirit stones.

Sooner or later, the Chen Clan, and even the Huang Clan, would begin to question how the Yu Clan had suddenly gained such an advantage. It was only a matter of time before the elders started digging. Once they interrogated the survivors from the sinkhole expedition and learnt about the pills, the trail would point in one direction—toward him, or rather, toward Renjie.

Chen Ren wasn’t naïve. He knew there were spies scattered across every clan. But even if there weren’t, Murong’s mouth alone was enough to ruin any secret. The man’s ego was too big to keep anything quiet for long. Eventually, word would reach the wrong ears, and when it did, the Chen Clan would come knocking.

Chen Ren was waiting for that day.

But for now, there were other matters to handle.

Apparently, Luo Feng had stumbled upon news of a sickle-shaped artifact, something one of the mercenary parties had dragged out of the sinkhole. Rumor had it the thing pulsed faintly with its own qi and carried the name of a forgotten craftsman. Luo Feng wanted it, badly enough to ask Chen Ren along to help negotiate the price.

Chen Ren didn’t mind. He needed to get out more anyway. There were too many things on his list—too many plans running in parallel.

The second step of soul cultivation, for one.

Every night, Wang Jun had been drilling him on intent and touching one's soul, pushing him toward that breakthrough. The old man’s scolding had become sharper as Chen Ren drew closer, his irritation barely hiding his surprise. The truth was, Chen Ren could feel it too—he was right on the edge on making contact with his soul.

But before he took that step, he wanted to do something else. Something important.

He wanted to hunt a beast in the sinkhole himself, so he could also make a breakthrough in body cultivation.

He had already mastered the physical drills; his body had hardened, his muscles carried a steadiness of strength. But the moment he would slay a beast and temper his bones in a bath, he’d finally break through the first step of body cultivation and stabilize his star space, at least to a point where he could finally make progress into higher realms. But before that he needed to select a beast to hunt.

***

Chen Ren sat by the window, the pale morning light sliding across the open book before him. The bestiary of the sinkhole. Yu Murong had sent it to him two days ago as promised, proudly claiming it listed every beast his clan’s scouts had catalogued in the last three years.

Chen Ren had already skimmed through it before, but choosing one beast to hunt was far harder than it sounded. Every creature in the sinkhole was vicious in its own right; the more pages he turned, the crueler the sketch became.

He flipped through another section when Yalan’s voice cut through the quiet.
“How about this one?”

She leaned over his shoulder and tapped against a page. “An ivory slasher. Peak tier two. See? It’s covered in bone—its ribs and spine jut out like blades. Perfect for tempering your skeleton further.”

Chen Ren looked down at the drawing. The artist had done well to capture its monstrous form—a lean, wolf-like beast with white bone spikes bursting from every inch of its body, sharp enough to tear through metal. Its face was half skull, half flesh, the eyes sunken and hungry. Beneath the illustration, notes marked the region it was often found: Near the entrance of the sinkhole. A place named Bone Ridge Cavern.

He studied it for a moment before shaking his head. “Too dangerous,” he said simply. “It can elongate its bones to puncture through enemies. I’d have to use my qi the entire time to not get stabbed, and that’ll shatter my control. I’ll lose an eye before I even land a hit.”

He turned the page.

Yalan exhaled through her nose, clearly unimpressed. “Fine. Then how about this one?”

She pointed again—her little paw hovered over a massive creature that filled half the page. It had the body of a lion, but its mane was dark and metallic, its tail long and sharp like a blade, and two curved horns jutted from its skull.

Chen Ren’s gaze swept over the sketch, then down to the notes scrawled underneath. “A horned sand devourer… fierce, but reckless. Says here that it can shoot concentrated beams of qi from its horns.”

Yalan tilted her head. “And?”

He snorted. “And it could bring down the ceiling with one shot. The sinkhole isn’t exactly forgiving. I’d die buried alive before I even land a hit. Also—” he traced the map beside it “—it lives far too deep. I’d need a full squad to get close, and that defeats the point.”

“Tch. You’re too choosy,” Yalan muttered.

“I need to be picky if I don’t want to die hundreds of feet underground,” he said flatly. The thought alone sent a shiver crawling up his spine. The image of falling into eternal darkness—crushed under earth, lungs filled with dust—wasn’t something he cared to test.

He kept flipping through the pages. Some beasts looked manageable, but were far weaker than what he needed. Others seemed perfect for bone refinement, but were elusive, hidden in depths where light itself barely reached.

One after another, the sketches blurred past his fingers—fangs, claws, scales, wings. All promising death in different forms.

What he needed was one that matched all its criteria.

The sinkhole was a world of its own—vast, layered, and treacherous. Even with the Yu Clan’s bestiary in his hands, Chen Ren knew that knowing a beast’s name and actually finding it were two very different things.

What he needed was precise. The beast had to match his current strength—not too weak, not too powerful. It couldn’t be too deep within the sinkhole, where the air grew thick with qi that could poison you and the ground swallowed footsteps. It had to be traceable, not one of those elusive predators that vanished like ghosts. And above all, it had to be something he was confident he could kill.

Ticking all those boxes was like trying to thread a needle in a storm. Worse, the bestiary might already be outdated. Beasts died, migrated, or mutated all the time. Even the Yu Clan’s records, neat and organized as they were, could be lies written by dead men.

Still, Chen Ren had no other choice.

So he kept reading.

Page after page turned under his fingers. Yalan had left him alone by then, too bored to watch him squint at ink sketches.

By the time he finally leaned back, two hours had passed, and other than the first two beasts Yalan pointed out, three more had caught his eye.

The first was a fire-tongued earth wyvern, a giant creature with rough, metallic scales that glimmered like dull iron. It was fire-attuned and would throw fire with its tongue. Its regeneration was limited compared to other beasts of its tier, making it a realistic target. Fire-attuned flesh would also strengthen his ligaments and lungs—A good fit for body cultivation.

The second was a mist-eyed chimera, a strange hybrid that roamed the outer tunnels, rarely staying in one place. The last recorded sighting was nearly a year ago. The book described it as passive unless provoked, intelligent, and solitary. A beast that preferred evasion over battle. It was harder to find, but far safer to fight once cornered.

The third was the most tempting, and the most dangerous. A Thunderhorn Ram, a four-legged beast that resembled a goat, but was born of both lightning and wind. Sparks ran through its fur in the sketch, the horns crackling like storm clouds. Unlike the others, its nest was marked clearly—a fixed location, with notes of previous cultivators’ attempts to slay it. Most of those attempts had failed, but the book also mentioned that it might have progressed to tier three since it had been close to it for years now.

Out of the five, any would do.

But selecting one was another battle altogether.

Chen Ren sat there, fingers resting on the page, eyes narrowed. The inked drawings stared back at him, beasts frozen in mid-snarl. His thoughts flickered between them.

Choosing wrongly could mean death. Choosing wisely could mean a new stage of strength.

He exhaled slowly, the paper rustling beneath his breath.

Yalan leaned over the book and pointed at the fire-tongued earth wyvern’s sketch. “Why not the lizard?” she said. “Looks easy enough to kill, even with that little regeneration. Its scales aren’t thick.”

Chen Ren hadn’t even noticed when she had come back. His eyes went back to the page, and at the inked teeth, and the long, low body.

“I’m… worried about its speed,” he admitted. “If I can’t match how fast it moves, I’ll never land a proper strike. You know I can barely use my qi right now.”

Yalan snorted. “Still, if you can hold it in one place, blowing its head off won’t be hard.” Her voice was flat, but the grin at the corner of her whiskers said she liked the image.

He imagined the scene: a flash of claws, a spinning head, his hand steady as he set the final blow. It felt good for a second, a clean, honest victory. He tapped the page with a finger. “If I trap it, yes. But that’s the problem, I don’t know how long it will take to even find the thing. The sinkhole is wide. And I need to prepare. I’d rather do it before we leave the city.”

“Are you planning to hunt it while we sit in the market, then?” she asked.

“No.” He shook his head. “I’ll find it and finish it before we go. If I’m right, the medallion talk should come up soon. I want to move before I get too embroiled in this clan war which honestly shouldn't happen. But I don't want to take risks.”

“You’re always so sure of yourself,” Yalan said and stretched where she was.

“It usually works out,” he said, and felt a grin creeping to his face before it faded. “But I have to think three steps ahead. Once word gets out—and it will—both the Chen and Huang clans will start asking questions. They have spies. If they don’t already know, they’ll learn soon. I need to be ready for what happens when they come looking and then see if the Chen clan is willing to part with the medallion. That's the only obstacle in our path right now and with my luck, we might get in a conflict one way or another.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

183. Meeting the patriarch

Chen Leijun stood at the bedside and looked down at the still shape of his grandson, Chen Eain. The boy’s chest rose and fell like a small boat in rough water. He was wrapped in white bandages, and from where he stood, he could still smell the herb smoke and iron in the air. The healers had just finished their work about an hour ago. When he walked in, he saw how drawn and tired they looked.

Eain’s eyes were still closed. His skin was pale as ash. He had expected a broken body—something beyond saving. For a moment, he thought the worst; maybe the boy was crippled. Maybe he was too finished to continue the path of a cultivator. But no, he was still breathing. The heavens had been kind to him.

The healers had said the worst had been avoided. According to them, his dantian was damaged. It would not heal quickly. Eain would not be able to fight at full strength for some time. Even so, the injuries were many. Bandages hid deep cuts, bruises mapped his ribs and blood had soaked cloth and dried in flakes in the hollow of his ear. The healers worked to stop the bleeding and stitch flesh that would not hold easily. Leijun watched the small, steady rise of the boy’s chest and felt both relief and a new weight gather in his chest.

Fate, it seemed, had not taken the boy yet. The thought sat between his ribs like a cold stone. That could be mercy. It could be a sentence. Leijun did not know which.

He remembered the first time he had seen his kin in such a bad state. If he had been a hundred years younger, his fist might have already been bloody. Rage would have been raw and quick. He had been a different man then—less patient, keener on thunder than on planning, but now his face stayed calm. The world had taught him to measure danger and bend emotion into use. Feeling alone would not save the clan.

But beside him, Chen Chenglei looked exactly as his own self would have a century ago. Leijun watched the way his eldest son stood: shoulders tight, jaw clenched, eyes like hot coals. Qi leaked from him in thin, bitter threads, the sign of a man whose blood boiled. He had not slept. His hands trembled as he crouched and pressed them flat to his knees. He could tell that anger sat inside him like a warming iron.

Leijun did not need words to read the look in Chenglei’s face. He wanted violence. He wanted to give an immediate reply. He wanted the Yu Clan’s blood.

“What will you do, father?” Chenglei asked at last. He looked at him with bloodshot eyes. “Father, we must teach the Yu Clan a lesson. We cannot sit hidden in our rooms while they trample our sons. We must strike and finish them for good.”

Chenglei took a raw breath and let the words spill out like a blade. “They had the guts to hurt my son,” he said, voice tight. “This must be the last time. We are strong enough. Kill the Yu Clan, and the Huangs will think twice. Then we can take whatever hides in the sinkhole without fear.”

Leijun watched him without interrupting. He did not move his hands. He only kept his eyes on his eldest son, letting the anger leave the man as speech. Sometimes a man needed to unload his fury before he could be reasoned with.

When Chenglei finally ran out of breath, Leijun spoke, slow and flat. “You know the probable end of that attack.”

Chenglei met his father’s gaze hard. “Our victory,” he answered.

Leijun’s face did not change, but his voice dropped to a tone like a winter wind. “Or my death.” Leijun continued without raising his voice. “If we strike the Yu Clan now, their experts, especially the patriarch, will gather. They will fight to the last for their own names and treasures. They will try to kill me first. If I fall, you and your brothers will be left alone—without me who holds the clan together.”

He paused and let the idea sit between them.

“You speak of breaking a balance,” Leijun continued. “Break the balance, and you break the city. You break our bloodline. Do you not think the City Lord or the Empire will act if open war begins inside Red Peak? They will carve us down to make an example.”

Chenglei’s jaw worked. He opened his mouth to argue, but Leijun held up a hand and leaned forward, eyes steady and hard. “I am not asking you to do nothing,” he said. “I am asking you to be wise.”

He pointed once at the sleeping boy. “Let him live. Let this be the lesson Chen Eain needs. Make him harder, make him smarter. Train him until his shame turns to strength. If you burn the city chasing revenge, you may win a battle, but you will lose the house that bears our name.

“If you still wish to finish a clan alone, go. But know this: do it under your own name. Do not ask the Chen name to carry a madness that will bury us all.”

“So you’re saying we do nothing? Keep playing our part in this balance while they grow bold? I won’t stand for that.”

Leijun’s eyes narrowed but he shook his head. “Neither do I. None of the clans wants this—no one seeks a full war. That is why whatever hides in the sinkhole matters so much to us.”

“But whatever is down there has stayed hidden for too long. We’re nowhere near claiming it. And now with Eain like this, our chances are worse. If he were whole, he would have found a way!” His voice broke on the last word, the hope turning to ash.

“He was never going to take it. You know why. There is so much wild qi in that place that not even a cultivator at the foundation establishment realm can stand close. Maybe not even a meridian expansion realm cultivator could stand for long. That is the whole danger.

“What we needed from the young ones was different. We needed someone to find a safe pathway—one where the qi thins enough for a proper approach. Once a path is known, the clans would swoop in and claim what lies there. I was waiting for that moment,” Leijun said as calmly as possible.

Chenglei’s fingers flexed. “And now it looks like the Yu Clan will get there first.”

Leijun frowned. He had hoped his son would see the politics—the slow, cutting moves behind every expedition—on his own. Chenglei was a man of action; he followed orders well, but he rarely read the spaces between them. It was an old grief for Leijun, one he could not change now.

“You cannot let the Yu Clan win,” Chenglei said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t—wouldn’t accept it if it happened. “Not after what they did to Eain.”

Leijun met his son’s stare. “Then find out how they ambushed him,” he said. “No one in the Yu Clan’s young ranks holds that kind of strength to beat him to this extent. Did you question the survivors?”

“I did,” Chenglei said. His voice was tight. “Most of the returned men were wounded and useless, but one of them could talk. I got him to speak. He said a man named Renjie is working with the Yu Clan. One of them boasted his name back in the sinkhole.”

Leijun’s brow lifted. “Renjie?” he repeated. The name sounded unfamiliar and thin against the quiet room. “I have not heard that name.”

Chenglei nodded. “He isn’t from Red Peak City. The man’s from outside the city. I got the spies to look around and they said Renjie is backed by a master alchemist—someone even the Guardians sects fear and respect. And he sold the Yu clan pills.”

Now we’re talking, Leijun thought to himself while looking at the resolve in his son’s eyes.

“Well, tell me everything.”

Chenglei stood straight and began to speak, his hands moving gestures while explaining. He told Leijun what the survivor had said and what the spies had found: how the Yu Clan had attacked, the pills they carried, and how the Yu Clan was trying to offer Renjie more and more spirit stones for more unique pills. And the information of a few of them that he was able to find out.

When Chenglei finished, Leijun’s face darkened. He pressed his fingertips to his temple.

“Did the Yu Clan always have contacts like this beyond the city?”

Chenglei shook his head. “I could not find proof of that, father. But this Renjie—he’s a young alchemist, and the pills are unique enough to back the claim of him having a strong background. If they are using outside resources to push deeper into the sinkhole, we cannot let them keep it. We must cut this partnership.”

Leijun looked at the sleeping boy, then back at his eldest. A cold faith settled in his eyes. He nodded once. “You are right. These pills wouldn't let us win in the hands of our enemies. We need to do something before the Yu clan moves too ahead of us.”

“They must transport those pills,” Chenglei said. “Caravans, guards, drivers—there will be stocks moving from outside to the city. I can have men ambush one of those carts. Kill the drivers and guards, take the pills. I'm sure it won't be easy to find out when they will be getting the next batch of pills.”

Leijun clicked his tongue, a soft, sharp sound that echoed in the room. Maybe his son still didn't understand his thought process and wanted to act like a lowly bandit. “Chenglei, son, do you not hear yourself? If this Renjie is the disciple of a master alchemist, he is a man of value. Move against him and the Yu Clan will hunt us even inside the city, and would be able to justify it. And do you really want to offend a master alchemist and have his fury come down upon our clan?”

Leijun’s eyes went to where Chenglei’s hands curled at his sides. His son opened his mouth, then closed it. Leijun knew that the boy wanted revenge against everyone that was even slightly involved in Chen Eain's current condition, but that was too idiotic. Finally, Chenglei managed a hard nod, the reluctance plain in the set of his jaw.

“We must be thorough,” Leijun said. “First, learn why the Yu Clan has this backer. Find the depth of the relationship. If Renjie is tied deep to them—blood, vows, or an old friendship—then we do not stab blindly. We prepare countermeasures for the pills. We study them. We find ways to break them.”

“And if it is only trade?” Chenglei asked.

“Then buy it. Buy the pills. Pay more than what the Yu clan pays. Our coffers are big enough.” He watched his son’s face for the smallest flicker of anger or doubt. “But do not let your anger pick the wrong target.”

Chenglei’s brow darkened. His eyes drifted to the bed where Eain lay wrapped in bandages. “We will partner with the man responsible for Eain’s condition,” he said finally, the words hissing out. “If that pill would have blocked his dantian for longer, then he could have been crippled for life.”

He listened to the old, tired logic behind his son’s anger and shook his head. “Put your anger at the Yu Clan,” he said. “You do not hunt the blacksmith because a sword killed a man. You go after the swordsman who striked. Do you understand?”

He knew Chenglei would try to smear blame across everything. That was how grief worked—it wanted to burn bright and wide. Leijun had watched men do that and bury their houses under the flames. This world demanded a sharper mind than that.

Chenglei gave a single, slow nod. He looked once more at the sleeping boy, at the thin rise and fall of Eain’s chest, then turned. “I will send him an invitation,” he said. “Once we learn more, I will arrange the meeting with Renjie.”

Leijun allowed a small, hard smile. “Good. Be careful and always keep in mind to move cleanly." He moved toward the door.

They left the room together, footsteps muffled by rugs and cloth.

Though when they were exiting, there was one thing that they didn’t notice—on the bed, beneath bandages and soot, a twitch at the corner of Eain’s eyelid.

It was almost nothing, but it was there.

***After two long days of studying the bestiary from page to page, Chen Ren finally settled on his target after a lot of thinking—a beast strong enough to temper his body and help him break through to the second step of body cultivation. He closed the book with a firm snap, relief and determination crossing his face. The choice had taken far too long, but he believed it was the best decision for him.

It was then that the innkeeper knocked softly on his door. “Master Renjie,” the man said with a raised bow when the door opened, “someone left a letter for you.”

Chen Ren raised a brow. “A letter?”

The man nodded and handed him a folded parchment sealed with the Chen Clan’s insignia.

Chen Ren didn’t even need to open it to guess what it was about. By the time he broke the seal and read through the message—carefully worded and respectful to a fault—his suspicion was confirmed. The Chen Clan wanted to meet him.

He smiled faintly but didn’t move. “Of course they do,” he murmured. “Took them long enough.”

Going straight to the Chen Clan right after receiving their letter would’ve been foolish. It would look like he was eager—that they held the upper hand. Instead, Chen Ren did the opposite.

He spent the rest of the day wandering through Red Peak City, moving through its crowded market streets like a man without a care. He visited stalls shouting about fruits and beast pelts and heard merchants argue over prices. He stopped to watch a street performer bend light into shapes for children, then sat down for a late meal at the bar he now frequented.

All the while, Yalan’s voice whispered in his mind. “Three men on the rooftops,” she said softly, her tone casual—too casual to say that there were men stalking him. “Two more in the alley behind you. All watching.”

Chen Ren took another sip of wine he was carrying for show and smiled. “Let them.”

He didn’t change his pace or his path. The shadows followed him from street to street, but he ignored them. Observation was harmless. Attacks were what he worried about, and no one dared strike him in public.

By nightfall, he returned to the inn, relaxed and quiet, as if the day had been nothing more than leisure.

The next morning, though, he rose early. A full day of silence was enough to make his point. Any longer, and he risked turning their curiosity into irritation. The Chen Patriarch, Chen Leijun, was a man known for patience, but also for pride. And he was too smart to not know what Chen Ren was doing.

If he delayed too long, Leijun would treat it as an insult to the clan. He didn’t want that, not after everything he’d gone through for just this moment.

So Chen Ren prepared. He tied his expensive robes carefully, adjusted the spatial ring at his finger, and glanced once at Yalan, who stood by the window.

“You’re coming with me,” he said.

“To the lion’s den?”

“To make sure I walk out of it,” he replied with a smirk.

Her eyes gleamed faintly. “Well, fine.”

Yalan would be his protection in case things go wrong. According to her, no one in the clan should know of her since she’d been a hidden guardian of sorts for the longest time. It was more than enough for him.

Together, they stepped out of the inn, heading toward the sprawling Chen Clan estate.

Chen Ren’s lips curved as the morning breeze brushed past. But he walked through the tide silently to where the estate was.

It wasn’t that far to the inn and there was no crowd this early in the morning, so it didn’t take them long to reach the gates, and when they did, the gate guard, a tall, young man barely looked up.

He lifted two fingers and waved Chen Ren through, like a man letting a regular pass.

Chen Ren’s mouth tipped into a small smile as he stepped inside.

A young maid stepped out of the pillar’s shadow immediately. Short and bright-eyed, she wore a long pink robe tied neat at the waist. Her smile held and Chen Ren spoke before she could.

“Helo, I am Renjie, here to meet Patriarch Chen Leijun.”

“Yes, of course. This way, honored guest,” she said, head bowed, voice sweet. He answered with a nod and followed.

Chen Ren took the time to observe while walking. The halls were cool and long. Sunlight cut thin bars across clean stone. But before his eyes could wander more the maid tried to fill the quiet. “If you want, I can bring some eastern phoenix tea for you. We recently had a supply and it's quite good…” she went on and on.

He hummed through her descriptions but her movements distracted him.

Her sleeve brushed his wrist. A step later, her shoulder grazed his arm. Perfume—light and floral—hung in the air. Her chin tilted, eyes soft, as if inviting him to notice.

He ignored it and kept walking.

At each turn, old memories rose in his mind—boys sparring in a winter yard, a stern elder’s voice at a doorway, the clack of beads in a side hall. Faces he had never truly met. Steps he had never taken. The scenes came bright, then broke like foam. He let them go. Borrowed memories were not his. The nostalgia… it wasn’t his.

They walked through the halls to climb a short stair.

By the end of it, the maid’s smile thinned when he didn’t bite her flirtations. “We have arrived,” she said, and slid the door aside with careful hands.

“Thank you.” Chen Ren walked in without another word. He almost wished to grin at the maid to make her mad, but halted his steps when his eyes shifted toward the room.

Two men waited among a table. The lamps cast steady light and one of the men lifted his head, looking at him calmly. He recognised him immediately.

Patriarch Chen Leijun.

The old man’s gaze was… heavy. It pressed on Chen Ren like a palm testing steel. It weighed. It counted. The eyes did not blink as if piercing through him.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

184. Seeing it

As soon as Chen Ren saw Patriarch Leijun, memories rushed through him like a storm he didn’t ask for.

He saw it—the day his predecessor had been banished. The man’s cold eyes, the hard voice that had carved each word into his mind: “You’re trash. The Chen Clan has nothing to do with you anymore. You’ll amount to nothing and die crushed by your own foolishness. Leave!”

There had been more—too many words to count—and the worst part was that some of them had been true. That didn’t make them hurt less.

Now those words echoed again, twisting with the rage and hate that had once filled his predecessor’s heart. They rose like fire, pushing against the inside of his skull, begging to be let out. For a moment, it felt as if the hatred had only been sleeping, waiting for this exact meeting to wake.

But Chen Ren didn’t let it show. Not even a flicker.

He knew if he let his emotions slip, his killing intent would bleed out on its own. The air would change, and the old man would notice. So he pushed it down—slowly, deliberately—until his face was calm again.

Only then did he realize Patriarch Leijun had risen from his seat.

Chen Ren’s gaze met his for a heartbeat. Then, lowering his head slightly, he offered a short bow, just enough to show courtesy without submission. “It’s an honor to meet the Patriarch of the Chen Clan,” he said evenly.

Leijun’s sharp gaze studied him in silence, but he didn't keep gazing at him, Chen Ren turned his eyes to the second man in the room—Chen Chenglei, his uncle. “It’s an honor to meet you as well, Elder Chenglei.”

Both men nodded in acknowledgment. Then Leijun’s expression softened a fraction, and his voice carried the weight of calm authority. “I believe it’s we who should be saying that to you, Renjie,” the patriarch said. “I’m glad you accepted my invitation. I’ve been hearing a great deal about your pills… and your master.”

Chen Ren smiled faintly, just enough to be polite. “My master tends to attract talk whenever he’s named,” he replied. “Every pill I have ever made is simply a reflection of his teachings.”

The words came smoothly, practiced, polite yet under that faint smile, Chen Ren’s thoughts burned quietly. He had gotten so good at lying that at this point, he had the confidence to even fool the Emperor.

“Your master must be quite the genius,” Patriarch Leijun said, voice smooth but heavy with curiosity. “Blessed by the heavens, no doubt. What’s his name?”

Chen Ren’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m sorry, Patriarch Chen,” he said calmly. “My master prefers to remain unknown. He’s a hermit now, and speaking his name might only draw trouble to him. That has always been the case with him.”

Leijun’s expression didn’t change, but Chen Ren could almost hear the thoughts behind that stillness—the silent calculations, the doubt, the subtle weighing of truth. But in the end, his pills had already proven their worth. The results spoke louder than any story he could tell. Whether the patriarch believed him or not didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had power, and power made belief easy.

Finally, Leijun gave a slow nod. “That’s alright,” he said, gesturing toward a seat. “Why don’t we sit?”

As Chen Ren moved forward, Leijun’s eyes flicked toward Yalan. “Will your spirit beast stay with you?”

Chen Ren inclined his head. “Yes. But don’t worry, she’s obedient and no threat.”

From the side, Chenglei gave a short chuckle. “I’m sure. She barely gives off the aura of a tier two spirit beast. I think we’ll be fine.”

Chen Ren didn’t look his way, but a faint thought slid across his mind: You couldn’t be more wrong.

The air in the room shifted slightly as they took their seats. Yalan sat beside him, her eyes half-lidded, acting as an obedient spirit beast who already looked bored.

Patriarch Leijun clasped his hands over the table. “I’m sure you’re curious why I’ve called you here,” he said.

Chen Ren nodded. “I suspected it has something to do with the pills I’ve been selling to the Yu Clan. Am I right?”

Leijun’s lips curved into a faint smile in return.

“You are, yes. You’re quick to catch on.”

“It’s not the first time clans or sects have become interested in my master’s creations,” Chen Ren said, keeping his tone mild. “But I haven’t done much business with them. The Yu Clan was an exception because of a friend.”

Chen Chenglei gave a thin smile. “Yu Murong, we know him.”

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed a fraction. For a brief second, he let the smile fall from his face. “It seems your people have been digging for information about me. I thought it stopped at the men who followed me around the city yesterday.”

The room went still for a moment. Patriarch Leijun’s expression didn’t shift, but his son frowned, clearly caught off guard by how bluntly Chen Ren said it. Before Chenglei could speak, the patriarch turned his head toward him.

“I wasn’t aware of that,” Leijun said evenly. “Chenglei, did you send men to follow Renjie?”

Chenglei blinked, hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, Father. I did.”

Leijun clicked his tongue and looked back at Chen Ren. “Then I must apologize for my son. I had no intention of having men tail you after sending the invitation. It seems my son acted ahead of me, and without any thought. He could be like this. Trust me, the Chen clan had no intention of antagonising you.”

Chen Ren’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s fine. I simply don’t like people being that interested in my life. I hope it won’t happen again.”

“It won’t,” the patriarch said. “You have my word.”

Chen Ren let the matter drop. It wasn’t worth the breath and it had already served its purpose of letting the Chen clan know that sending people to tail him was useless and was just going to make him angry. This was how these people worked; for what they were about to discuss, he needed to show that he was no pushover.

He leaned back slightly. “Anyway,” he said, voice light, “let’s return to the main topic. You should know the only reason I sold those pills was because of a friend yet you called me here.”

Patriarch Leijun folded his hands over his lap, his tone as even as still water. “I’m well aware of your arrangement with the Yu Clan,” he said. “But no one said you couldn’t have a partnership with the Chen Clan as well.”

Chen Ren’s brows lifted slightly. “Wouldn’t that jeopardize my friendship with the Yu Clan?”

Leijun’s smile was faint, the kind that didn’t touch his eyes. “From what I’ve heard, you’re a traveler. Travelers rarely stay in one city for long. Friendship shouldn’t bind you so tightly. You’d do better to think about what we can give you, and how much it will help you on your path. You would always have a friend in the Chen Clan.”

Chen Ren tilted his head. “And why can’t the Yu Clan give me the same? I’m sure they’re evaluating my worth as we speak.”

Leijun gave a soft, dismissive scoff. “You’re new to Red Peak City. You wouldn’t know. The Yu Clan are merchants, first and last. They buy, they sell, they barter, but true power doesn’t come from trade. They can’t give you the cultivation resources we can. You’re young and talented; you’ll appreciate what we offer.”

Beside him, Chenglei nodded quickly. “My father's right. The Chen Clan produces the strongest cultivators in the city. What we can provide—no one else could.”

Chen Ren went quiet, lowering his gaze in thought. He stroked his chin in thought. To the two of them, it must have looked like he was seriously considering it. Inside, he was only playing the role, letting silence stretch so they could fill it with promises.

A second passed. And another. And before the silence would get too awkward, he looked up.

“I’d like to know what you can offer me,” he said. “But I’m guessing the pills you want will be as many as what I’ve already sold to the Yu Clan.”

Leijun’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction and nodded. “You’ll get far more value from us than from them,” he said smoothly. “Trust me—the Yu Clan has been underpaying you severely.”

Chen Ren gave a faint grin, leaning back slightly in his chair. “I like the sound of that,” he said. “But I don’t need more spirit stones. I have enough right now, and if you’re offering to buy the same pills, I can sell them to you at the same price as the Yu Clan. What I’d prefer instead are artifacts or martial techniques on top of the spirit stones.”

“Hah!” Chenglei’s face brightened immediately. “That’s fine. We have plenty of artifacts and martial techniques, especially for cultivators in the qi refinement and foundation establishment realms. I’m sure you’d find something to your liking.”

Chen Ren shook his head. “No. I don’t want those. I have enough resources to break through to the next realm.”

Patriarch Leijun tilted his head slightly, studying him. “Then what exactly are you looking for?”

“It’s not for me,” Chen Ren said, lowering his tone a little. “You need to understand—my master oversees the creation of all these pills. We’re not an establishment that sells to the public. My master doesn’t need spirit stones. He only agreed to sell to the Yu Clan because I requested him, also because he recently took on a few new disciples—it was good practice for them, and in return, they got a few resources.”

He paused, as though weighing his next words carefully. “If I ask him to prepare more batches, he might refuse. He dislikes anything that looks like greed. To convince him, I’d need something… that he wants.”

Leijun’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his tone stayed smooth. “So, what you want are resources for your master.” A flicker of unease crossed his gaze—gone almost as quickly as it came. “But from what you’re implying, he must be quite powerful. The kind of man who wouldn’t be satisfied by ordinary offerings. Only the Guardian sects carry resources that could impress someone like that.”

Chen Ren caught the hesitation in the old man’s tone, and almost smiled. “My master doesn’t always care for strength,” he said lightly. “Sometimes he just likes… collecting things. Rare artifacts, odd materials—he calls them trinkets. I’m sure the Chen Clan has a few of those lying around.”

Leijun’s hand twitched slightly against the armrest, and Chen Ren knew he had him thinking. He raised an eyebrow. “A collector?”

Chen Ren nodded lightly, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Yes. My master has an eye for rare things. I know his tastes well. Once, he paid an entire bag of high-grade spirit stones to a sect leader—just for a ring he liked. It wasn’t even a spatial artifact, just one engraved with intricate runes that no one knows the function of. If you have anything like that, I believe I could persuade my master to sell to you.”

For a heartbeat, silence hung in the room. Both Leijun and Chenglei exchanged a glance—subtle, but full of conversation. Leijun stroked his goatee over and over. It was clear that neither had expected that kind of request, but neither objected either. Everyone knew that cultivators of higher realms had their eccentricities. Some collected weapons, some collected bones, and others… oddities.

Finally, Leijun gave a slow nod. “Our founder started as a merchant,” he said, voice thoughtful. “Over the centuries, the Chen Clan has gathered a fair number of artifacts—some so old we no longer know how to use them. You may find something your master would appreciate.”

Chen Ren’s eyes lit up, though it was more performance than truth. “That sounds promising. I believe my master would certainly like something out of your collection. Would you mind showing me before we continue this discussion?”

Leijun hesitated for a moment, then smiled faintly. “Very well. But remember—many of these artifacts are precious. We don't let outsiders get inside, but I will make an exception for you. Handle them with care. If you wish to inspect anything personally, ask first.”

“Of course,” Chen Ren said smoothly, inclining his head. “I understand completely.”

The three of them rose. The patriarch gestured for him to follow, leading them through a long hallway lined with carved pillars.

“Where we are heading,” the patriarch said, “is our Vault Room.”

As they walked through the long stone corridors of the Chen estate, Patriarch Leijun kept probing for more information with each step. His tone was mild, but he was clearly trying to learn more about his background. He asked where Renjie had spent his childhood in, which sects he’d visited, and what parts of the Empire he liked the most. His voice wasn’t intruding but his eyes never stopped studying him. He was looking for small details to patch together his identity.

Chen Ren, however, gave him nothing solid. He answered with the same vague stories he had once told the Yu Clan—mentions of spending his childhood wandering across different cities, talking on the Guardian sects and a few old Established ones, and saying how he liked the Empire as whole—but no names, no places that could be traced back to him. Every word was shaped to sound honest while giving nothing away.

Their talk thinned as they reached the end of the hall. The patriarch stopped before a wide, reinforced wooden door carved with faint runes that ran across an array. He pressed his palm against it, and at once, light rippled through the grain. Lines of azure rune-light coiled across its surface like veins of lightning before the door groaned open.

In his mind, Yalan’s calm voice echoed. “That’s a [Qi-Signature Seal Array] Only the person who's qi is registered in the array can open it.”

Chen Ren said nothing, merely stepped forward, and at once, his eyes widened seeing the room.

Woah…

The room stretched wide and deep, lined with shelves and glass cases that gleamed under suspended light orbs. Every shelf was filled: jade bottles sealed with wax, ancient scrolls tied with golden thread, rings and pendants resting atop velvet cloth, weapons mounted neatly along the walls—blades, staves, and bows of every make. Unlike the Soaring Sword Sect’s chaotic vaults, this one was pristine, arranged with a merchant’s precision.

He hadn’t expected this much. Whatever front the Chen Clan kept, they were far richer than he had imagined.

Patriarch Leijun stepped beside him, hands clasped behind his back. “I hope you can find something that suits your master’s taste,” he said. “Everything here was either won through battle or purchased by our founder generations ago.”

Chen Ren gave a small nod and began to wander slowly through the aisles, eyes gliding over each case. Chenglei trailed close, pointing things out—an ornate fan made of phoenix feathers, a cracked jade mirror that still hummed faintly with qi, an artifact that looked almost like a telescope—but Chen Ren only smiled politely, not stopping once.

He kept looking.

And then he saw it.

His steps faltered as his gaze locked onto a small, dull medallion resting in a sealed glass case. It looked nearly identical to the one he already carried—its surface etched with faint concentric runes, its edges blackened by time.

Without hesitation, he moved toward it. The closer he got, the more certain he became.

But before his hand could even brush the glass, Patriarch Leijun’s voice came from behind him—steady, almost apologetic.

“I’m sorry if that caught your eye,” the old man said. “I’m afraid that piece… cannot be given away.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

185. Easy success

Chen Ren didn’t let any hint of disappointment touch his face. Inside, he felt the faint sting of rejection, but outwardly he remained calm—expression smooth, eyes steady. He had expected this. The medallion was a Chen Clan heirloom; there was no world where they would hand it over without resistance.

He turned to Patriarch Leijun, voice as polite as it could be. “Is there a reason why? What does this artifact do?”

Before the old man could answer, Chenglei stepped forward, his brows drawn slightly. “It’s not an artifact,” he said. “It’s a clan heirloom. I’m sure you understand. Such things are precious to us.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly, his gaze sliding back to the medallion. “That’s alright then,” he said at last. “Why don’t we move on?”

That should give them no suspicions. He turned away as if the matter didn’t bother him at all. He made sure that his steps weren’t hurried but measured. He drifted past the shelves and display cases, pretending to take interest in the vault’s other treasures. Truthfully, there were many things he found intriguing—each piece humming with qi and there were more than just weapons in the vault.

He paused before a small crystal orb sealed within a jade frame. Lightning flickered faintly inside it, flashing across the glass like trapped storm clouds. The qi that leaked out brushed against his skin.

For a few breaths, he stood still, feeling the electric pulse run up his arm. Yalan’s voice murmured in his mind, soft and knowing. “That’s a lightning orb. Formed from the core of a thunder beast. If you absorbed it, your lightning would become purer and denser.”

Chen Ren’s eyes lingered on the sphere. The temptation stirred something deep inside him. “Yes,” he thought. “It would strengthen me greatly.”

Then he shook his head, barely moving his lips as he answered her in thought. “But we can’t afford distractions. The medallion comes first.”

He stepped away, the faint hum of lightning fading behind him. From the corner of his eye, he caught the subtle frown forming on Chenglei’s face, and even the patriarch’s raised brow. They clearly were hoping for him to take the sphere and get this over with. If they thought that he was going to just pick anything, they were very wrong.

There were other treasures in the vault that he stopped in front of longer than the sphere—a slender silver sword that released qi projectiles without draining the mind, a black bow that never missed the mark, a telescope like device that let you see very far distance, and a set of jade beads that shimmered with spiritual energy. Chen Ren studied them before moving on, his expression unreadable.

To his two ignorant relatives, he might have looked like a young man browsing through items he didn't understand the worth of. But behind his calm eyes, every glance, every step, was a hidden agenda. He wasn’t here to admire what the Chen Clan had gathered.

He was here for what they didn’t want him to have. So, he moved further.

There was also a bracelet that caught his eye—simple, unassuming, but pulsing with faint qi—that could calm a beast’s instincts. Chenglei explained everything about it when he saw him looking at it. Chen Ren paused when he saw it, thinking how much it would suit Zi Wen in bonding with more beasts. A few shelves down sat a pair of spectacles with golden frames and a faint blue sheen across the lenses. According to the plaque beneath, they could read the qi conductivity of any metal at a glance. Chen Ren could almost picture Feiyu grinning, hammering away in delight with those on his face.

The more he walked through the vault, the clearer it became—the Chen Clan was no lesser force than an Established sect. His predecessor had never thought too much about his clan’s standing and had never even stepped foot in the vault. Chen Clan's estate, their members, their wealth—everything reflected the quiet power they held in Red Peak City. And much of it, Chen Ren knew, came from the sinkhole.

Such knowledge was enough for him to re-evaluate Chen Clan, but he kept his face straight as he moved through the end of the vault. He had already thought through every way he could get the medallion out of his clan's hands, and he was confident in one thing after seeing how they had acted—they had no idea what the medallion truly was. They didn’t know its worth, nor what it could do. That ignorance would be his blade.

After a while, once he had looked through everything, Chenglei’s voice broke the silence. “Uh… Renjie, you don’t like anything here?”

Chen Ren turned toward him smoothly. “It’s not that,” he said. “A lot of these items are valuable, and some would be very useful for my own cultivation. But if I’m not wrong, most of them are only about a hundred years old, yes?”

Chenglei nodded, puzzled. “That’s right. Why? Is that a problem?”

Chen Ren let a faint smile touch his lips. “Not exactly a problem. But my master doesn’t have much interest in things so new. To him, a hundred years is nothing, barely a breath. He prefers ancient items, those with age and mystery to them. That’s why the medallion caught my eye. It seems… far older than the rest.”

Patriarch Leijun looked at him closely, then nodded slowly. “You’re right. It is the oldest artifact here. You have a good eye.”

Chen Ren inclined his head lightly. “I’ve seen a lot of ancient artifacts and my master's curiosities over the years.” He paused, then added with quiet finality, “And I don’t think my master would care much for anything else here.”

He looked at the patriarch’s gaze that lingered on him. He could tell the man was thinking. After a few seconds, his hand came up to stroke his goatee. “That sounds like a problem,” he said at last.

Chen Ren stood quietly, hands folded behind his back. His gaze flickered once more toward the medallion before he spoke, tone calm but firm.

“I understand that you don’t wish to part with a family heirloom,” he said. “But unless you have something older hidden elsewhere, I believe that medallion is the only thing that would convince my master. Without it, I fear I won’t be able to persuade him to make the deal.”

Patriarch Leijun’s expression darkened slightly, the crease on his brow deepening. “You’re asking too much, Renjie. A family heirloom isn’t something we can simply give away.”

“I understand that,” Chen Ren replied smoothly in a steady voice. “But do you have anything older I could take instead? Something with the same level of age? I really don't care if it has any function. I just need something with history.”

The silence that followed was sharp. Chenglei’s gaze darted between his father and the medallion before he finally spoke. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “we should hear what we stand to gain before deciding. If the exchange is worth it, we can discuss further.”

Chen Ren gave a small nod and reached into his robe. He took out a folded piece of parchment—the same one he had shown to the Yu Clan—and handed it to Patriarch Leijun.

The old man took it, unfolding it carefully. His sharp eyes skimmed each line in silence while Chenglei leaned over his shoulder to read. The parchment detailed the pills, the prices, and the terms of agreement—all neat, concise, and deliberate. He had even modified it a bit before coming here to write down how many pills he could provide.

Chen Ren watched the patriarch’s expression carefully, though he kept his own as neutral as stone.

Leijun’s face remained unreadable, but Chenglei’s didn’t. The man’s eyes widened as he read, his mouth parting just slightly in surprise.

Chen Ren took that as his cue to continue. “I’ll sell the pills to you at around the same rates as the Yu Clan if you decide to part with the medallion,” he said evenly. “In addition, the Yu Clan and I reached an understanding—if my pills are used during their expeditions, I receive ten percent of the sinkhole haul.”

Chenglei straightened sharply. “We don’t do that,” he said, his tone clipped. “Everything the Chen Clan recovers from the sinkhole belongs to the Chen Clan. We don’t share it with outsiders.”

Chen Ren smiled faintly, as though he had expected that answer. “Then perhaps we can negotiate. Once you have something suitable for me to present to my master as a gift, I’m sure we can find an agreement that satisfies both sides.”

Within seconds, the air thickened between them. Patriarch Leijun folded the parchment again, tapping it against his palm thoughtfully while Chenglei’s frown deepened.

Chen Ren paused for a moment, letting silence stretch just long enough to draw their attention back to him. Then, with the same calm tone, he added, “Please understand, I don’t mind selling the pills to you at a fair price. But my master is the one who sends them, and I have to make sure he’s satisfied with the arrangement. If you’d like some time to decide whether there’s something else you’re willing to offer instead of the medallion, that’s perfectly fine. I’ll be in the city for about a week longer before I continue my cultivation journey.”

He said it lightly, almost casually, and he watched their reactions closely.

“That’s fine by me,” Patriarch Leijun said. “Give us two days. We’ll have an answer for you by then.”

Chen Ren smiled faintly. “That’s acceptable. Do you mind if I take my leave for now?”

“Of course not,” Leijun replied. “Ask any servant outside—they’ll show you to the gates or get you a carriage to your inn or wherever you want to go.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Chen Ren said, bowing slightly. “I’ll find my own way.”

And with that, he turned and walked out, his steps measured and steady until the door shut quietly behind him. A male servant quietly showed both of them to the exit.

As he left the compound and the heavy air of the Chen estate lifted off his shoulders, a small, satisfied smile crept across his lips. Everything had gone smoother than he’d hoped.Yalan’s voice brushed through his thoughts. “What do you think? Will they give it to you?”

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced back once toward the towering walls of the estate. “Probably,” he replied inwardly. “They’re more desperate than I thought. They wouldn’t have let an outsider step into their vault otherwise, especially not someone they barely know. They want the pills too badly. After seeing how much progress the Yu Clan made, they’ll do whatever it takes to catch up.”

“That’s true,” Yalan murmured. “The Chen Clan has always been hungry for power. They think whatever lies in the sinkhole will let them control the whole city.”

Chen Ren’s lips curved faintly. “Yes,” he thought. “But they’re fools. They don’t realize that the medallion they’re guarding so carelessly… is worth far more than anything buried in that pit. At least, if that old dragon is to be believed.”

The city wind brushed past him, carrying the scent of smoke and spice, but Chen Ren hardly noticed. His mind was already spinning with possibilities—two days, maybe less, before the old man decided. And when he did, Chen Ren would be ready to claim what truly mattered.

“Anyway,” he said, “let’s wait for two days. See what answer they give.”

Yalan’s voice slipped into his head like cool water. “I rechecked the vault arrays and the clan seals when you were looking at the artifacts. Everything’s as it was. No surprise traps have been added since the last time I was there.”

He looked at her and offered a small, quiet smile. “Good,” he said. He folded his hands behind his back and said, “If we don’t get the medallion in the deal…”

He stopped, breathed out, and the smile went sharp at the edges. “We steal it and get the fuck out of here.”

Yalan’s quick chuckle was all the answer he needed.

***

Apparently, they didn’t have to steal the medallion in the end. Two days later, the Chen Clan sent word—they had agreed to part with it.

Chen Ren couldn’t help but feel a flicker of surprise. Things had gone far too smoothly. In the past few months, every step of his journey had demanded schemes and misdirection. And he had always gotten into conflicts one way or another. Yet here, everything had unfolded like a polite trade negotiation.

He had walked into the city with one plan: to get the medallion, no matter what it took. And now, it sat within his reach—without bloodshed, without risk. The ease of it almost made him uneasy.

Still, he wasn’t about to complain. He guessed that in the eyes of the Chen Clan, the medallion was little more than a sentimental relic—a family symbol passed down through generations, its real value long forgotten. They didn’t see it for what it truly was: a key to the Gate of Immortals. To them, ruling Red Peak City mattered more than holding onto a trinket from the past.

He’d half-expected this outcome. After all, his predecessor had been allowed to leave the clan with another medallion just like it. Still, the lack of struggle felt strange. He’d grown used to winning through deception and obstacles, not convenience.

Yet here he was—having earned both the Chen Clan’s heirloom and the Yu Clan’s favor, while lining his pockets with more spirit stones than he could count. The city had been kind to him, almost suspiciously so.

He supposed that once the Yu Clan learned he had sold pills to their rivals, they would rage. But by then, Chen Ren would be long gone. He had no intention of staying in Red Peak City once his business was done. And really—what could they say? He’d never signed an exclusive contract. He could sell to whoever he pleased.

If anything, he might leave a letter for Yu Murong, a little note to soothe the man’s pride and lie to him on what exactly had happened, so he could still have a good contact here for the future.

For now, though, he had what he wanted. After securing the medallion, he brought it straight to Wang Jun, who examined it carefully under his eyes. Once he confirmed it was authentic, Chen Ren turned his thoughts to the next step.

The negotiations awaited.

They turned out far simpler than Chen Ren had expected. He asked for nearly the same price he’d given the Yu Clan—only ten percent higher—and they didn’t argue much. Though the Chen Clan refused to share any part of their ‘sinkhole haul,’ they agreed to part with the lightning orb he’d seen in the vault.

The orb alone made it worthwhile. Chen Ren suspected they had more of them stored away—it would make sense for a clan known for lightning cultivation. He wasn’t sure; his predecessor’s memories gave him no hint about it, but he could feel the raw lightning energy swirling inside the orb. With it, his lightning aspect would grow far stronger.

He could have pressed harder, pushed the negotiations further, but there was no need. He’d already achieved what he’d come for, and the longer he stayed in the city, the more he felt an uneasy tension crawling under his skin, as if something was about to go wrong.

Thankfully, Yalan didn’t need to return to Jadefire Hall to fetch more pills. Chen Ren had planned ahead, bringing enough from the start to ensure the deal would go through. Two days later, he sent the shipment to the Chen Clan and received his payment—neat, heavy bags of spirit stones that shimmered faintly with qi.

After that, he visited the Yu Clan one last time to collect his share from the sinkhole. The haul turned out to be mostly beast materials, nothing extraordinary, but still valuable. He already had plans to bring them to Feiyu, who could forge armor out of them.

Before leaving the city, Chen Ren left a letter for Yu Murong—a polite mix of thanks and lies, saying he had to continue his cultivation journey but valued their friendship.

With that done, his affairs in Red Peak City were over. The medallion was his, the deals were complete, and his pockets were heavy with spirit stones. All that was left was the next step—venturing into the sinkhole, hunting a beast worthy of his breakthrough, and finally moving on to the sect.

But before they could leave the city, Yalan stopped him.

She didn’t say much at first—just that she wanted him to return the favour for transporting the materials for him. So, instead of heading towards the gates, she led him down a few quieter narrower streets.

Chen Ren didn’t ask where they were going. The tone of her voice told him it wasn’t a business matter. He simply followed, silent, his steps echoing faintly on the stone.

They finally reached a wide building at the edge of the city—a Lingtang, the resting place of urns and Yalan moved inside. The air inside was still and cold, carrying the scent of old ashes and burnt sandalwood. Rows of wooden shelves stretched into the dimness, each holding bronze urns carved with family crests.

The place was mostly empty, save for a few quiet figures lighting incense or bowing before the walls. Chen Ren followed Yalan deeper in, their footsteps hushed by the stone floor.

After a while, she slowed to a stop. Her tail drooped slightly, and there was a rare hesitation in her eyes when she turned to face him.

“The last time I came here,” she said quietly, “I asked Chen Ren to visit too. Not you, the previous one.” Her voice was soft, caught somewhere between guilt and longing. “But he never did.”

Chen Ren’s brows furrowed. He looked around, the silence pressing close. “For what?” he asked.

Yalan lifted her paw and pointed ahead. Two urns sat side by side on a low stone shelf, the light from the nearby lantern painting them gold. Their names were etched neatly into the metal.

“To pay respects to his parents,” she said. “He never came. Always said he didn’t have time… or that it didn’t matter anymore.”

Her eyes softened as she looked back at him. “I know you aren’t him,” she murmured. “But maybe it would give them a little peace. To see their son’s body… still doing well in the mortal realm.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

186. Sinkhole jump

Chen Ren stood still and looked at the two urns, and in that moment, he understood exactly why Yalan had brought him here.

He had never once thought about visiting this place. He had pushed away every reminder of the past tied to this body… because it wasn’t truly his. Even coming back to Red Peak City had been a decision made out of necessity, not desire. He had wanted to stay as far away from this past as he could.

But now, he was standing in front of the remains of his predecessor’s parents.

The Chen Ren who once lived here… had never come. He had shut himself off, bitter and hurt. To him, these urns were a symbol of abandonment. His parents had died in the sinkhole, leaving him behind. Their bodies were only recovered months later, long after he had cried his voice dry and stopped believing they would return. In his young heart, they hadn’t died—they had left him.

Chen Ren felt something twist inside his chest. A mix of emotions—some were his own, and some were old pains that belonged to the soul he had fused with. A strange heaviness sat in his throat.

He lowered his gaze to Yalan. She waited silently, her amber eyes filled with an emotion he could not name. She wasn’t pushing him… but she hoped.

He looked back at the urns. What am I supposed to do here?

He didn’t have any connection to their memories. He didn’t have grief. He didn’t have the right.

But after a quiet breath, he took a single step forward. There was incense placed neatly before the urns. His fingers lifted gently, and a small flicker of lightning qi sparked at his fingertip dancing like a tiny star.

He touched the incense.

A thin flame bloomed. Smoke curled upward in slow spirals, drifting into the air like a silent prayer.

Chen Ren didn’t speak. He simply stood, letting the smoke rise between him and the urns—two lives lost, one life borrowed, and a future neither set of parents could have ever imagined.

For a while, nothing came out of his mouth.

Thoughts churned in his head, but his mouth refused to move. His heart beat a little too loud. His fingers twitched by his side. Finally, he forced his throat to work.

“I’m… not your son,” he began, voice low and uneven. “But I’m thankful to him.”

The words felt strange on his tongue. Smoke from the incense curled between his face and the urns like a veil.

“He grew up into an idiot,” Chen Ren admitted with a thin, humorless breath. “But even then… his memories, his body, and his place in this world have helped me survive.”

He stared at the names carved into the urns. They belonged to two people who had cared for someone else entirely. But fate had bound them anyway.

“I know you must have wanted more for him,” he said softly. “Before the sinkhole stole you away. You probably hoped he’d become strong, respected… not a boy beaten down and mocked in his own home.”

His lips pressed together. The incense smoke stung his eyes.

“He didn’t handle the pain well. He shut everyone out. He couldn’t see the hands reaching for him. So I hope,” he whispered, “you remember him kindly… wherever you both are.”

Chen Ren swallowed hard. His next words carried a vow, one thing he had believed in since the start of his life in this world.

“I don’t know what ‘respecting the dead’ is supposed to look like. I don’t know what I can do for you… or for Chen Ren who should be standing here right now.”

He bowed his head.

“But I will make sure this name—your son’s name—is known across the Empire one day.”

Not as trash. Not as forgotten. But as someone who reached the heavens.

He stepped back. The faint warmth from the burning incense brushed his fingertips like a goodbye. He turned to Yalan, exhaling.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough. “I wish I had more to offer. More to say. But… this is complicated.”

Yalan shook her head gently, her tail lowering as her eyes softened. “You did enough,” she said. “Chen Ren's parents told me once—if they ever died in the sinkhole, they wanted him to visit, to light incense… even if just once in a long while. That was their only wish. And now, it’s finally fulfilled.”

Something loosened in Chen Ren’s chest.

“We can leave whenever you want,” she added.

Chen Ren nodded. He took one last look at the urns, then turned.

They walked out together, without any word or any forced comfort. It was just footsteps echoing in the silence.

Outside, the city moved like nothing had happened—vendors calling, cart wheels grinding over stone, people running here and there. Chen Ren glanced at Yalan. “Let’s head for the gates,” he said. “The others should be waiting. Then we go to the sinkhole.”

Yalan nodded. They took the long streets instead of back alleys, not rushing. Chen Ren let the noise wash over him but his thoughts kept sliding back to the urns, to smoke curling like soft thread. He wondered—briefly, uselessly—what it would have been like if those two were still alive. Would they have seen through him? Would they have helped him or berate him?

The questions rose, then fell. There were a lot of what ifs, a lot of questions about his place in the world.

The transmigration had never fit cleanly. Sometimes he felt like a blade with two edges that didn’t quite meet. He kept the edges sharp by moving, by making deals, by hunting goals. He did the same now—pulled his mind forward, toward the sinkhole and the hunt waiting there.

He wasn’t afraid of dying in the sinkhole. He was afraid of losing something he needed: a hand, a leg, an eye. The bestiary’s sketches kept playing in his mind. Beasts down there weren’t like the ones on the surface. They were older and far more ferocious, having lived in such thick qi.

They reached the city gates as the sun tilted west. A carriage waited near the watch post, horses snorting air. Luo Feng stood with his arms crossed, dust on his boots and a grin under his travel scarf. Beside him, Zhou Ping held a bundle of rope and tools like a man counting each one twice.

When they spotted Chen Ren, Luo Feng lifted a hand and waved big. “Sect Leader Chen!” he called, voice bright over the road noise. “Let’s go. We’ve got a long road ahead.”

Chen Ren’s gaze flicked once to the wall tops, once to the sky. Then he stepped up into the carriage, ready to leave behind the city.

***

The journey to the sinkhole took longer than Chen Ren expected.

If he sprinted using qi, he could have reached it within hours… but that would have been foolish. Diving into a deadly pit while tired was like asking the heavens to smite him. So he rode with the others, letting the carriage wheels rattle and the wind brush his face while he saved every shred of strength.

With nothing else to do, he finally checked his star space again.

He hadn’t dared look since the last time—afraid the cracks might have spread, afraid he would see it collapsing piece by piece. But now, as his senses slipped inward…

He blinked.

The fractures were still there, but thinner. Shorter. Like a wound finally forming a scab. The oppressive pressure that once pushed on his soul felt… lighter.

Still no golden dragon in sight, though. Just silence.

Good enough, he thought. If his guess was right, once he broke through the first step of body cultivation, he’d have the stability needed to move toward the foundation establishment realm.

But that first step demanded a beast’s body.

And that meant he had to go deep, underground—into a world where the earth itself wanted you dead.

He imagined the fight over and over. A darting figure in darkness. Slashing claws. A narrow cave that punished every misstep. Tricks ready in both hands. Qi ready to burst the moment he needed it.

Even so, a coil of tension sat in his chest.

He had never fought under tons of rock before. One wrong move and a stray stalactite might spear him like a kebab.

He grimaced.

Please… let me not die crushed by a stupid rock.

As if summoned by the thought, Wang Jun’s voice suddenly echoed sharp and full of rude, familiar annoyance.

“Look up for your head, kid.”

Chen Ren twitched. “You and your pessimism again.”

“Head injuries are the worst to fix with pills,” Wang Jun continued with a scoff. “If you crack your skull open down there, you’ll be even more of an idiot than you already are.” He smirked for a beat.

“And then, unfortunately,” Wang Jun added dryly, “we’ll have to put you down.”

Chen Ren stared at the mountains ahead, jaw tightening.

“What a lovely, motivational speech,” he muttered. Chen Ren frowned down at the head. “I’m not a pet you can just put down when I’m hurt. And do you ever say anything that isn’t about death?”

Wang Jun sniffed. “I’m giving you advice. Good advice.”

“You can give advice without wishing me dead every three sentences,” Chen Ren shot back. “And if I die, you’ll be stuck out here in this barren land. Maybe one of the clans will find you and mount you on a wall. I doubt they’ll hand you books to read.”

Wang Jun turned toward Yalan as if she were his last hope. “The cat will rescue me.”

Yalan flicked her tail and smirked. “If Chen Ren dies, the contract breaks. I’ll be crippled trying to keep myself alive. Saving you would be the last thing on my mind.”

Wang Jun sighed then pointed his chin toward Luo Feng. “Fine. Then this farmer will handle it.”

Luo Feng blinked, scratching his head like he wasn’t sure if he had heard correctly. “I mean… I’d try. But I don’t think I could fight off a beast just to protect you. I'm no fighter.”

The head looked personally offended. “Unbelievable.”

Before Chen Ren could make another jab, Zhou Ping cleared his throat softly from the front of the carriage. “We’re here, Sect Leader Chen.”

The words stopped the bickering as surely as a blade dropped between them.

The carriage rolled to a slow stop. The wheels creaked. The horses snorted tired air.

Chen Ren pushed open the door and stepped down first before grabbing Wang Jun. The others got out slowly, leaving only Whiskey who was still napping. That's what the lunari had done the whole trip.The ground beneath was cold, uneven, and smelled faintly of wet stone.

Night cloaked everything. The stars above blinked like distant lanterns. The sun had already vanished while they were on the way—meaning there were no wandering cultivators here, no clan scouting parties or mercenary teams hunted at night.

But it also meant the beasts would be awake.

Down below, in the enormous black pit carved into the earth, something snarled. Most people avoided the sinkhole at night. Anyone who didn’t was either confident…

…or insane.

Chen Ren took a deep breath.

Luckily, he wasn’t relying on confidence alone.

His eyes slid toward Yalan. With her here? He did not worry about the night.

Chen Ren scanned the rim. Shapes moved on the far side—low, scaled bodies hugging the rock. Eyes like cold lamps watched from the dark.

He walked to the lip and leaned out to look. The sinkhole dropped away in a black spiral. Wind rose from below, heavy with damp and mineral. He held Wang Jun’s head in one hand.

“Don’t drop me,” the old man hissed, more shaky than usual. “If you do, I’ll curse your whole bloodline.”

Yalan’s whiskers twitched. “It would be fun, though. I’m sure you’d survive a fall to the center of the earth.”

Wang Jun scoffed. “Some beast would catch me first. This place gives me chills. Thicker qi means higher danger.”

Chen Ren nodded. He felt it too. Each breath here came thick and bright, like drinking fire. His skin tingled. His limbs felt lighter. If he went much deeper, the qi alone might crush him. Good thing his target lived near the entrance.

Footsteps crunched behind him. Luo Feng stopped at his shoulder. “How are you going to do it, Sect Leader Chen?”

Chen Ren didn’t look away from the pit. “I go with Yalan. We handle the beast and come back. She’ll keep the strange beasts from getting close. You all stay here and watch the edge.”

On the rim, he suddenly noticed a cluster of lizards crouched—long bodies, iron-grey scales, ridged backs. They stared across at the group, throats pulsing, teeth bared. A few gave short, ugly snarls, but none moved closer. Instinct told them what reason would not: try it, and die.

“See?” Chen Ren said softly. “They’re thinking about it.”

He set Wang Jun carefully on a flat rock, then loosened his shoulders and rolled his wrists. Lightning hummed faintly under his skin.

“Yalan,” he said.

She padded to his side, tail low, eyes bright.

“Let’s go.”

Wang Jun glared at the pit. “Wonderful. If a bigger beast wanders up, we’ll be the side dish.”

Zhou Ping stiffened at that, his face going pale as moonlight. He shuffled back from the edge quickly like a beast was already upon him.

Chen Ren shook his head. “Relax. Stay away from the drop and you’ll be fine. Beasts down here love the qi too much to leave it. They don’t chase what’s outside.”

Luo Feng scratched at his cheek. “And if something else comes? Those lizards look like they wanna try.”

Chen Ren clapped his shoulder. “Then you deal with it. You borrowed those library books—there were combat techniques in them, weren’t there?”

Luo Feng looked guilty. “There were… but I’ve never tried them on a real threat.”

“You probably won’t have to,” Chen Ren said, sounding far calmer than what he felt. But he believed all of them would be fine.

There should be no hunters. No clan members No mercenaries this time of the night. Only a handful of weak beasts watching from afar.

And if someone powerful did show up…

Chen Ren’s gaze flicked to Wang Jun. The head played the helpless old relic too well. He always acted like one drop would end him, but Chen Ren felt it in his soul.

There was more to the old bastard than reading and insults.

Chen Ren walked up to the edge and stared into the sinkhole—the world turned upside down beneath his feet. Jagged rocks jutted inward like the ribs of some giant beast. Not far down, a ledge crook curved into the darkness. That would be his landing point.

He turned to Yalan. She was stretching like a lazy house cat about to leap onto a roof. Flames glimmered faint around her fur.

“You ready?” he asked.

Her whiskers twitched. “Always. You’re not scared of jumping, right?”

A beat passed.

Of course I’m scared, he thought. It felt like he was jumping into a throat in the earth waiting to swallow him whole.

But he set his jaw, forcing the fear back into the cage of his ribs.

“No,” he said. “In and out. It will be a quick hunt.”

The fear still bubbled. But he didn’t let it settle. Instead, he stepped back, knees coiling.

Then he jumped.

Wind howled up like a dying thing, clawing at his clothes.

And right then—right when his feet left the ground—a shadow launched from somewhere in the hole, shrieking and attached itself to his face.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

187. Bone hunting (1)

Chen Ren dropped toward the rocky protrusion with a startled shriek as a bat-like beast latched onto his face. It screeched and clawed wildly, trying to burrow into his shoulder, but Chen Ren refused to give it the chance. He caught the creature by the head mid-fall and slammed it against the stone outcrop the moment he landed.

The impact shook through his arms and legs. The beast tried to slither out from under him, wings beating desperately, but Chen Ren drove his fist straight into its face. Bone cracked under his knuckles. He grabbed the limp body and smashed it into the ground again. Blood splattered over the rock. A few scraps of flesh slid toward the open void.

The beast finally stopped moving.

Chen Ren remained kneeling, chest heaving as he tried to calm his racing heartbeat. His shoulders burned from shallow cuts, but the pain felt distant compared to the rush of relief flooding through him. It struck him just how close he had come to disaster.

If the thing had been larger or stronger, it could have easily knocked him off the ledge. One bad moment, and he would have been tumbling deeper into the sinkhole’s endless darkness—straight into a place no cultivator wanted to see with their own eyes.

He shuddered at the thought.

Forcing his breathing steady, he looked down at the corpse. The creature’s body was covered in bulging veins, and a strange thick liquid leaked from its open mouth. He recognized it now—an entry from the bestiary came to mind.

A scourge bat. Its venom could paralyze a cultivator long enough for something bigger and hungrier to finish the job. If it had sunk its fangs into him, he would be lying here helpless, wasting time and pills just to purge the poison.

Fortunately, it had not. He let out a slow breath.

From the side, paws tapped lightly against stone, and Yalan’s voice broke the silence.

“Chen Ren, are you okay?” she asked.

He wiped the bat blood from his cheek and steadied his breath. “Barely,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she replied. “But you should turn around.”

Chen Ren turned and stared. A swarm of scourge bats circled above them in a tight spiral. The bats beat their wings hard, and venom dripped from their fangs onto the stone, where it hissed.

“That is not good,” he said.

“You should rest,” Yalan answered. “I will take care of it.”

“I should help,” he began.

“There is no need,” she said, cutting him off. “Sit back. You will have your own fight soon.”

Her tail burst into flame. Her eyes narrowed, and she fixed the swarm with a cold, murderous glare. The bats did not retreat. Several darted toward the ledge with their mouths open.

Fire roared from Yalan’s tail like a steady stream. The sinkhole filled with light at once. The first wave of bats burned in the air and fell as blackened pieces. The rest tried to turn and flee, but the flame chased them. One after another, they caught fire and dropped, trailing smoke.

Some of the falling bodies struck the cavern walls and bounced into the dark. Others landed near the rim and melted into foul-smelling puddles. Beasts hiding below lunged upward and snatched the burning corpses out of the air. Their jaws cracked loudly as they chewed.

Chen Ren watched in silence. He felt both horror and relief as the swarms fell. The sinkhole glowed with Yalan’s fire, and the echoes of their screams slowly faded into the deep.

Within seconds, the air in front of them cleared. The last of the scourge bats fell, and Yalan’s flames finally dimmed into soft embers at the tip of her tail.

Chen Ren looked first at her, then down into the sinkhole. Many beasts still lurked below—shadowy forms clinging to walls or crouched on narrow ledges. Their eyes glowed faintly in the dark. None dared to approach. The scent of burnt flesh and the memory of fire kept them at bay.

A shout echoed from above.

“Sect Leader Chen! Are you okay?” Luo Feng called down.

“I’m fine!” Chen Ren shouted back. “We’re going deeper into the tunnels! All of you stay away from the edge. The beasts are hungry at night!”

He did not wait to see if they listened. He turned to Yalan and managed a thin grin. “That was a pretty exciting way to enter the sinkhole.”

“You should be more careful,” Yalan replied. “If not for that mask, you would have scratches all over your face. Bats are known for ripping skin off cultivators. You do not want to frighten children when we return to the surface.”

Chen Ren groaned quietly. “I know. I just didn’t expect to be attacked before even stepping into the tunnel.”

He reached up and removed the mask from his face. He only now realized how long he had worn it—day and night in Red Peak City. He had been so wary of spies from both clans that he never removed it, not even in sleep. Breathing without it felt… different. Easier. Like air finally flowed properly again.

He slid the mask into his spatial ring.

His eyes fell once more on the dead bat, then on the path ahead. The bestiary had included maps with rough directions. The beast he sought—the one whose bones he needed—had a known lair deeper inside.

The clans had never killed this beast because it shed its bones every six months and grew new ones. Those bones made excellent weapons. So the clans let it live and “harvested” it like farmers in a field. The thought made Chen Ren grimace. They fought each other in public and cooperated in secret. He guessed profit always won.

With Yalan beside him, he moved deeper into the tunnel. Pale moss glowed on the walls like smeared starlight. He didn't attempt to put his qi in the dantian. Stealth mattered less in this place when any random beast could be handled by Yalan, and their target would smell a human long before it noticed a ripple of qi.

At each bend and fork, he unfolded the rough map he had copied from the bestiary. He adjusted their course, then pressed onward. The sinkhole was too large to trust his sense of direction alone, so he left thin threads of qi on the stone—faint marks only he could feel—to guide them back out.

An hour passed before trouble came.

The first was a pack of oversized spiders—glossy black, long-legged, and mean. They spat shards of their own hardened carapace like darts and healed the missing pieces in a blink. The book had listed them as low tier, but their speed made them annoying. Yalan’s answer was simple: a sweep of fire, a crack of claws, and silence.

The second was a giant rat with sparking whiskers. It fired quick bursts of lightning that popped against the rock and made Chen Ren think of a similar creature from Earth. The rat also died fast under Yalan’s flames and a single tackle that broke its spine.

Chen Ren harvested what was useful. He pulled legs, fangs, and hide and stored everything neatly in his spatial ring. He would hand the lot to Hun Tianzhi or Feiyu later—whoever could turn strange scraps into better armor and pills.

Then he checked the map again, felt for his qi trail behind them, and kept walking. The air grew thicker with qi. Somewhere ahead, a beast with bones worth killing it over waited in the dark.

After nearly three hours of careful walking, Yalan suddenly halted. Her ears twitched, and her eyes narrowed into the dark ahead.

“I believe we are close,” she whispered. “The beast is nearby.”

Chen Ren paused as well and searched the air with his spiritual sense. “I don’t feel anything,” he said quietly.

“It is only giving off a small pulse of qi,” Yalan answered. “It is probably asleep. But I am certain it is the one.”

Without waiting for his response, she quickened her pace, slipping through tight passages and curving tunnels as if she already knew every turn. Chen Ren followed close behind, trusting her instincts more than any map.

Half an hour later, she stopped again.

“We are here,” she said. “Look.”

The tunnel ahead opened into a wide chamber. The ceiling stretched high, and the darkness felt like a cavern swallowing the world. Other tunnels branched from the far walls, forming several exits.

At first, Chen Ren thought the chamber was filled with white boulders. They were stacked high around a heavy mound in the center.

Then he blinked, and realized the truth.

Those white shapes were bones. He sucked in a slow breath, eyes adjusting.

The beast lay at the heart of them, almost camouflaged by its own remains. Its body was a fortress of jagged bone. Spines jutted from its limbs, ribs flared outward like armor plates, and a crown of hooked bones curled around its skull like a war helm. A soft breeze swirled around its bones, stirring dust without lifting a sound.

An ivory slasher. The beast he had chosen.

A creature born of bone itself. The book had called it strong and territorial. Previous attempts to hunt it were recorded in the margins. The marks beside them were mostly deaths.

And now Chen Ren stood here, staring at living danger wrapped in bones and a hulking body.

His fingers tightened into fists.

“There it is,” he murmured.

His heart beat once, heavy.

This was the beast that would decide whether he took his next step on the path of cultivation… or died deep beneath the earth, forgotten.

The ivory slasher lay curled in the center of the chamber, its massive body surrounded by towering heaps of bones—its own discarded armor from past shedding cycles. The bony mounds looked like pale boulders piled protectively around a sleeping giant.

Its two eyes were shut tight. Each exhale pushed dust from the ground with a soft huff, and a low snore echoed faintly from its throat.

Even from where Chen Ren stood, partially hidden in the tunnel’s mouth, he could tell the beast was enormous. The bestiary had estimated its length, but this one was definitely larger—lean muscle wrapped in plates of jagged bone, like a fortress that could move.

He could have chosen something easier. A predator with less speed. A creature that wouldn’t tear him apart with a single charge. But if he wanted to break into the second step of body cultivation with more than just the bare minimum, the ivory slasher was the best path. He simply had to protect his eye and other vitals.

Body cultivation was not equal. Two cultivators at the same step could be worlds apart depending on the beast they slew. And compared to other options, he had one advantage towards it.

The beast was simple. Brutal, yes. Dangerous, absolutely. But its attack patterns were well-documented. Its weaknesses were known. Chen Ren had studied every detail he could find and crafted a plan that avoided using much of his qi—just his body, tricks, and determination.

He stared at the beast, running through each step again in his mind.

Yalan watched him quietly, then finally spoke. “Are you ready? Go wake it.”

Chen Ren nodded, though his heart tightened. “Can you break those bones first? They are too thick for me to get through without alerting it. I need a direct path.”

Yalan sighed, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Just don’t have me killing it too. It's yours.”

Her tail rose, flames gathering at its tip in four dense spheres. Then, with a flick, she launched them across the ground.

The fireballs struck the bone barriers one after another in an explosion.

Cracks spiderwebbed through the structures. Shards of bone burst outward like white shrapnel, clattering across the chamber floor.

Dust lifted. The air hummed. Silence lingered for a heartbeat.

The slasher’s snores rumbled on unaware. The bestiary had mentioned it was hard to wake it up from its sleep. That's how the clans were able to harvest all the bones around. Chen Ren exhaled slowly.

It was time. Chen Ren moved.

He slipped through the dust, cut behind the slasher’s flank, and leapt. His boots hit a ridge of bone on its spine. He rode the lurch, knees bent, one hand gripping a jut of rib. With the other he hammered down—once, twice, three times—driving his knuckles into the narrow gaps between plates.

The ivory slasher finally woke up and went wild. It got up, letting out a cry and shook it head to drive away the remaining sleep.

Then it, bucked, slammed its body against the floor, and crashed side-to-side to scrape him off. Chen Ren flowed with each lurch, shifting his weight, punching again at a seam where armor met flesh. A hard tremor buzzed beneath his palm.

His eyes widened, realising what was going to happen next, and didn’t wait. He sprang away an instant before white spikes burst out where he had stood, stabbing the empty air. He twisted, rolled in the dust, and landed light in front of the beast.

The slasher lowered its head and glared. Its eyes were cold lamps in a skull of bone.

Its horns lengthened with a dry crack and lunged like twin spears.

Chen Ren slid sideways. The thrust grazed his sleeve and slammed into stone, showering chips. The beast swung, sweeping the horn like a sword. The blow clipped him on the shoulder and threw him into the wall. Pain burst through his ribs. He hit, rolled, and snapped back to his feet, breath sharp, vision steady.

The beast huffed, steam curling from its nostrils.

Chen Ren’s hand slipped under his robe to start his next plan, but just then, something happened that threw each one of his plans into disarray.

Shattered bone all around him trembled, lifted, and turned. Hundreds of shards floated up like pale leaves in a dead wind. Their tips rotated toward his chest.

Chen Ren’s eyes widened. The bestiary had said nothing about this.

He didn’t even get a chance to curse Yu Murong as the bones spun and headed straight towards him to stab through his flesh.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

188. Bone hunting (2)

Chen Ren acted fast.

He yanked a talisman from inside his robe and lit it with a spark of friction. A thin barrier of qi burst to life in front of him at the exact moment the bone shards flew.

The shards slammed into the shield like arrows.

They bounced off in every direction, spinning wildly through the chamber walls and floor. A few hit with such force that thin cracks spread across the glowing surface of the barrier. By the time the light flickered dangerously, the barrage finally stopped.

Chen Ren let out a shaky breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. A fraction of a second later, the barrier popped and dissolved into the air.

Across the chamber, the ivory slasher huffed in frustration. Its horns lengthened with a sharp crack, bone grinding as the points extended like spears. Then it lunged, stabbing straight toward Chen Ren.

But even without qi reinforcement, Chen Ren was too fast. There was enough room in the chamber for him to move freely, and he leapt aside again and again—a blur dodging the deadly bone spear.

While he moved, his hands were never still.

He pulled talisman after talisman from his belt and threw them at the beast. Each one sparked with a different attack the moment it burned.

Fire boomed outwards, blasting chunks of bone from the slasher’s armor. Lightning snapped and danced, mostly deflecting off the hard surface until it found one of the thinner sections between the bone plates. Then the beast snarled, body twitching as the electricity tore through the exposed flesh. Earth spikes erupted from the floor… and crumbled uselessly off its outer bones like thrown twigs.

Chen Ren clicked his tongue in annoyance. Earth talismans were a lost cause.

But he had more.

Although he couldn't use much qi, scribbling a few talismans everyday was not taxing on him and he had done that every night since he stepped foot in Red Peak City, only for this one battle. The beast grunted with each explosion and spark that struck true. Bone fragments littered the ground, and sparks jumped between the shards.

Chen Ren did not know if cracking the bones actually caused the beast pain. But there was no doubt about one thing: It made him more and more furious.

The ivory slasher soon realized that its horn strikes were not landing well enough to stop Chen Ren. With a frustrated snort, it suddenly lowered its body, the bone shrinking, and charged straight at him with frightening speed.

Chen Ren’s eyes widened. He leapt upward, clearing its back by a hair, but he had miscalculated its intentions.

The beast elongated the bones along its spine in an instant.

One of those jagged spikes slammed into him mid-air.

Pain exploded across his back. The impact hurled him through the chamber like a kicked doll. His body hit the ground hard, rolling several times before he crashed against a wall. His armor tore open. He felt skin split beneath it, warm blood soaking through the fabric.

“That bone is sharper than what the book warned me about…” he cursed silently, clenching his teeth. Another reason to blame Yu Murong and his outdated trash of a bestiary.

Yalan’s voice reached him across the bone and dust. “Are you okay?”

Chen Ren pushed himself up, biting down the wave of pain. “I’m fine,” he said, voice strained. “It’s just tougher than I expected. But I’ll handle it.”

When he looked back toward the ivory slasher, he saw its eyes locked onto him.

There was something different in them now—A spark of cold amusement. A mocking glint as if it was calling him weak.

Anger flared hot inside Chen Ren’s chest. He knew some beasts could gain intelligence as they neared higher tiers, especially ones raised in the dense qi of the sinkhole… but to be openly mocked by a creature he planned to kill?

That, he could not allow.

The beast kicked off the ground to charge again. Chen Ren’s hands flashed faster than thought.

Dozens of talismans burst around him in a ring of fire and lightning. Sparks rained through the chamber as the attacks hammered into the ivory slasher again. Flames melted bone fragments. Lightning crawled under plates and left thin trails of smoking flesh.

The ivory slasher roared and thrust its horns forward. Bone shards lifted again—hundreds of them—floating and spinning like a storm of knives.

Chen Ren planted his feet. He did not retreat and created another talisman barrier around him that soon got bombarded by bone shards.

Inside it, he burned talisman after talisman, forcing every one of them to fire at the perfect moment. Explosions detonated across the beast’s hide, chipping more and more bone armor away and exposing soft patches of muscle beneath.

Parts of the bone armour broke down to become shards which the ivory slasher happily used against him. Chen Ren didn’t mind. If he carved away enough of that armor, flesh would show. Flesh was all he needed.

A lightning talisman finally slipped between two bone plates and bit into living meat. The beast spasmed and cried out, hooves scraping the stone.

Chen Ren did not waste that pause. He yanked a tier two talisman from his belt and snapped it alight. The air in front of him rippled. Hundreds of small, explosive wind blades spun into being, their edges hissing like snakes. With a flick of his wrist, he sent half at the ivory slasher and the rest upward toward the ceiling which was filled with more of its bone.

Bone burst from the ivory slasher in white sprays as the blades shredded plate after plate. Above, the grown ribs cracked apart; thick lengths of bone sheared free and crashed down onto the beast’s back and skull. The slasher bellowed, stumbled, and bolted—only to smash shoulder-first into the far wall.

Chen Ren moved.

He closed the distance in three quick strides. A wide patch of the beast’s back lay bare—ragged, bleeding, and finally free of bone armor. He snatched up a fallen shard shaped like a sword and drove it down with both hands.

The point sank in. The book had said the flesh beneath the plates wasn’t hard to pierce; for once, the book was right. He leaned all his weight into the makeshift blade, driving it deeper, angling for organs.

Then he felt it—A shiver under his palms. A ripple ran through the ivory slasher’s hide, the same telltale vibration as before.

Chen Ren tore his hands back on instinct, boots already pushing off the beast’s spine—just as the flesh beneath his strike bulged and white spikes began to bloom.

He leapt back just as a cluster of new bone spikes erupted from the ivory slasher’s back. The wound he had made still bled, but the beast had already grown a ring of fresh bone around it to push the weapon out. The shard he had used as a sword clattered uselessly to the ground.

The slasher turned, its breath sharp, its eyes burning with fury. Chen Ren understood then—this battle was not going to end quickly.

Not with tricks alone.

The next thing he knew was more shards floating upward.

This time, they were joined by large chunks of bone torn from the chamber floor itself. The pieces hovered, spinning with lethal intent.

Chen Ren cursed under his breath and activated another tier two talisman. A defensive one as a barrier of qi sprang up in front of him, but it only lasted seconds under the assault of the large bone boulders. Cracks soon raced across its surface and it shattered.

He jumped high, barely avoiding the first wave. The ivory slasher roared like a storm breaking loose.

Bone shards flew everywhere—fast, sharp and unstoppable. Chen Ren sprinted, rolled, and slid across the chamber floor to keep from being skewered. The larger boulders crashed into stone walls and exploded into new fragments, turning the air into a whirling cloud of blades.

He could not avoid everything.

Thin cuts tore into his armor. One shard grazed his cheek, slicing a clean line that burned instantly. Blood leaked down his jaw. Pain flared hot, but he ignored it.

He threw talismans—many, many talismans. Wind blasts. Fire bursts. Lightning arcs.

But the attacks vanished in the storm of flying bone, blocked or redirected before they reached flesh. Every time he tried to land a clean hit, another bone fragment came for his throat.

Minutes passed like that and the slasher didn't manage to put an end to him.

He was still running. Still breathing. Still alive. And maybe that was what finally pushed the beast to its limit.

The ivory slasher stomped hard, and all the airborne shards and boulders suddenly stopped midair, dropping to the ground with a dull rain of clattering bone. The creature gave a low, furious grunt that echoed through the chamber.

Then it charged.

The horns grew longer, even faster than before. Bone spikes burst from its skin in every direction, turning its entire body into a moving wall of bone spears.

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed. He had been waiting for this.

His hand snapped downward to his belt.

His fingers wrapped around a pill he had specifically requested from Hun Tianzhi while sending Yalan there. He had saved it for last, and now it was time to use it.

Chen Ren rolled it into his palm. As the ivory slasher thundered closer, he tossed the pill high and snapped a bolt of lightning at it.

The arc struck true.

The pill detonated in midair, releasing a rushing wave of fire. The flames hit the ivory slasher point-blank and hurled it backward. It screamed, tumbled through the smoke, and crashed against a wall of its own bone boulders.

Chen Ren did not wait.

He flung three talismans in quick succession. Chains of condensed qi snapped into existence and shot across the chamber. They wrapped around the beast’s legs and torso, biting in tight. The ivory slasher heaved, lowered its head to charge again, and found itself pinned.

Tier two bindings would not break that easily.

As it struggled, Chen Ren moved for the finish. He tore open his pouch, pulled out a fistful of matching talismans, and burned all of them at once.

The air whistled.

Hundreds of qi swords flickered into being and hovered around him in a matter of seconds, each blade thin, bright, and cold. He sent them forward with a single sweep of his arm.

The ivory slasher ripped one chain free, but it was too late.

The swords fell like rain.

They drove into every exposed seam and soft point he had carved open: between plates, under the ribs, along the neck, through the belly. Steel-light sank to the hilt. Blood burst in dark colour across the bone-strewn floor.

The beast toppled, writhing. Fresh bone tried to grow and was cut down as new blades struck. Chunks of plate slid free. More blood poured out, pooling beneath it in a spreading lake.

Chen Ren stood with his chest heaving, eyes locked on the creature.

For a heartbeat, he almost pitied it.

Then the ivory slasher’s struggles weakened. Its breaths turned ragged. At last it lay still, eyes lifted toward him—wide, glassy, and dimming.

The chamber fell quiet except for the drip of blood and the soft hiss of fading talismans.

For a moment, Chen Ren saw defiance burning in those fading eyes. The ivory slasher glared at him with the stubborn pride of a beast that refused to bow.

But then… the fire dimmed. Its head lowered. Its body shuddered once. And it went still.

Chen Ren remained cautious. He approached slowly, each step measured, preparing to leap away if it lashed out again. When he finally reached its side, he extended a hand and pressed lightly against its blood-slick hide.

He expected a reaction, but there was nothing. His thoughts were confirmed when Yalan spoke.

“It’s dead,” Yalan said as she padded up beside him, confirming what he already suspected. Her gaze traced the ruined plates of bone and the many puncture wounds. “You did a great job chipping away at its armor. It would have been easier if you used your lightning.”

Chen Ren nodded, breathing a rough laugh. “It would have. Let’s hope I can actually use more of it once Qing He finishes preparing the beast bath.”

“For that,” Yalan replied, “you need to bring her the ivory slasher’s body. Those baths take time to make.”

She took a slow look around the cavern, eyes glinting as they landed on the scattered remains—broken bone shards mingled with intact plates.

“We should take everything we can. You should have plenty of space in your spatial ring,” she said.

Chen Ren lifted a brow. “Bone armor for everyone sounds like a great gift.”

Yalan snorted, tail flicking. “Bone armor isn’t simple to craft. Some beast bones contain explosive marrow. But this one seems safe enough. If it didn’t, you wouldn’t have killed it so quickly.”

Chen Ren huffed. “I don’t think that was fast at all…”

He knelt beside the ivory slasher and summoned his spatial ring’s aperture. Light rippled across the corpse before it vanished entirely into the pocket dimension. Its size made no difference; the ring swallowed it whole in moments.

The real challenge lay around them.

Everywhere Chen Ren looked, pieces of the ivory slasher’s bones glittered faintly under the moss-light. Big slabs. Thin spikes. Curved plates the size of shields. He sighed under his breath. Their fight had turned a solid beast into hundreds of fragments.

And each fragment was valuable.

He knelt and placed a hand on the nearest shard. His spatial ring pulsed faintly as he pushed his intent through it. One bone vanished. Then another. Then another.

But there was no “select all” option in this world.

Every piece had to be taken by hand—mind guiding ring, ring swallowing bone. Over and over.

Minutes stretched into nearly half an hour. By then his back ached, and blood still dripped from the cut on his cheek and back. He took a healing pill and a bone-mending pill while he worked, swallowing them dry. Warmth spread from his stomach, easing pain and knitting fractures in his ribs where the spike had hit him earlier. He didn’t stop moving while the pills worked.

At last, the cavern floor was bare.

Chen Ren stood, dusted the dried blood from his sleeve, and looked into the deeper tunnels—dark as a starless night, heavy with thick qi that almost hummed. A small part of him wanted to go down farther.

But the smarter part of him—the part that wanted to keep breathing—said no.

He had a beast corpse, enough bones to build a small army’s armor, and a body that felt like it had been tossed off a cliff twice already. Staying longer would only feed the sinkhole another idiot.

“We are leaving,” he said.

Yalan was more than happy to agree.

They hurried back through the tunnels. No beast dared cross their path—either too afraid of Yalan’s fire or smart enough to recognize a killer when they smelled one. When the light of the entrance finally showed ahead, Chen Ren almost sighed in relief.

Together, they jumped upward, qi flaring under their feet. They caught onto rocky outcrops, used footholds to climb, and launched themselves again. Up and up, until the oppressive darkness was behind them and open air filled their lungs.

Back on solid ground, Chen Ren glanced around. The clearing was quiet. Too quiet.

No Luo Feng. No Zhou Ping. No carriage.

His brows furrowed, heart tightening for a moment—

“Look there,” Yalan said, pointing with her tail.

Not far from the sinkhole’s edge, a small fire flickered behind a patch of tall rocks. Figures sat around it, silhouettes shifting as they talked. The carriage was parked behind them. Chen Ren’s shoulders eased.

He walked closer, boots crunching lightly on gravel.

Luo Feng spotted him first and jumped to his feet. “Sect Leader Chen! You’re back. Do you want some meat?”

Chen Ren shook his head. The idea of food made his exhaustion worse. “No. I just want to sleep.” He scanned the group. “Everything okay here?”

“Yes,” Luo Feng said proudly. “We handled any beasts that came near. None gave us much trouble.”

Chen Ren nodded once, satisfied. He looked up toward the distant red-tinged mountains—where Red Peak City perched on high stone.

“Good,” he said. “Let’s move. We’re not stopping until we reach Meadow Village.”

Excited shouts rose at his words, and Chen Ren let himself smile. For once, luck and effort had lined up. He had left Red Peak with the medallion, hefty profit, and his life—no drawn blades in the streets, no clan rage snapping at his heels. He thanked the heavens in quiet, honest relief.

He did not know—could not know—that far away, beyond the plains and mountain ridges, a pair of eyes were already on him.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

189. Watching eyes

As Chen Ren’s carriage rolled out of the sinkhole’s outskirts and onto the lonely road leading away from Red Peak City, someone tracked each of his movements from far away.

Chen Eain.

He had finally recovered enough to stand—a shaky, painful sort of recovery, but enough to walk again. He didn’t dare go near the sinkhole where the qi was thick; he had a gut feeling that Renjie would sense him the moment he stepped close. So Eain had stayed in the city, watching everything with a family artifact.

And everything he had seen… everything he had learned… left him chilled to the bone.

If he hadn’t witnessed it with his own eyes, he would have laughed it off as nonsense.

The Chen clan's banished waste helping the Yu clan break their way deeper into the sinkhole? The same boy who once was thrown out of the city was now dealing pills that all the clans fought to buy? Pills that his father couldn't stop praising?

Impossible. Maddening. Fucking Infuriating.

The way he had found it out was way worse.

As soon as he could drag himself upright a week ago, he had sent spies crawling through every inn and alley to find out who this “Renjie” was—this supposed master alchemist’s disciple who had ruined his expedition and reputation. His grudge with the Yu clan could wait; his dantian still ached with every breath, and he could barely circulate qi without coughing blood.

So his hatred looked for an easier target. The root of the humiliation—Renjie.

He wanted to know what kind of man he needed to kill.

But then his spies reported him heading toward the Lingtang, walking quietly beside that strange cat-beast. Eain’s brows had knotted. Who went into the Lingtang without having someone to pay respects to? Did the man have a connection with someone in Red Peak City?

Family? Friend? He didn't know, but he decided to follow him himself, especially after getting the report of the man's carriage being seen at the city gates.

Once the carriage stopped at the line to go out of the city, Eain made a quick decision. Following on foot was pointless. He won't be able to move fast without his qi anyway. Instead, he quickly headed towards his estate to pick something up, then moved swiftly toward one of the sentinel watchtowers at Red Peak’s walls. The guards never questioned him—he was still Young Master Chen Eain, after all—so they simply stepped aside and bowed as he climbed up.

He brought a treasured artifact with him: an Eagle Eye Lens, a polished golden spyglass etched with runes that allowed sight for thousands of miles into the distance. He only needed a general direction, then he could dispatch mercenaries he trusted to keep Renjie under tight watch. A man selling such rare pills would never remain hidden for long; the pills would almost make a splash and attract attention.

He knew that well.

He set up the lens against the watchtower railing, eyes narrowing as the image sharpened… and then widened.

Renjie and his small group had not moved toward the outer roads heading into this plains like he expected. Instead, they made for the sinkhole.

That wasn’t shocking by itself. His father had said Renjie was a decent cultivator, and alchemists always needed materials. Hunting beasts for alchemy materials, that made sense.

But then—

As Renjie stepped off the carriage, he was holding a severed head.

Eain froze.

A. Severed. Fucking. Head.

A cold jolt shot through him as he pressed the lens harder against his eye, trying to focus. The carriage roof and the movement made it hard to see clearly, but he knew what he saw.

Was he always traveling with a severed human head? Why was he carrying it like a trophy?

Demonic cultivators did things like that. Cultivators that had lost the way and now walked wicked paths. People who should be burned alive under the sun.

His stomach knotted with a creeping sense of unease.

Then as he watched, Renjie leaped straight into the sinkhole with that spirit beast cat beside him. The others gathered the head back into the carriage as if it were normal.

It wasn’t normal.

Nothing about this man and his group was normal.

Chen Eain’s grip tightened on the spyglass until his knuckles cracked.

If Renjie was tied to demonic practices… If he was building power through such cursed practices, then Chen Eain’s humiliation in the sinkhole, his injuries, his disgrace before his clan—

It all made a terrifying kind of sense.

That had been the moment Chen Eain’s spine went cold.

By then, he was already convinced he was watching demonic cultivators in disguise. Why else would a wandering alchemist carry around a severed head like a treasured artifact? Why else would they speak so casually beside the sinkhole—feeding on lizard beast meat under a fire’s glow like barbarians? He had always found those beast disgusting to even touch, much less eat. Crude campfire cooking, no hint of even using salt… every sight made his lip curl further.

Savages. Devourers of anything that moved. Definitely not righteous.

He had nearly rushed back to inform his father—his heart pounding with imagined merit—when Renjie and the cat spirit beast finally emerged from the sinkhole.

And his world tilted.

The man who stepped out was not Renjie. Not a stranger. Not a hired alchemist.

No, those sharp brows and narrowed eyes belonged to someone Chen Eain knew better than he wished.

It was Chen Ren.

The trash his clan had thrown away. The failure who had vanished without leaving a ripple.

For a heartbeat, Chen Eain thought his mind was broken from fatigue or that the healer had missed a head injury. He ripped his gaze away from the artifact, sucked a breath through his teeth, and dared another look.

Still he saw the same face.

Still Chen Ren… walking confidently in Renjie’s clothes.

And the others—the cat, the two man, the severed head—accepted it as if nothing had changed. They greeted him with the same respect they’d shown Renjie.

Which meant… They knew.

Chen Ren had changed his face. Chen Ren had infiltrated the clan. Chen Ren had fooled everyone.

Had he turned to demonic arts after his banishment? Had he returned to drag the Chen Clan into the abyss? Were those pills—supposedly unique and efficient—actually poison meant to rot them from within?

But the pills passed his grandfather’s tests. They strengthened the Yu Clan and helped them reach deeper into it. So then—

What was the bastard planning?

Chen Eain’s breath turned shaky. His palms sweated against the artifact. Every answer led only to darker questions.

So many questions slammed inside Chen Eain’s skull that he thought his head might split open. His first instinct was to storm down the tower, chase Chen Ren, and tear answers out of him with his own hands.

But reality clenched around his heart like a vice.

He could barely circulate qi without feeling his dantian scream. He could barely stand against wind stronger than a breeze. If he confronted Chen Ren now… he would die.

He knew that truth far too well. Heavens hated geniuses, especially ones like him. He was sure of it. They waited for any moment of arrogance to send a punishing strike.

So what could he do?

Chen Ren had already slipped away from Red Peak City. Even the heavens seemed to help that bastard now.

Rage twisted into helplessness. He wanted to cut Chen Ren apart—piece by piece—after realizing he was the one who had empowered the Yu Clan… who had caused Chen Eain’s humiliation in the sinkhole… who might have even plotted his death.

They must have known his delving schedule. They must have waited for him to fall into the trap.

But if Chen Ren was truly a demonic cultivator, then he was not alone. He had a backing—strong enough to produce those terrifying pills. Strong enough to fool two clans at once. And Chen Clan’s elders, even his father, were already praising the man’s miracle pills.

Would they ever listen to him? To the injured disgrace who got himself beaten half-dead?

No. Not a chance.

Chen Eain shut his eyes, forcing his breath into a steady rhythm. Ideas rose—wild, desperate, foolish—and he crushed them one by one. His hatred begged for blood, but his instincts screamed for caution.

Down below, wheels creaked over stone. Chen Ren’s carriage rolled farther and farther away… until even the artifact, with its thousand-mile sight, could no longer trace him.

Chen Eain finally tore his gaze away. His jaw tightened. His teeth ground until his gums hurt.

He turned to the city guard who had been standing quietly beside him.

“Tell the guard captain I said thanks,” he muttered, voice rough. “I’ll be leaving now.”

The guard bowed, clueless to the storm boiling inside him.

Chen Eain descended the watchtower in uneven strides. Each step sent a sharp sting across his core, a reminder of how close his dantian had come to collapsing. The healers had warned him—walk slowly, breathe evenly, do not strain yourself.

He ignored almost all of that.

Pain gnawed behind his ribs, yet his mind burned hotter.

Chen Ren.

His face—his disguise—his schemes. The reason his body now felt like a broken shell.

Chen Ren had taken his revenge fully. He had almost crippled Chen Eain, humiliated him, and fled the city under a different name.

And Chen Eain? He was too weak to even walk without wincing.

The taste of that truth was more bitter than blood.

He moved with a stiff gait through the streets. Buildings blurred past as his thoughts spiraled. The clan would not believe him—why would they? To them, Chen Ren was a name of the past, and he had no proof other than his words that Renjie and him were the same person. They wouldn’t accept that he was a danger… let alone a demonic cultivator.

How do I chase someone so far out of my reach? How do I kill someone who vanished into the night? How do I bring him down… when even walking hurts?

He didn’t know when he entered the Chen Estate. The guards recognized him at once, bowing and pushing open the gates without a word. That snapped him back to reality, and he forced his breathing steady as he made his way deeper into the compound.

He stopped only when he reached a familiar courtyard.

His father was there, as always, sword in hand—polishing the blade with a care that bordered on devotion. Chen Chenglei lifted his head the moment he sensed a presence. Concern flashed across his expression the instant he saw his son.

“Eain? You should be resting.”

After the incident in the sinkhole, Chen Chenglei’s concern had become suffocating. Guards shadowed Chen Eain wherever he went. Servants reported his meals, his sleep, even his bathroom timings. Even stepping outside required a reason, and even today, he had to sneak out.

But this conversation could not wait.

Chen Eain paused, forcing calm into his breath before speaking.

“Father, are you free?”

At once, his father paused polishing the sword and gestured him in.

“Yes. Come. You just returned from a walk?”

“I did.” Chen Eain nodded lightly. “I feel much better now.”

A relieved smile tugged at his father’s lips. “That’s good. It seems the healers’ concoctions are helping.” His gaze sharpened. “But why are you here? You don’t intend to speak about entering the sinkhole again, correct? If so—forget it. You are barred from that place until you step into the foundation establishment realm.”

Chen Eain reflexively pressed his lips together. He hated being barred from something, hated being treated like a fragile vase. But he wasn’t here to argue for a suicide return. He knew better than that. Revenge against the Yu clan would come, but not when he was so weak.

So he shook his head.

“I’m not here to ask about the sinkhole.” His tone was steady. “I understand. The clan war is heating up. I must stay out of unnecessary danger.”

Chenglei nodded approvingly. “Good. Father was right. A defeat can teach more than a victory. You finally see your limits.”

Chen Eain lowered his gaze for a heartbeat, then lifted it again with a sharper light.

“I do,” he admitted. “But I also want to expand them. Because what good will they be if they’re holding me.. back?”

Chen Chenglei’s brows drew together. “What do you mean by ‘expand them’? I’m not letting you exhaust your dantian. If that’s your idea, forget it. Go and rest.”

Chen Eain clenched his fists at his sides. The truth clawed at his throat—Chen Ren is alive. Chen Ren is Renjie. Chen Ren is a demon wearing our bloodline’s skin. He wanted to scream it. He wanted his father to rally the clan, to hunt, to kill.

But he knew exactly how that would go.

They would not believe him.

The Chen Clan would not move against Chen Ren until he had proof. Solid proof. And there was no way to get it.

So he forced a calmer answer and said the one thing that might help him kill Chen Ren.

“I want to go on a cultivation journey.”

The polishing cloth slipped from Chenglei’s fingers. “A journey? Now? When your dantian is still unstable?”

“Precisely because it is.” Chen Eain stepped forward, voice low and tight. “Red Peak City is a battlefield. The clans won’t hesitate to send assassins if they learn I’ve recovered even slightly. It's too dangerous in the city.” He let the implication hang. “So, I should secretly get out to the outside world where they won't focus. I will broaden my experience. When I return, I will surely have stepped into the foundation establishment realm.”

His father’s jaw tensed. “You can barely circulate qi. How will you survive wilderness travel? I will not send you to your death.”

“I don’t need to go alone,” Chen Eain pressed quickly. “Send guards. Send as many as you wish, at least until my body fully recovers. After that, I will dismiss them and continue my journey properly. I want to learn beyond these walls. I need to grow under the vast sky—not sit like a sick dog waiting for strength to return.”

Silence fell thick as stone.

Chen Chenglei studied him, staring into his eyes—Chen Eain knew what he saw; the stubborn determination, the burning humiliation hidden beneath his calm. That kind of determination was something his father had, now passed onto him. Just like he expected, slowly, his resistance wavered.

“…Where do you intend to go first?”

Chen Eain allowed himself a small, confident smile.

“Cloud Mist City. I’ve always wanted to see it. And our clan has business partners there. It is a safe start.”

But the true reason burned deeper. Chen Ren had once screamed his dreams loud enough for the entire clan to mock before leaving: I’ll join the Soaring Sword Sect! You’ll all regret doubting me!

Cloud Mist City was the place he would have gone to first. It was the obvious place to dig up his secrets. To find out what had happened to him, find his strength and weaknesses, and then to kill him.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

190. Princess and her book

Princess Yanyue flipped through the pages of a book she had already read thousands of times, letting her fingers trace lines she could recite from memory. She paused on the passages that always hooked her, reading them again even though she knew every single word. It wasn’t because the writing was beautiful, or because the story felt epic. It was because every part of it was real.

That wasn’t a storybook. It was a journal.

She had noticed it the very first time she read it—the authenticity in the rough handwriting, some lines smudged and rewritten in a hurry, places where grammar slipped and words were misspelled or written over. Whoever wrote it had been a commoner, clearly someone who had learned to read and write not long before recording his experiences. But that only made it more compelling. She was fascinated by what he had gone through in a place that felt like another world itself so much that it didn’t even feel real.

The Pagoda of Eternity.

Many scholars and nobles used to laugh at the rumors of its existence. They called it fantasy, a myth for adventures and bored cultivators to chase. But they weren’t laughing anymore. Not after what happened months ago, when the pagoda had revealed itself. Now, from the Guardian sects to nobles, they were all clamoring to get their hands on what lay inside.

But none of them truly understood or knew the truth of it like her.

And Princess Yanyue had no intention of sharing it, not with the Guardian Sects, not with anyone else. Opportunity like this came once in a thousand lifetimes. Whoever entered the Pagoda with its knowledge… might never have to bow before anyone again.

The problem was that Yanyue knew one simple truth: despite being a princess, she wasn’t strong enough to get what she wanted inside the pagoda.

Titles, bloodline, imperial seals—none of it mattered there. Only strength and wit would decide fate. And while she had both, she did not have enough of either to secure what she wanted alone. She had already gathered capable subordinates—cultivators hand-picked to follow her into the pagoda. Loyal, ambitious, hungry. But even then, her instincts kept whispering the same thing:

She needed him.

The person best suited for the pagoda. The one who she had been interested in for quite some time already.

The Dragonheart.

Yanyue closed the book, fingers tightening slightly over the worn cover. Ever since Haoran had mentioned that name and his achievements, she had been intrigued. It had taken her only one heartbeat to realize how important he might be, especially in a place like the pagoda. Someone who might be able to enter deeper than anyone alive, purely on the basis of the dao he followed.

And yet… she had barely been able to find anything about him after that. Haoran had vanished instead of sending her information like she had tasked him to.

There were other sources in other cities that had given her more information—like her men in Broken Ridge City, where the Dragonheart was last seen—but nothing from the guy she’d tasked to gather information. That became frustrating as time passed and no response came.

Frustration turned to concern when she considered another explanation: maybe he had fallen to the beast rising. She grew worried just thinking about it. But that suspicion proved false when she got one of her other subordinates to send a message to him about her moving to meet the Dragonheart herself.

The only way she’d managed that was through a cultivation technique, and, sadly, all she knew was that Haoran had received it.

At least he was alive. That was a relief.

But that didn’t make her wait for a response.

She had to take things into her own hands, and that was why she was in Cloud Mist City, moving through its streets.

Princess Yanyue peeked out of the carriage window as they rolled through the main road, and her brows lowered slightly. The reports she had received were not exaggerations. Cloud Mist City truly had suffered. Even with the Soaring Sword Sect right beside it, the scars of the beast rising were obvious. Fewer people filled the streets compared to her last visit, and she had already noted the damaged walls upon entering the gates.

Her spies had whispered rumours about internal strife inside the Soaring Sword Sect, and seeing the city's current condition only confirmed it. If the sect had been functioning properly, Cloud Mist City wouldn’t look like it had barely survived. Sloppy management, she thought. Or divided leadership. Both were good signs for her plans, in their own ways.

She would learn more soon enough. City Lord Li Baolong owed her his loyalty—she would squeeze the truth out of him the moment they sat down. She wondered how he would react when he saw her here without warning. The last time they met had been three years ago, at a gala in the capital. He had been there with his son, Li Xuan, and since then, he had proven himself a reliable supporter. She simply had been too busy to visit more often.

Satisfied with her quick scan of the streets, Yanyue leaned back inside the carriage and returned her attention to the journal on her lap. She still had a few pages left in this chapter, and she wanted to finish them before arriving at the city lord’s place. Her eyes traced familiar lines, rereading certain descriptions of treasures and battles she already knew by heart. The pagoda details still fascinated her, even after so many reads. The handwriting, the errors, the rushed strokes—all of it made her heart tingle for some reason.

She was so absorbed that she didn’t notice how much time passed until a firm knock tapped on the carriage door.

She blinked, closing the journal with one hand before opening the door. One of her guards stood there, bowing.

“Princess Yanyue, we have arrived. City Lord Li Baolong has been notified and we have secured a direct passage inside.”

Yanyue nodded once, composed as always. “Good. I hope he has kept some of his tea ready.”

The tall guard looked up to scan her face for the briefest moment and spoke. “I can send a runner to have the tea prepared.”

Yanyue lifted a hand and waved it off. “No need.”

She eased out of the carriage, movements steady. Before stepping fully away, she slid the journal into a hidden compartment built right below her seat. Her fingers hovered for a moment, then she took off a ring and set it inside as well. She didn’t need it here. Not with City Lord Li Baolong.

She closed it and pressed her qi into the latch. A faint click answered her touch—only she could open it now. Even if the carriage burned down, the lock would stay intact.

Then she straightened and scanned her surroundings: her guards were already lined up. Though they were silent, she knew that they were alert enough to move at any given time.

Good. She nodded once and walked. They moved with her without needing a command. There were two guards to her front and three in the back.

The entrance they used was from behind—an area ordinary citizens would never see. This path was meant for nobles, and people whose presence was better kept away from crowds.

Stairs rose ahead. Her guards led the way up them. When the stairs were over, she noticed the place was exactly as she remembered. Same pillars. Same patterns carved into the archways. Same paintings on the hall walls. No renovations, no new decorations. It was refreshing.

Most nobles changed their estates often to show wealth or simply to not get bored. But Li Baolong never bothered with that. He was the same as ever—he was reliable, predictable, and someone who wouldn’t change sides just because of greed. That was a little part of why she liked him as a supporter.

They walked through long hallways. Her guards stepped ahead to part the way, and estate guards pressed to the walls as she passed. At the final double-door, two of those estate guards froze for a breath when they saw her—nervous and bowing stiffly with quick glances at her escort. They pushed the doors open, shoulders tense.

Yanyue didn’t spare them another look. She crossed into the room.

City Lord Li Baolong stood waiting. His posture was disciplined, his face composed, but she caught the new streaks of gray in his hair now.

The moment his eyes met hers, he bowed deeply.

“Princess Yanyue. I, Li Baolong, greet the moon of the royal family. I was not informed of your arrival.”

She gave a small, warm smile which was a carefully measured courtesy. “It’s fine, City Lord Li Baolong. Fate wanted this meeting.” She paused, letting the weight of that settle before adding, “How have you been?”

“Good, Princess. Things have been a little rough, but we’re managing.”

“I saw that while my carriage moved through the city. To be honest, I wasn’t planning to come to this part of the empire. I was heading toward the Corpse Lands.”

City Lord Li Baolong’s eyes glinted at her mention of the Corpse Lands. “The Pagoda of Eternity.”

“Yes. You already know I have a great interest in it.”

“I do.” He gestured toward the seating area. “Why don’t we sit?”

She moved with calm grace, taking her place on the cushioned seat. Her guards remained behind her, silent and still like statues, forming a respectful wall between her and the rest of the hall.

A servant from the side stepped forward to pour tea. The light brown liquid gave away a smell that only said one thing: Good tea. Yanyue accepted the cup with a nod. She was usually indifferent toward tea, but Li Baolong’s supply was exceptional—one of the few luxuries she genuinely appreciated. She lifted it, inhaled briefly, then took a measured sip.

Li Baolong watched politely, then spoke. “I expected your visit to be one of your usual inspections, Princess. Not about the Pagoda of Eternity.”

She let out a soft, amused exhale. “I have stopped those inspections. My father was not pleased with me overturning city after city simply because their lords failed at the one duty they are entrusted with.” Her gaze sharpened slightly. “If he let me do the same to sects… I doubt the sects would be pleased either.”

Li Baolong chuckled, stroking his goatee. “In an unjust world, no one likes a just person.”

“Wise words as always, City Lord Li Baolong.”

They shared a brief understanding look, before she took another sip from the cup.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I am here.”

He nodded. “I assume it is not merely to greet an old supporter.” Then his expression shifted slightly. “Is it to take Li Xuan with you? He is already preparing to enter the Pagoda under the Soaring Sword Sect’s banner.”

“That will be good for him,” she replied, unbothered. “But I am not here for that.”

He raised a brow, already questioning why she was here and she continued. “I believe one of my subordinates met with you months ago. Haoran.”

Recognition flickered in Li Baolong’s eyes. “Yes. I met him. I sent him toward Meadow Village. He was looking for Chen Ren.” A faint, wry smile touched his lips. “You know he started a sect there? My son visited briefly before returning to the Soaring Sword Sect. He had nothing but praise for it.”

Princess Yanyue set the cup down, steam curling between them. “I’ve heard things about his sect as well,” she said. “But Haoran never sent me a single report on Chen Ren. I almost assumed he was dead until very recently.”

Li Baolong’s brows knit. “Do you think he was caught?”

“Probably.” Her tone stayed even. “If he was, then Chen Ren is more efficient than I expected.”

Li Baolong gave a short laugh. “It might not be him.”

She glanced up. “What do you mean?”

“Elder Qing He left Cloud Mist City months ago to live in his sect,” he said. “She could have easily found a spy. And Li Xuan also mentioned a few… interesting people he met there.”

Yanyue’s fingers curled in a fist at the mention of Qing He. She lifted the cup and took a calm sip to hide the sudden rush of thoughts. It had been years since they last met in person. She was twelve the last time she had seen her. After that, she had sent letters, but had only heard about her retirement from the immortal world.

“Why did she leave for that sect?” Yanyue asked.

Li Baolong shrugged. “I don’t know. Likely her own interests. Every old cultivator is hard to read, you know that.” He suddenly hesitated, then decided to press. “I don’t question your decisions, Princess. But… Why are you personally interested in Chen Ren enough to come here yourself? That is not your usual method. You recruit through others, not in person.”

Yanyue held his gaze and replied without missing a beat. “Because this time, I can’t afford a middleman. Haoran already failed, and I don't want to send someone else. Things are dire right now, and I believe he can help me with the Pagoda.”

“How so?” Li Baolong asked.

How so. That was a question that demanded a precise answer. But it also meant that she would have to tell things she was not planning to expose to anyone.

For a brief second, she weighed just how much to reveal.

Li Baolong was a reliable subordinate, who’d gotten her trust throughout the years. He was reliable, and someone who wouldn’t turn on her. Moreover, if she spoke about it openly, that still wouldn’t harm her chances in the Pagoda.

Li Baolong took the silence as a moment she needed to think and kept his eyes on her, patiently waiting.

Yanyue cleared her throat.

“You know I’ve been interested in the Pagoda for a long time, right?”

Li Baolong nodded. “I know. Even when court officials rejected the claim that it existed, you were firm it was true. To be honest, I would’ve loved to see the faces of those old bastards when the news of the Pagoda rising came out.”

Yanyue allowed herself a thin smile. “Trust me—when I spoke to them after, I wanted my men to draw those expressions.” Her smile faded the next second, and her tone turned serious. “You want to know why Chen Ren could help me with the Pagoda, right? Then listen, all the knowledge I have about it comes from one book. And I believe Chen Ren might be the one person who can reach the highest known floor of the Pagoda. Let me tell you why…”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

191. Ancient sect

Chen Ren opened his eyes inside the star-space.

The ground beneath him felt soft and calm. And above him, the sky stretched endlessly—a sea of black velvet studded with thousands of stars. He lay there for a moment, breathing in the quiet, letting the silence settle into his bones.

Then, his gaze rose toward the brightest cluster in the sky. Those weren’t just stars. They denoted his businesses.

The first star his eyes fell on was his noodle business. The first business he ever built. What was once a small stall in Cloud Mist City was now stretching its branches through the rest of the empire. They already had two branches opened, and there were plans for more.

Then there was the one star that shone brighter than the first one—the star for his perfume and clothing business.

What had started as a perfume business had expanded into a mall, and their clothing sections were now selling as much as the perfumes now. It was pulling steady profit and expanding, buying land for new branches in different cities. Mortal women across the empire were crazy for it, and even some female cultivators had taken interest, if Tang Yuqui's last report had to be believed.

Beside it glowed another star: his moonshine business. They had turned it into something every low-realm cultivator wanted a taste of, along with any rich mortal curious enough to try. It wasn’t spirit alcohol, but it was still spreading fast. They were already getting offers to supply clans in different regions, thanks to its success in Ashen City.

Chen Ren planned to turn it into true spirit alcohol one day. The problem was the recipe. Not even Qing He knew how to make it, and just pouring qi into wine wouldn’t work. According to what he had learned, the Emerald Sun Sect—the Guardian sect that was famous for alchemy kept the method locked down and only produced spirit alcohol for nobles and other sects.

Even Emperor Xian was a huge fan of it, apparently. Making something like that would push him into becoming one of the major alcohol businessmen in the empire, even if it drew flak from the Guardian Sect. But he wasn’t going to try making it right away. It was one of his future business plans.

He let his mind shake off those plans to focus on the business that was making him tons and tons of spirit stones: his pill business. He had thought about it for a long time before starting, and there were more than a few obstacles—he needed to create a completely different method of alchemy, hire more alchemists, had to deflect spies, and he even had to win an alchemy competition. He proved himself in each of these with tricks and schemes, and it was paying off big time. Not only did he have more than enough spirit stones to fund Jadefire Hall to create more unique pills, he also had enough for the rest of the sect to make progress at a fast pace.

And he knew that this was only going to increase as they moved into other cities with a strong rogue cultivator population. His time in Red Peak City had already proved that the pills he had were in high demand everywhere in the empire. He simply had to make use of it.

Other than those major businesses, there were more stars in the space—smaller and far dimmer. These were businesses that had been temporary but had still gathered a good amount of qi like his wolf fur and pelt business, which was now coming to an end, and the deals he had made in Red Peak City.

They had made him good money, but they weren’t solid businesses with a model that kept paying out on their own all year. Even so, with all the qi gathered in the stars, Chen Ren felt sure he could reach the foundation establishment realm soon.

And this is only the beginning.

There were more cities that waited for him, more rogue cultivators to make customers. More clans and sects to deal with.

Chen Ren smirked. His thoughts drifted towards how if he hadn’t spent so much qi calling the golden dragon, he would have even more in reserve. Though, rather than qi, the real issue was his star space.

He let his gaze trace each gleaming star in his star-space one more time, then turned away from them. Money, plans, influence—none of it mattered if his body cracked before his ambition reached its peak.

His eyes swept the ground. The fractures were still there, pale lines cutting through the space like thin frost on stone. But they no longer crawled or spread. They held and he hoped they were healing.

He exhaled slowly.

The dragon had said that his mind was strong, and he had already reached the second step of soul cultivation. What remained unfinished was his body that was still not truly aligned with the power he carried.

Once his body caught up, once all three pieces sat in harmony… he would be able to jump to the next realm.

He wondered what it would feel like.

Qi refinement was the starting point of what cultivation could offer; foundation establishment was the point right before the next set of middle realms. If he balanced his body with his mind and soul, he was sure he could blaze through quickly, especially with how much qi his businesses were generating right now. But that would come later.

He checked the cracks one last time, feeling the space breathe under his feet. It was steady and slowly improving.

Time to take the next step.

The next second, his form dissolved from the star-space. The stars dimmed, the ground fell away, and the weight of his physical body settled back around him.

Chen Ren blinked awake in his room in the Divine Coin Sect and stretched, joints popping one by one.

He cracked his neck at last. The immediate relief washed through his body to his toes.

His body still felt stiff from the long ride back from Red Peak City; being lazy and sleeping in the carriage the whole way had come with consequences. Once he returned, he hadn't gotten a moment of rest.

The first thing he had done on returning was hand the ivory slasher’s corpse to Qing He so she could prepare the beast bath. After that came reports—Xiulan’s updates on sect affairs, which had thankfully been stable—and he’d also used the opportunity to check up with her, truly ask how she’d been doing and what had been going on.

And then, he had also talked to Anji who had finally returned to the sect. She was now shut in her room, learning under Wang Jun’s strict guidance. He'd almost pitied her for that; then again, a little suffering now meant strength later.

And if anyone could bear with that head, it would be Anji, he was certain of it.

Only once those tasks were done did Chen Ren allow himself a little time. There were two things he needed to do.

First was to check his star space that he already did. And the second was to find the location of the hologram projected by the new medallion he had received from the Chen clan.

He reached into his robes and drew the second medallion out, rubbing his thumb over the cool metal. Honestly, it looked just like the first time. There was almost little to no difference between them.

He’d already bonded to it on the ride home like the way he had done the first time and as he pushed qi into it again, light bloomed.

A ghostly image rose before him, but unlike the first medallion, it was not mountains and wild landscape. Instead, a quiet hall took shape. Slanted rooftops with pale tiles. Carved eaves that caught wind. Statues of different beasts flanking stone steps.

It was the hologram of a sect building.

And not just any sect building.

The image floating above the medallion stretched upward like a mountain carved by gods—layer upon layer of soaring halls and terraces stacked toward the clouds. Even as a hologram, it felt immense. A sprawling spine of stone and jade rising so high the peak vanished into mist, like heaven itself had lent its stairs to it.

Roads wound around the structure in perfect order, wide enough to let entire armies march side-by-side. Bridges crossed between suspended courtyards. Outer rings of buildings leaned in perfect symmetry—training fields, pill pavilions, libraries, gardens glowing with faint qi. Towers arched like spears stabbing skyward, their roofs curved in sweeping traditional lines… yet the angles of some structures were sleek, straight, impossibly modern, as if someone mixed ancient cultivation architecture with the clean geometry of a modern city.

It shouldn’t have made sense. But it did. And the whole image screamed importance.

Even the projection made his skin tingle. That place could house thousands, maybe tens of thousands. It could hold entire cities within its walls. Cloud Mist City could surely fit inside it with room to spare.

A sect wealthy beyond measure. Grand beyond reason.

Which only made the problem worse.

According to Yalan, this sect building did not belong to any of the four Guardian sects. She had seen all of them in her long life, and none looked like this.

So if it wasn't one of them…

It might belong to one of the Established sects then, but Chen Ren didn't think that there was such an Established sect in the empire that was so wealthy.

His feelings and logic both told him that it was not an Established sect.

Then where in the heavens was the sect located?

Suddenly, he heard a sigh right behind him. “You’re staring at it again,” Yalan’s voice came, dry as ever. “I told you. This place isn’t in the empire.”

He blinked and half-turned. “Since when were you standing there?”

She padded forward from behind him, tail swaying casually, as if she hadn’t just snuck up on him like a silent shadow. “Just now,” she said. Her gaze rose to the projection, eyes narrowing in faint awe. “If a sect like this existed inside the empire, I would surely know of it.”

Chen Ren kept his eyes on the soaring halls. “We don’t even know what lies beyond the empire. Are there strong countries out there?”

“Not that I know,” Yalan said. “Small clans. Scattered tribes. Long stretches ruled by whoever can hold a spear without dying. Beasts are worse outside our borders. Some lands belong to… other races like the incestoids that love wide, stretching plains of land.”

“But this,” Chen Ren said, lifting the medallion a little, “is clearly human work. I can’t see any other race building something like this.”

“The medallion is old,” Yalan replied. “It could be showing a sect that no longer exists.”

He shook his head. “The first medallion showed the current terrain around Red Peak City. Why would this one show a historical sect that no longer exists?”

Yalan’s whiskers twitched. “Then it’s a mystery only the dragon in your star space can explain.”

Chen Ren snorted. “If he wakes up from his nap, that is. He sleeps more than cats.”

Yalan leveled a glare at him. “Do not compare cats to dragons. We are far better.”

“Oh?” Chen Ren raised a brow. “How so?”

“If we weren’t better, we’d be nearly extinct like the big scaled lizards,” she said, tail flicking. “We know how to stay low, pick our fights, and grow slowly. Patience is power. Dragons have no idea how to do that.”

He laughed, the sound slipping out before he could stop it. A picture flashed in his mind—cat spiritual beasts hiding in every city, quietly running the world from rafters and rooftops.

Yalan’s eyes narrowed into slits.

Chen Ren coughed, schooling his face.

That… was amusing. But his eyes went back to the medallion for one last time.

The phantom image of that towering sect shimmered… then faded as he cut off the qi. There were no answers, just more questions. But it was not like he could spend days wondering where it would be, and how to reach.

He had better things to do.

He slid the medallion back into his spatial ring and stood, stretching until his spine gave a soft crack.

Yalan tilted her head. “Where are you going?”

“To see Qing He.” He rolled his shoulders again. He could already imagine the pain creeping in. “She should’ve prepared the beast-blood bath by now. I want to break through bone refinement and get it over with. Then I can finally focus on other things.”

Yalan’s eyes gleamed with too much excitement for his comfort. “I’ll come. I believe I will enjoy it.”

He stared at her. “You sound suspicious.”

“I’m a cat,” she said, voice smooth. “Suspicious is natural.”

He decided that was not an argument worth entering and pushed open his door. The sect’s hallway buzzed with noise—disciples walking, talking, training in small clusters. The village had gifted them two extra buildings after the rising, and the sound of construction was everywhere as they were renovating those buildings to better suit the sect’s needs.

A few younger mortal disciples rushed past, but paused when they noticed him. They bowed, faces bright, before moving through the hallway.

The more he walked, the more people he saw, and some of them even paused to ask him questions on certain topics.

Chen Ren offered patient answers before he started walking again. It slowed him down—by the time he reached the rear courtyard, nearly half an hour had passed—but only a smile stretched on his lips. With the sect taking more and more people, mostly mortals, it felt more and more like a real sect.

That thought vanished the moment he stepped foot in the courtyard as the smell hit him.

The stench rolled across the courtyard like a swamp had married rotten herbs and died twice. A massive iron tub sat in the center, filled to the brim with thick, green liquid that bubbled like it wanted to escape. The fumes alone made Chen Ren’s stomach revolt.

“What the fuck is that?”

Yalan snickered beside him, tail swaying. “Oh yes. I will enjoy this.”

He shot her a flat look.

Qing He stood in front of the tub and she turned, hearing footsteps, sleeves rolled up, her expression far too proud for someone who had just brewed something that smelled like a mixture of melted corpses and week-old soup.

“Oh! You’re here,” she said brightly. “I was about to send someone to drag you over. The beast-blood bath is ready. Go on—dip in.”

Chen Ren stared at the cauldron of green agony.

Then at Qing He’s eager smile.

Then at Yalan’s barely-contained glee.

He felt his knees weaken at the thought of entering such an abomination. And he wondered just for a second if his star space was better off cracked.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

New book announcement!!

Hello everyone, I have a big announcement for you all. I have a released a new book Monarch Litrpg on Royal road today and would love it if you all can go and follow it.

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Thank you for all your support!!

192. Impurities

Chen Ren stared at the green concoction with a stiff face. The closer he got, the worse it became. The smell hit him like a punch—sharp, sour, and rotten all at once. His stomach twisted, and he honestly thought if he leaned in even one inch more, he might throw up right into the tub.

Qing He had warned him that beast-blood baths weren’t like natural treasures and often smelled awful, but he hadn’t expected this level of suffering. If someone ever bottled this scent, it could be used as a weapon, not medicine. Maybe it felt worse because of his heightened senses now, but that didn’t comfort him at all.

Still, he forced himself forward. Curiosity and stubbornness pushed him. He leaned over, pinched his nose, and dipped his fingers in.

It felt cold. Not normal cold, but death cold.

His entire arm jerked back on instinct. His fingers stiffened like icicles. A shiver shot through his spine and his shoulders. For a second, he genuinely thought his hand stopped working.

“How am I supposed to bathe in this?” he muttered. “If I jump in, I’ll die in minutes.”

Qing He smirked like she’d been waiting exactly for that reaction. “How do you like it?”

Chen Ren glared weakly. “Perfect. If the goal is to freeze someone to death.”

Yalan flicked her tail and sat primly on a rock, judgment in her eyes. “What did you expect a beast-blood bath to be like?”

“Not something that murders me,” Chen Ren shot back.

“It won’t kill you,” Qing He said calmly, waving her hand as if he were complaining about cold tea. “The beast you brought back was very potent. Once you step in, you need to absorb the entire essence in the bath. That cold you felt—let it inside. It will strengthen your bones.”

Chen Ren stared back at the tub. It still looked like poisonous soup mixed with swamp sludge and despair.

“… Fantastic,” he muttered, sighing. “I always imagined dying in such a way.”

He dipped a finger back into the liquid. The same violent shiver ran up his arm, all the way to his shoulder. He pulled his hand out again and stared at Qing He, like she had just handed him a death sentence.

“What if I just freeze to death before anything happens?”

Qing He scoffed without hesitation. “Then you were never meant to be a cultivator, much less a body cultivator. This path isn’t for the soft-hearted. Think about the payoffs. Once your bones are refined, they will hardly ever break again. And if you use palm or fist techniques, they will hit far above your realm.”

Chen Ren swallowed and let out a slow breath. She was right. It was too late to back out now. Cold or not, fear or not—he had to do it. And honestly, if anything went wrong, he had Qing He and Yalan right here. He wasn’t alone.

He breathed out once more, nodded, and then asked, “Do… I have to go in naked?”

Qing He blinked once, as if he had just asked whether water was wet. “Of course. Do you want to ruin your robes?” Then her eyes flicked down and a smirk tugged at her lips. “Don’t get shy now. Just undress and jump in.”

Yalan chimed in without shame, tail flicking. “I’ve seen you naked many times. No need to worry about me.”

Chen Ren froze. Many times? When? He very nearly asked… then stopped himself, because the answer would probably traumatize him.

He clicked his tongue, exhaled sharply, and stripped. Robes, underwear—everything hit the floor in one practiced motion before he could think too much. If he hesitated, he knew he would talk himself out of this.

He glanced once at the tub, feeling the cold practically radiate off it, and before any hint of embarrassment could catch up to him, he dove in.

The moment his body touched the liquid, pain hit.

He felt a crushing cold envelope his whole body. Like someone shoved him naked into space to freeze to death.

His breath locked. His muscles seized. Every nerve screamed. The cold felt like metal claws digging into his marrow and twisting.

His body tried to curl in on itself. His teeth chattered so hard he heard them click.

He couldn’t even inhale—his lungs felt like they’d frozen solid.

The only sound that left his mouth was a strangled gasp.

It wasn’t just his skin that froze. The cold shot deeper—into his nerves, into his marrow, into a place he didn’t even know could feel pain. His very soul felt like it was being gripped by claws of ice and squeezed tight.

Chen Ren didn’t hold back the scream. It tore out of him raw, and instinctively he tried to lurch upward and escape the bath, but Qing He’s cold voice cut through the ringing in his ears.

“Stay inside. Start absorbing the essence. The cold will get easier once you do.”

Absorb? How? Every inch of him felt like it was shattering. He wasn’t thinking anymore—just hurting, frozen to the bone, breath catching in short, panicked bursts. But he forced his teeth together and tried to suck in air despite the way his lungs burned like they’d iced over.

His first instinct was to fight the sensation, to thrash his way out, but instead he forced himself still. Slowly, shaking, he reached inward with his senses. The essence around him felt wild, sharp, angry—like a living storm of frost pressing in from every direction.

He tried to draw it in. Nothing happened.

He tried again, jaw clenched so tight he felt something pop in his neck. The pain made his vision swim, but he didn’t stop. He kept pulling, refusing to quit even as his body trembled uncontrollably.

Then finally—just when he thought his fingers would go numb and fall off—something moved.

A thread of energy trickled into him, sliding under his skin. He froze, stunned. It was small, barely anything… but it was warm. Warm in a way that made him gasp. It slid into his veins, faint at first, then steadier, and he felt it travel like a spark along his blood, reaching his bones.

And then, a warm pulse moved through him, from bones to his entire body.

The cold didn’t vanish, but for one second, the pain loosened. He latched onto that sensation like a drowning man gripping rope, and he pulled again. More essence seeped in, and the warmth surged, brushing every bone inside him as if marking them, strengthening them by tiny degrees.

The contrast was brutal—warmth inside, biting ice outside. It made his muscles twitch and tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He kept absorbing anyway. He welcomed the warmth and endured the chill, letting his bones drink in the essence bit by bit.

It hurt like hell. His body shook. His lips were numb. But his bones… they were changing. Hardening. Strengthening. And he clung to that, breathing through the pain as the warmth slowly ate away at the ice gripping him.

But he kept going—not out of bravery, but because he could feel it working. Every time that warmth pulsed through him, his bones felt denser, heavier, stronger. If he stopped now, all this suffering would be pointless.

Still, he couldn’t just absorb endlessly. The essence needed time to run through his marrow, settle, and harden everything inside him. That meant long stretches where he couldn’t pull anything in, just sit in the freezing sludge and endure. Those pauses were worse than the absorption. In the silence, the cold chewed through him again and again until his thoughts blurred.

His stomach twisted violently. Bile climbed up his throat, and for a second he really thought he would vomit right there in the thick green bath.

Qing He’s voice cut through the ringing in his ears again, steady and annoyingly calm. “Your body is absorbing vital essence. It will push impurities out. Do not vomit into the bath. Hold it in. Wait until you finish.”

He bit down so hard he felt his jaw creak. He forced the bile back and nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak. He’d rather pass out face-first than puke in front of them and ruin the bath.

More essence seeped into him, each wave weaker but warmer. The cold slowly dulled… but the price was that he couldn’t feel his limbs anymore. It was all just flashes of heat inside and ice outside, fighting over his body. His hands floated uselessly in the liquid; his toes might as well not exist. His breathing turned shallow, and even shivering took too much strength now.

Still, he knew he was past halfway. So he didn’t think. He didn’t try to judge pain. He just waited until each warm pulse settled, then dragged in the next bit of essence like a man drinking poison for the cure.

His bones began to protest. Not a dull ache—a deep splitting pressure like they were being wedged apart from the inside. Each time essence touched them again, it felt like they would crack open. He would pause, breathe, and wait. Let them settle. Then continue. Over and over.

Time stopped being time. Minutes felt like hours, hours like days. There was only the bath, the cold, the warmth and the dull roaring in his head. At some point he realized he couldn’t even cry out anymore—his throat was too raw, voice swallowed somewhere between his ribs and the frost clawing at his spine.

Then slowly—painfully slowly—the warmth overtook the cold. A balance shifted. Heat became a steady burn spreading through his skeleton, chasing the frost away.

He was on the final stretch.

His bones trembled under the last bit of essence waiting outside his skin. Any sane person would have stopped here. His body didn’t want to take more. It told him it was done. Finished.

Chen Ren didn’t listen.

With what little strength he had left, with lips numb and body shaking like a dying leaf, he pulled the final reservoir of essence into himself all at once.

It hit like fire and winter crashing together—a spike of agony so sharp his vision went black at the edges.

He didn’t scream this time.

He didn’t have the breath for it.

He just clung to the sensation as everything inside him burned and froze and broke and reforged at the same time, forcing his body into a new shape whether it liked it or not.

And he did not let go.

Qing He said something, but it came through muffled and distant. He didn’t hear the words—he couldn’t. His head was ringing. The only thing he could focus on was finishing this before his body gave out for real.

The cold vanished so fast it felt like someone had ripped winter out of his bones. In its place, fire roared through him. Every drop of essence he had forced into himself lit up at once, blazing along his marrow like molten metal being poured into fragile glass.

He barely felt his own breath. He barely felt his skin. All he felt was heat and pressure.

He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw hurt, and forced the essence to move, to follow his will. Down his arms. Through his ribs. Into his legs. One bone at a time. If he slipped now, his body would tear itself apart. He could feel it in the screaming tension inside him.

His stomach lurched. Bitter bile shot up his throat and he nearly choked. Thick saliva mixed with something darker spilled from the corner of his mouth and dripped into the bath, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. His bones felt like they were being hammered from inside, cracks spreading then sealing, again and again.

Almost there. Just one last push.

The final pool of essence hovered near his spine, refusing to sink. Chen Ren forced his focus on it, dragged it in, and jammed it deep into the bone. His spine flared with burning heat, but it held. Barely.

That was it. That was all of it.

The moment he felt the last thread settle, he moved on instinct alone.

He launched himself out of the tub, slipping and half-falling out of the thick green liquid. He didn’t care. He hit the ground, hands shaking, and he didn’t spare a thought for modesty or posture. He just bent forward and vomited.

It felt like his entire insides were being ripped out.

Black sludge poured out of his mouth in thick waves, splattering the stone, steaming faintly like it was burning its way out. Each retch pulled more up—tar-thick, sticky, foul—like his stomach had turned itself inside out. The stench hit him and he gagged harder, coughing and choking but unable to stop.

It kept coming. And coming.

His whole body curled and shook with each heave. His ribs hurt. His throat felt raw. His vision blurred.

It was disgusting, but he didn’t even care. He just let his body purge, let it empty every rotten thing the bath had forced loose.

Only when nothing came up—when he was dry-heaving air did he slump forward, palms flat on the ground, chest heaving like he had sprinted miles.

His body hurt everywhere. But under the pain, under the weakness… there was strength. Real strength. His bones felt like iron bars under his skin.

And heavens, he was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open.

He wiped the last streak of black sludge from his lips with the back of his hand and scooted away from the puddle. He didn’t want to kneel anywhere near it, not after what had just come out of him. His back found the side of the tub and he leaned against it, chest rising and falling like he had just run up a mountain.

Something warm dropped over his body. A towel.

He lifted his head. Qing He stood above him.

“You need a shower,” she said. “You stink.”

Chen Ren gave a tired, crooked smile. “I need more than a shower. I’ve never felt so disgusting in my life.”

Yalan flicked her tail and hopped closer, nose wrinkling slightly. “You’ve also never pushed impurities out of your bones before. It’s surprising how much filth was inside you when you’re already at the peak of qi refinement.”

Chen Ren stared at the black puddle again. It looked like a small tar pit. Hard to believe all of that had been inside him. He resisted the urge to gag again.

Qing He kneeled beside him and spoke calmly, as if she were explaining a recipe. “After finishing the body forging realm, cultivators usually focus only on qi. They strengthen meridians, dantian, and circulation. The body gets ignored until much later, when impurities have already piled up again.” She tapped his forehead lightly. “You’re doing this step early. That’s fortunate. Painful, but fortunate.”

Chen Ren rubbed his face with the towel, hair still dripping green liquid. “I don’t feel fortunate. I don’t even feel strong. I just feel… hungry.”

“Give it time,” Qing He said. “Your body’s still processing the essence. The strength will settle in soon.” She stood up and dusted off her hands. “Now get up and go wash. I’ll tell Xiulan to bring every plate of food she can find. You’ll need to eat a mountain to replenish what you burned.”

Chen Ren nodded and slowly pushed himself to his feet. His legs shook like newborn deer legs, and he had to grip the side of the tub to steady himself. He felt drained, empty, and a bit light-headed, but somewhere under all that, a quiet heat pulsed in his bones.

And right now, the only thing he wanted more than a bath… was food.

His legs shook, but he managed to stand. He glanced at the pool of impurities again and his stomach lurched; nothing came up, only a dry heave and a sour taste. He turned to leave the room, only to stop at the sound of quick footsteps.

Zi Wen rushed in with Sori perched on his shoulder. He froze for a heartbeat, eyes flicking from the reeking bath to the black sludge on the floor, then to Chen Ren—naked but for a towel. Zi Wen hurried closer.

“Sect Leader Chen, are you okay?”

“I am,” Chen Ren said, voice rough. “I just broke through to the second step of body cultivation. Why are you here? You look troubled.”

Zi Wen nodded, still catching his breath. “Yes, there’s something that needs your attention.”

“Can it wait? I stink, and I’m starving.”

Zi Wen’s mouth tightened. He shook his head. “I think it’s urgent, Sect Leader. Sori noticed something heading toward the village.”

“A beast? I thought the rising was over.”

“It’s not a beast, Sect Leader. It’s a carriage. Sori saw Cloud Mist City Lord Li Baolong’s crest on it, and two more carriages were behind it.” He lifted a hand to the avian beast. “I had her take a closer look. She says many men and women are inside. Some wear robes that give off a lot of qi. I believe they are enchanted robes. Her senses are sharp; she’s very sure.”

Qing He stepped forward, eyes narrowing. “All in armor?”

“Some,” Zi Wen said. “The ones with strong qi did not. They wore robes. That’s why I came running.” He swallowed. “By the count of armored escorts Sori saw, I think a noble or City Lord Li himself is coming to our village.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

193. Princess greetings

Chen Ren had no idea why someone connected to City Lord Li Baolong or he himself would suddenly show up in Meadow Village.

For a second, he thought it might be Li Xuan, but he dismissed that almost instantly. Li Xuan wouldn't return now, not with how hard the Soaring Sword Sect would be working its disciples after the rising. And Li Xuan definitely wouldn’t ride in with a grand carriage and an entourage. That wasn’t his style at all.

So who was it then? Li Baolong himself? Coming to praise the village for surviving the beast rising? Or for some other reason? Was he going to cause trouble?

His thoughts ran in useless circles, ideas piling up faster than he could sort them, and then he froze as reality caught up to him: He was still naked under a towel.

If someone important really was arriving, the last thing he needed was to greet them smelling like beast blood and medicated bath water, wrapped in a towel like a half-dead rogue cultivator dragged out of a swamp.

“Zi Wen,” he said, using a bit of his qi to dry his hair in a hurry. “Go see who’s coming. Tell the others to stay inside and inform Chief Muyang.”

He nodded and dashed off.

Chen Ren hurried to clean himself properly as he went inside the bathhouse in the sect. A short rinse wouldn't cut it; the smell of beast blood bath clung to his skin like it had moved in permanently. He scrubbed faster, changed into a clean robe, and immediately reached for a bottle of perfume.

He didn’t even think twice—he grabbed the strongest scent he had on hand and sprayed.

Better to smell like an over-enthusiastic flower field than like rotting beast marrow. He didn’t want an important person to be disgusted by his smell that would cast him in a dark light.

As he finished tying the belt of a fresh pair of robes, his stomach growled loud enough that even he paused and glared at himself. He had planned to eat first… but whoever was in that carriage would be here soon, and he couldn’t exactly greet them with food crumbs on his robes.

Food could wait. Impressions, unfortunately, couldn’t.

Chen Ren treated nobles the same way he treated government officers back on Earth—if they liked you, your life and business flowed smoother; if they didn’t, paperwork and problems started falling from the sky. So after drowning himself more in enough perfume to smell like a sheltered young miss preparing for her debut banquet, he finally stepped outside the sect building.

Everyone was already gathered.

Qing He stood with her arms lightly folded, expression curious and a little amused. Chief Muyang looked pale, wiping sweat from his forehead and shooting Chen Ren nervous glances like the heavens themselves were about to audit the village. Yalan sat on a stone with her tail swaying, bored but alert. Zi Wen stood near her. Tang Xiulan was also there and she hurried towards him.

“Do you know what’s going on?” she asked.

“Someone important is coming,” Chen Ren replied, adjusting his collar. “Sori saw a noble carriage with City Lord Li Baolong’s crest.”

Tang Xiulan blinked. “Why would he come here?” She leaned forward, sniffed, and her face twisted. “And why… Do you smell like my perfume? And why is there so much of it?”

Chen Ren opened his mouth, immediately regretted every decision made in the last ten minutes, and muttered, “I don’t know why they’re here. And I will tell you—”

He paused.

He saw movement by the sect's entrance. A familiar figure approached them, robes neat, back straight and expression composed. Chen Ren frowned seeing who it was.

Scholar Haoran.

The man they had quietly marked as a spy and watched. The man Zi Wen reported on weekly. The one they had seen sneak around, subtly asking questions, pretending to be harmless but sending letters written in disappearing ink that burned the moment anyone else tried to read them. The spy that had been in the village since the first wave of refugees.

The letters he sent were presumably enchanted by some kind of artifact, since the man was clearly a mortal. That made it easy to guess that he was working for a cultivator. Chen Ren had thought often about dragging him into a room to interrogate him properly, but spies in this world almost always hid poison under their tongue. One wrong move and he’d choke on foam before a single answer came out. Chen Ren knew that if one spy died, whoever had sent him would just send more, so he had chosen to keep Haoran under quiet observation instead.

But why was the man here now?

There was no reason for him to suddenly show up at the sect. Yet here he was. After walking through the entrance he stopped a few feet away and clutched his hands behind him as if waiting for someone he respected. He even dipped his head politely when Chen Ren and the others looked at him. Zi Wen, who had been keeping an eye on him for months, stared at him with an incredulous expression.

A faint, uneasy feeling crawled through Chen Ren’s chest.

He told Tang Xiulan, “I’ll explain everything later,” then stepped forward. Haoran, who saw Chen Ren walking toward him and bowed slightly before looking up with a frown on his face.

“Sect Leader Chen Ren, you… smell good.”

Chen Ren blinked, then frowned back. “Scholar Haoran, why are you here, if I may ask?”

Haoran’s polite face flickered. For a heartbeat, he looked like someone deciding whether to hide or confess. Then he sighed, soft and resigned.

“I received communication a few days ago from the one I serve. She informed me she would be arriving around this time. So, naturally, I came to welcome her.”

Chen Ren stared at him, confusion stacking up like bricks on his head.

“…The one you are spying on us for?”

Haoran actually smiled—small, neat, infuriatingly calm—and nodded without shame.

“I suspected as much. My reports never received responses. This recent communication confirmed my suspicion. I must say, Sect Leader Chen, your sect has very capable people. I truly wonder when I made a mistake to be found out so early.”

Chen Ren stared, unsure what to say. The man had just admitted he was a spy. Was he serving someone from City Lord Li Baolong’s household or Li Baolong himself? Haoran had certainly sent reports toward Cloud Mist City, yes, but why be so open about it now? The only answer that made sense that he was sure no one here would dare touch him.

A dull headache pressed behind Chen Ren’s eyes, but he calmed himself down. Answers would arrive soon enough.

Suddenly, Sori swept down from the sky in an arc. Zi Wen lifted his arm, and the bird landed, chirping at him. Zi Wen stroked her chin, then glanced at Chen Ren.

“They’re coming,” he said.

Just then, Chen Ren heard wheels rumble over the village road. A moment later, three carriages rolled into view—broad frames, lacquered wood, polished fittings. Just by the look of them, it was clear that they belonged to nobles.

They stopped before the sect gates.

The first and third doors opened. Men and women in armor stepped down, weapons held low. He saw no crest of City Lord Li Baolong anywhere on there armours. But he could tell that they were strong. Even at a glance, their auras pressed out like heat from a forge—Most of them were peak qi refinement realm cultivators, and there were three whose presence sat heavier, beyond that realm.

Beside him, Haoran’s mouth eased into a small, satisfied smile. “She’s finally here,” he said.

Chen Ren didn’t answer Haoran. He kept his focus on the carriages.

The cultivators lined up on both sides of the middle one, forming a neat corridor. One stepped forward, opened the door, and a familiar figure climbed out.

City Lord Li Baolong.

Chen Ren’s brows rose. So he had come personally. The man hadn’t changed since the last time Chen Ren had seen him. But after he stepped aside, he then lifted his hand in a polite gesture toward the carriage interior.

A slender, pale hand took his.

And then she stepped down.

Chen Ren’s thoughts stalled. It wasn’t because he’d recognized who it was, but because of how beautiful she looked.

He had often read in xianxia about female cultivators looking like fairies. He had read lines after lines about that sort of thing in his previous life… but seeing one in front of him was different.

The woman looked like she’d been carved by God personally, with careful planning. Smooth features, long black hair that caught the sunlight and gleamed, and skin so clear it almost glowed. Her big eyes held calm intelligence and the kind of confidence that made people instinctively look at them. Her robes were snow-white, trailing softly to the ground, but no dust clung to the fabric.

She simply looked like the personification of elegance.

And when her gaze lifted, the air around her seemed to pause out of respect. A quiet voice at Chen Ren’s shoulder cut through his stare.

“…What is she doing here?” Qing He muttered, sounding stunned.

Chen Ren blinked, then turned towards her. “You know who she is?”

Qing He looked at him like he had just asked what the sun was. “I forgot, you’ve never been to the capital. She is Princess Yanyue of the Kalian Empire.”

Suddenly, it felt like lightning ripped through the group.

Tang Xiulan’s jaw almost hit the floor. Zi Wen stiffened like someone had poured cold water down his back. Chief Muyang nearly keeled over on the spot. Even Yalan’s ears twitched, shock breaking through her usual calm.

A princess. Staring right at his sect’s gate. And Chen Ren smelled like he had bathed in perfume, hair still damp, robe slightly crooked.

Of course.

Of course this would happen today.

He looked around to see how only Haoran looked calm as he approached the princess.

He bowed to her in a practiced fashion like this was normal and not the most absurd scene to hit Meadow Village since, well… everything Chen Ren had ever done.

The princess lowered her gaze to acknowledge him. They exchanged a few whispers—quiet enough that Chen Ren couldn’t hear—but when Haoran lifted his head again, he pointed directly at Chen Ren and the group.

Chen Ren’s stomach tightened.

Why was a princess here? Was this about Blazing Ember Sect? Even then why was the princess here? They should’ve sent Inquisitors, not the princess herself. And if it wasn’t that, then the only other thing that made even slight sense was the golden dragon.

But how would she know? Had City Lord Li Baolong told her? And if that was the case, why spy on him for months instead of confronting him openly?

None of it lined up, and that bothered him more than her sudden appearance.

Qing He, standing beside him, gave a small sigh.

“Don't overthink it,” she murmured. “Princess Yanyue always acts on her own whims. Even the emperor prefers to let her do as she pleases.”

Chen Ren huffed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I know I never asked much about your past, Senior Qing He, but just how big was your background to know the royal family personally?”

Qing He shrugged like it was nothing. “They hold a lot of banquets. I went when I was bored. You meet people. So I have my contacts.”

“…right.” Chen Ren nodded slowly. “Good to know. If she tries to kill me, please put in a good word first.”

Qing He snorted. “If she wanted you dead, Inquisitors would already be here. I don’t see a single one. Relax.” Then she nudged him forward. “Let’s go greet her. Try not to embarrass yourself.”

Chen Ren straightened his robe and stepped forward with Yalan pacing beside him. Qing He matched his steps. Tang Xiulan, Chief Muyang, and Zi Wen followed a step behind, faces pale and stiff, each wearing the expression of people who would rather be literally anywhere else.

Chen Ren inhaled slowly.

As soon as they were close enough, all of them bowed. Even Qing He inclined her head slightly—a gesture that surprised Chen Ren more than a little. Yalan, of course, didn't bother. She maintained her lazy feline facade, tail flicking once in disinterest.

Chen Ren spoke first. “It is an honour to welcome Princess Yanyue and City Lord Li Baolong to the Divine Coin Sect.”

The others echoed similar greetings, voices tight with nerves. The princess’s voice was the first thing that hit him—calm, smooth, and carried with a melody that he had never heard before.

“Raise your heads.”

They obeyed instantly.

Her gaze moved over the group, assessing, weighing. Then she spoke again. “It seems one of you already knew we would be arriving.”

Her eyes landed on Zi Wen. Or rather, on Sori perched on his shoulder.

“A beast tamer,” she noted. “Rare. One of my guards noticed your bird circling our carriages several times. In the future, be more careful.”

Zi Wen’s face went a shade paler. “I understand. Thank you for your guidance.”

Li Baolong chuckled to soften the tension. “No need to be so stiff. Princess Yanyue is only here to talk. She has been curious about Chen Ren since reading about the tournament.”

The princess nodded slightly, eyes shifting to Chen Ren. “Yes. You are one of the most intriguing figures I have encountered in some time. Unfortunately, Haoran was discovered earlier than expected, so I received no reports from him. But I did hear things from Broken Ridge City.” Her lips curved faintly. “Very impressive.”

Chen Ren blinked. Nothing about this situation made sense, not even her compliment. He cut to the chase. “So… this is about the golden dragon that appeared at the tournament?”

“Partially,” she replied.

His brows pulled together. “Then what else?”

She didn’t hesitate. Her gaze sharpened as if she could peer straight through him and weigh the shape of his soul.

“Your dao,” she said. “If my sources are correct, you follow the Dao of Money.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

194. Princessly meetings

Chen Ren hadn’t expected anyone outside the Divine Coin Sect to know what dao he followed. Yes, he was a businessman—one who had started far too many enterprises for his own good—but anyone who looked into his history would just assume it was desperation that drove him. His ventures could be seen as nothing more than a man clawing his way out of debt. Even the sect’s economic growth could easily be mistaken for ambition, not following a dao.

He had never once come across someone who recognized the Dao of Money before. So when Princess Yanyue mentioned it, it would be a lie to say he wasn’t shocked. Her words had landed like a stone in still water, rippling through his thoughts. Yet she said nothing more on the subject as though the remark had been nothing but idle talk.

When he led her and City Lord Li Baolong to the best room in the sect, she hadn’t so much as glanced his way again about it. It was as if she had said it only to see his reaction, and when he caught that faint smirk on her lips, his suspicions hardened into certainty.

By the time they reached the room, Xiulan had already bolted to fetch tea, while Chief Muyang—having realized this was far above his paygrade—vanished faster than a startled rabbit. No one seemed to mind his absence.

Only Chen Ren, Qing He, Zi Wen, and Yalan remained. The princess and City Lord Li Baolong took their seats with practiced grace, a few guards and Haoran standing silently behind them. Zi Wen positioned himself at Chen Ren’s back, tense but alert, while Qing He sat beside him, her gaze fixed sharply on their guests. Yalan perched on a high shelf, tail flicking lazily as she looked down on everyone in the room.

With so many people squeezed into the small chamber, it felt cramped. The air was thick with a mixture of curiosity and unspoken tension, but no one dared mention it.

Once everyone settled, City Lord Li Baolong was the first to break the silence. “I must apologize for coming here unannounced with the Princess,” he said in a polite way. “You must have been busy.”

Chen Ren shook his head lightly. “No, it’s nothing like that. I was just surprised to see you visiting my sect, especially with Princess Yanyue.”

Yanyue smiled faintly, only the corner of her lip curling upwards. “I wanted to come here, but since Cloud Mist City was close by, I paid City Lord Li Baolong a visit first. He insisted on accompanying me. Otherwise, I would have come alone.”

Chen Ren almost asked why she would even want to come here in the first place but managed to school his expression. Somehow, that restraint only made her smile deepen.

“You’re wondering why I wanted to be here,” she said, amused.

Before he could respond, Qing He spoke up from the side. “We’re wondering more than just that, Yanyue. You even sent a spy to the village to gather information about Chen Ren and this sect. There were times I was tempted to interrogate him myself, and you know that wouldn’t have gone well for him.”

Chen Ren braced himself for the atmosphere to shift, expecting guards to move not only because of Qing He's words, but how she had addressed the Princess. But the room stayed calm. Only Haoran, pressed against the wall, flinched slightly at Qing He’s words. Princess Yanyue merely smiled, unbothered. Even City Lord Li Baolong looked as if the comment was nothing unusual.

Watching them, Chen Ren quietly reassessed Qing He’s relationship with the royal family. The casual way she spoke, the lack of reaction—it told him far more than any words could have.

“I didn’t know you’d be here, Master Qing He,” Yanyue said smoothly. “If I had, I would’ve contacted you directly.”

City Lord Li Baolong nodded in agreement. “Yes, I was surprised as well when I heard you had closed your tea shop and moved here.”

Qing He leaned back in her seat, arms folded. “I opened that tea shop for peace,” she said evenly. “And I’ve had a lot of peace here. I hope you’re not here to disrupt that.”

Princess Yanyue’s lips quirked in amusement. “We’re here to do nothing of the sort. You know I hold you in high regard, Master Qing He.”

“But you need something from Chen Ren,” Qing He countered without missing a beat. “Will he be another one of your toys?”

The air shifted slightly, a few of the guards glancing at one another, but Yanyue didn’t so much as blink. Her voice was steady when she replied. “I’m well past playing with my toys. I don’t see my subordinates that way despite what the rumors say about me.”

Then her gaze turned to Chen Ren, sharp and curious. “But yes, I’ve been interested in him since I heard about the golden dragon appearing during the Cloud Mist City tournament. Spirit manifestations are already rare enough, but to see one of the heavenly beasts?” She smiled faintly. “It would make anyone curious. I’m honestly surprised the Soaring Sword Sect didn’t try to keep you on their mountain.”

Chen Ren returned her smile, though a hint of tension remained in his eyes. “They offered me a place as a disciple,” he said, “but I already had plans to start my own sect. I didn’t think I’d fit in with a traditional one.”

“Because of your dao,” she said quietly.

He almost frowned but caught himself. “Partially. But more than that, I just don’t like the way most sects operate. Too many restrictions, too much hierarchy. It isn’t for me.”

Yanyue nodded as if she understood perfectly. “I actually agree with you on that. But my father hasn’t exactly had the time to discuss reforming the sect system with me. Maybe in a year, I’ll get that meeting.”

City Lord Li Baolong gave a small, uneasy laugh, glancing at her. “I don’t doubt your knowledge or ambition, Princess Yanyue, but I don’t think any sect, especially the Guardian ones, would welcome you involving yourself in their affairs.”

Princess Yanyue raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see about that, City Lord Li. But all of us here know the truth—sects listen to power, not politics. And I intend to accumulate a great deal of it in the coming years.” Her gaze shifted to Chen Ren. “Especially with the help of Sect Leader Chen.”

“I don’t think my sect could even stand against an Established sect right now, much less a Guardian one,” he said evenly. “You’re putting far too much importance on me, Princess Yanyue. And if I may be honest, I don’t think you even know me.”

“I don’t,” she admitted without hesitation. “But trust me, I’ve read plenty about your dao. And it’s the one thing I believe could truly help me.”

That made Chen Ren frown. His dao wasn’t something he liked others talking about. His eyes flicked toward her guards—stoic faces, unreadable expressions—but he could feel the qi rolling off some of them. None were weak. The last thing he wanted was anyone outside the sect learning about the Dao of Money. He knew how overpowered it was and she was blurting it out as if it was nothing, and he didn’t even know half of these people.

Princess Yanyue caught his look immediately. “You don’t have to worry,” she said smoothly. “All my men are loyal to me. Not a word of what we discuss here will leave this room.”

“I’m sure they’re loyal to you, Princess Yanyue,” he said. “But I don’t know them. And if I may speak my mind freely, I don’t even know you. I’ve spoken with City Lord Li Baolong, and I’m friends with his son Li Xuan, so he’s a familiar figure to me. But you…” He paused, holding her gaze. “I don’t understand what brings you here, or what kind of help you think you need from me.”

A faint smirk curved on Yanyue’s lips. “I thought merchants were always polite when speaking to nobles,” she said, her tone half-teasing, half-probing. “I honestly expected you to say you’d do anything just to form a connection with me.”

“They are,” Chen Ren replied. “But while a royal connection might do me good, I’m not the type to chew more than I can swallow. I know where I stand, and I don’t intend to jump higher than that until I can shoulder the fall.”

He leaned back slightly. This conversation had already taken a turn he couldn’t go back on, so he went along and spoke his mind.

“And as for politeness, I don’t think I’ve been rude to you, Princess. You’re royalty and a cultivator—I'm sure you’ve had countless people treating you with excessive respect. But when dealing with nobles and cultivators as a merchant, you don’t aim for politeness—you aim for clarity. Cultivators might live for centuries, but they don’t want to waste time on empty words, especially from those they deem beneath them.”

He said it plainly, not trying to sound clever or bold—just honest. But in truth, Chen Ren had already picked up on something from the moment he saw her. Yanyue’s eyes weren’t just looking at him, they were reading him. Every flicker of thought, every shift in his tone, she seemed to grasp it all with unsettling ease. And worse, something about her presence felt… invasive. Like an invisible pressure beneath her grace—subtle, refined, and quietly demanding. It wasn’t just charm; it was a pull, a commanding allure that made him want to listen, to agree, to follow. It took deliberate effort and focus to resist giving in.

“Very well then,” Princess Yanyue said after a long pause, her expression unreadable but her tone carrying amusement. Then she turned slightly toward her guards. “You all can wait outside. Just stand by the door, and don’t disturb anyone.”

The guards bowed in unison and began filing out. The timing was almost perfect as just then, the door opened and Xiulan stepped in, carefully balancing a tray with cups of steaming tea. She froze for a second, startled by the line of armored guards moving toward her, then quickly composed herself, slipping past them to place the tray on the table. The soft clink of porcelain was the only sound in the room as the last of the guards stepped outside and closed the door behind them, leaving only the core group behind.

For a second, Xiulan’s gaze met Chen Ren’s. Her expression was composed, but there was a flicker of curiosity there—an unspoken question about what was going on. She quietly placed the cups in front of everyone, bowing her head before turning and leaving without a word.

As the door clicked shut, the room felt noticeably larger. The air wasn’t as heavy, and Chen Ren found himself finally able to take a proper breath. He lifted the cup and took a sip, letting the warmth of the tea cut through the lingering discomfort. City Lord Li Baolong and Qing He did the same, though Chen Ren noticed the princess didn’t touch hers. Her gaze stayed locked on him.

Soon enough, the same strange feeling began creeping up on him again—a tightening in his chest, a pull at his thoughts, subtle but constant. His instincts screamed at him that it wasn’t natural. The more he tried to focus, the harder it became to think straight, until finally, Chen Ren put the cup down and spoke.

“May I ask something of you, Princess Yanyue?”

She tilted her head slightly. “What is it?”

He exhaled. “Could you please turn off whatever artifact you’re using to influence me? I don’t think I’ll be able to talk rationally while constantly fighting whatever this is in my mind.”

For the first time since she arrived, Princess Yanyue looked genuinely surprised. It was only a flicker, but Chen Ren caught it before her calm mask returned. “You noticed it?” she asked, almost intrigued.

“I did,” he replied. “And if I’m honest, it’s… a very strange feeling. It keeps making me feel like I’m falling in love with you, and I’d rather avoid aiming that far above my stature.”

City Lord Li Baolong chuckled quietly. “You’ve got a far stronger mind than I expected, Chen Ren.”

“He does all right. But your tricks haven’t changed much, Yanyue,” Qing He said. Chen Ren turned to look at her and she had a smirk plastered on her face.

His eyes immediately went back to Princess Yanyue.

Princess Yanyue didn’t respond immediately. She simply slipped one hand to her wrist, unclasped a delicate ring inlaid with pale red gemstone, and placed it gently on the table.

The effect was immediate. The invisible pressure that had been lingering in the room evaporated like mist in sunlight. Chen Ren drew a deep breath, feeling as though a weight had been lifted off his chest. Even Zi Wen, standing behind him, exhaled softly—his shoulders easing for the first time since she had arrived.

“I’m sorry about that,” Princess Yanyue said, her tone softening slightly as she glanced at the ring. “I honestly didn’t expect you to notice it. It’s become a habit to just wear it.” Her gaze shifted toward Zi Wen. “Your beast tamer certainly didn’t notice.”

Chen Ren held her look for a second, biting back the question that came to mind—If I hadn’t noticed, would you have kept using it on me?—but decided not to voice it. Instead, he took a slow breath and said, “Now that we can finally talk without distractions, I’d like to know why you’re here, Princess Yanyue. And what exactly do you want with me?”

Before she could answer, Qing He spoke from the side, her voice carrying a quiet edge. “If you plan to have him as a subordinate, I won’t let you force him.”

Yanyue’s lips curved faintly. “What if he agrees on his own?”

“He won’t,” Qing He said without hesitation. Then she turned to Chen Ren. “Will you?”

Chen Ren shook his head. “I don’t have any intention of being under anyone,” he said simply. His tone wasn’t defiant, it was just firm, matter-of-fact. Then he turned his gaze back to the princess. “But I don’t think you’re here just for that, are you?”

Her smile deepened slightly. “You’re intuitive.”

He didn’t reply, but his mind was already turning. She must have gotten more information about him through City Lord Li Baolong enough to understand that he wasn’t someone who’d throw away everything he’d built, even for royal favor. Which meant she wanted something else—something that couldn’t be bought or ordered. But what could that possibly be?

Yanyue didn’t keep him waiting long. “I actually came here because I needed something,” she said. “Something that can only be retrieved from a certain place, and I believe your dao can help me get it.”

Chen Ren frowned, one eyebrow raising slightly. “What sort of place is it?”

“Let me show you.”

Suddenly, one of her rings shone and a scroll fell onto the table with a dull thud. Everyone moved their cups aside as she slowly unfurled it, revealing a detailed illustration inked in fine strokes. She straightened the parchment as the image took shape—A vast structure that stretched skyward like a temple carved by gods.

“What you’re looking at,” she said, her finger tracing one of the outer rings, “is the sect building of the Azure Immortal Sect, an ancient behemoth over a thousand years old. Recently, both the pagoda and the rest of the sect’s ruins rose up from the depths of the Corpse Lands. I need your help to retrieve something from inside.”

Chen Ren leaned in instinctively, not because of her words, but because he recognized the place. The architecture, the formation lines, even the towering pagoda drawn in the center—it was the exact same sect that had been projected by the medallion.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

195. Pagoda of Eternity

Chen Ren wasn’t the only one who noticed the similarity between the sect in the scroll and the hologram from the medallion. Even Yalan, perched lazily on the shelf above, leaned forward—her sharp eyes narrowing as she met his gaze for a brief second. Neither of them spoke, but the look they exchanged said enough.

Chen Ren quickly schooled his expression back into neutrality, lowering his eyes to the scroll before anyone noticed. Fortunately, Princess Yanyue seemed too focused on the illustration before her to catch the exchange. Her tone was calm but carried the kind of authority that made everyone listen as she began to speak.

“The sect is called the Azure Immortal Sect, as I already mentioned,” she said, her finger gliding across the massive sprawl of towers and courtyards depicted in the image. “I believe you must have heard some of the rumors about what happened to it.”

Chen Ren nodded slightly. “There are a lot of rumors,” he said. “Everything from demonic practices to a curse that destroyed the sect from within.”

Princess Yanyue inclined her head. “There are, and honestly, even the royal family doesn’t know the truth. At least it's not in any of the books I’ve read.” Her voice lowered a fraction, becoming more deliberate. “But we do know one thing about the sect that’s true. They had something so valuable that even the royal family covets it.”

Before Chen Ren could ask what she meant, Qing He spoke up from the side, her tone dry. “The Pagoda of Eternity.”

Yanyue’s lips curved faintly, as though pleased by the interruption. “Yes,” she said. “Even when the sect still stood, it was renowned because the sect leader of Azure Immortal Sect built the pagoda to choose his successor. He invited some of the greatest minds of his time to help him—Array Masters, Grand Alchemists, and cultivators who stood at the peak of power.”

City Lord Li Baolong, who had been quietly listening, added in a low voice, “Nascent soul cultivators.”

Chen Ren’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of Nascent soul cultivators. His mind immediately flashed back to Gu Tian and his late master—the spectral who had stood at that very realm. The memory brought a brief chill through him, but he forced himself to focus back on the conversation before him.

Princess Yanyue continued, her tone smooth but filled with restrained excitement. “The Pagoda of Eternity was opened once every year back when the sect still stood. Anyone within the first three realms of cultivation could enter and attempt to reach the top. If they succeeded, they would be chosen as the sect master’s successor and inherit not only his position but all of his treasures.”

She paused, letting that sink in before adding, “But that wasn’t all. Since other great sect leaders were involved in its creation, the pagoda itself was filled with treasures on every level. Each floor was said to hold rewards like rare materials, unique artifacts, and even cultivation manuals and techniques that no longer exist in our age.”

City Lord Li Baolong nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. The structure itself is marked with some of the most advanced spatial arrays ever made. From what’s been gathered, the inside of the pagoda is vast—possibly as large as a city, maybe even larger. With so many levels and the complexity of its design, calling it a pagoda isn’t accurate.” He glanced at the scroll, his eyes reflecting both awe and wariness. “It’s a world of its own. And on its highest floor lies the inheritance of the sect leader, a nascent soul cultivator.”

The room fell quiet again, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Even Yalan’s tail had stopped swishing as she stared at the scroll.

Then Qing He, who had been silently finishing her tea, set her cup down and spoke. “I didn’t know the royal family had this much information about the pagoda,” she said. “I knew the Guardian Sects had some idea it existed, but you’re speaking as if you’ve studied it in depth.”

Princess Yanyue’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “I have,” she said. “But you are wrong about one thing, Master Qing He. The royal family don't have so much information, but I do. I was the only one who cared enough to dig through the royal archives. Most records of the Azure Immortal Sect were destroyed or deemed irrelevant, but there was one book that everyone overlooked.”

She leaned forward slightly, her eyes gleaming. “A journal. Written by a cultivator who lived for a century yet accomplished almost nothing worth recording. But somehow, his writings made their way into the royal library. And according to his notes, he was once a disciple of the Azure Immortal Sect.”

At that, Chen Ren’s eyes widened. His pulse quickened as he leaned slightly forward. “Does that mean it has records of the pagoda?”

Princess Yanyue nodded. “Scattered records,” she said, “but yes—there are records. From what’s written, the Pagoda of Eternity has fifteen floors in total. The cultivator who wrote the journal only managed to reach the fifth before retreating, but he documented most of what he encountered. Not everything, of course—some details were clearly too complex for him to understand—but what he left behind gives us a good idea of how to advance through the floors. And even hints of what lies beyond those he reached.” Her eyes sharpened as she went on. “It’s safe to say that even most geniuses from the Guardian Sects would fail inside. The pagoda tests more than strength or talent—it tests understanding. And that’s where you come in, Sect Leader Chen.”

Chen Ren blinked, confused. “What do you mean? I’m no genius.”

Yanyue’s lips curved in faint amusement. “No, you’re not. But your dao might be the key to fulfilling my goals.”

“My dao?” Chen Ren frowned. “How could that possibly help?”

Before Yanyue could answer, City Lord Li Baolong spoke. “According to the journal’s description, advancement through the pagoda relies on an exclusive currency that exists only within its walls. There are many paths between floors, but the most common and direct is through a lift that connects all fifteen levels. However,” he added, glancing at Chen Ren, “to access the lift, one must pay using that currency, and the cost multiplies exponentially with each level. At least that's the case after the first four floors.”

Yanyue nodded. “Most cultivators who entered the pagoda either died or crippled themselves trying to obtain more of this currency. But according to the journal, there was one man—just one—who managed to pass beyond the tenth level.”

She paused for a moment, letting the tension in the air stretch thin before her next words fell like a hammer.

“And that man,” she said, “was said to have been blessed by the Golden Dragon. His dao…” Her gaze locked onto Chen Ren’s. “…was the same as yours.”

Chen Ren gasped and took time to react to all the information. He sat in silence, letting everything he’d just heard settle in his mind. The more he thought about it, the more overwhelming it became. There was too much information being thrown at him all at once—about the pagoda, the currency inside it, and someone who had supposedly walked the same path as him, thousands of years before.

Not only was there a medallion tied to the pagoda, but someone with the same dao had climbed nearly to its peak. He had always known the dao of money was rare—almost forgotten—and hence he had never heard of any other follower of it. Now to hear that someone before him had not only possessed it, but used it to reach the tenth floor of a nascent soul cultivator’s trial—it shook him more than he wanted to admit.

His mind turned quickly, breaking things down as he always did when something interested him. Was there going to be records of that person? If he went inside the pagoda himself, would he be able to find something about that ancient cultivator—something that would help him understand his dao better? And if that man had been blessed by the Golden Dragon too, then… could the dragon inside him know something about it? The thought lingered for a moment before Qing He’s voice cut through it, pulling him back into the conversation.

“So, you want Chen Ren to go into this pagoda?” she asked. “For what, exactly? Do you want him to chase after the inheritance of a dead nascent soul cultivator?”

Princess Yanyue shook her head slightly, her expression calm and collected. “No. I don’t think even with his dao, Sect Leader Chen will be able to reach the very top. The inheritance isn’t what I’m after.”

Her words made Chen Ren frown slightly, but she went on before he could interrupt. “What I want is something else. According to the journal I mentioned, the same cultivator who wrote the journal had written another book before his death. He recorded a lot of different things in it, but according to his own writings, he lost it somewhere inside. And from what we know, anything that’s lost in the pagoda becomes a treasure that can be purchased.”

City Lord Li Baolong leaned forward slightly, nodding. “That’s right. The pagoda absorbs everything left behind by those who enter it—artifacts, scrolls, even bodies. All of it becomes part of its internal treasury. If the man’s second book was lost, then it’s still there, waiting to be found. And since we know he only reached the fifth floor, the book should be somewhere within those first five floors.”

Princess Yanyue turned her gaze back to Chen Ren, her eyes sharp and assessing. “All I want,” she said, “is for you to enter the pagoda and find that book for me. I will also be entering the pagoda, by the way. But even with my own talents, I’m not arrogant enough to think I can get that book on my own.”

Chen Ren looked up at her, brow furrowing slightly. “So there are others looking for it?”

The princess nodded. “Yes, a lot of my subordinates will be aiming for the book. Also, word has already spread about the pagoda, and the Guardian Sects have already sent their chosen disciples. There will be geniuses, nobles, even assassins inside. But honestly…” Her eyes softened just a fraction as she looked at him. “I will be relying on you more than any of them. Because of your dao and everything I have heard about you.”

She paused, her tone hardening again. “Still, I won’t lie. It will be dangerous. Many who enter won’t come out again. But I don’t care about the inheritance or the treasures. I only want that book.”

Chen Ren fell silent, lowering his gaze to the tea cup in front of him. He took a slow sip, his thoughts racing. What could possibly be in that book for her to risk everything for it? He doubted she would tell him. The pagoda sounded both exciting and deadly, but if one of the medallions really lay inside, then he needed to go regardless of her motives. The problem was, if he agreed too quickly, he wouldn't get any benefits out of this other than the medallion. He needed to negotiate, but before he could open his mouth, a sharp voice broke through the air.

“I’m not letting Chen Ren go into the pagoda.”

Everyone turned toward Yalan, who had been perched silently on the shelf until now. Her tail flicked as she leapt down, landing gracefully beside him, eyes narrowed. “He’s my responsibility,” she said firmly. “And if only cultivators within the first three realms can enter, then I won’t be able to go in with him.”

Chen Ren’s eyes widened. Yalan had just spoken—openly—and more than that, she’d revealed herself as sentient in front of people who had no reason to know it. Before he could even say anything, she turned to glance at him and said dryly, “They already knew.”

He blinked. “They what—How?”

Princess Yanyue smiled faintly, completely unfazed. “I didn’t expect you to realise that,” she said, her tone almost teasing. “But yes, I already knew about the spirit beast that follows you.”

Yalan’s tail flicked once, “When we were coming to this room, your eyes kept glancing in my direction. You probably have an artifact that can sense qi signatures in the air—no matter how well they’re hidden.”

Princess Yanyue blinked, momentarily taken aback, then gave a small, impressed nod. “You’re oddly perceptive,” she said in an even tone. “But I suppose it’s expected from a powerful spirit beast.” She turned her gaze toward Chen Ren, her expression softening a little. “I’m sorry about that. One of my rings does exactly what the elder spirit beast said—it detects fluctuations in qi nearby. It’s a precaution I use to sense spies or assassins, not to pry into anyone’s secrets. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

City Lord Li Baolong nodded in agreement, his tone earnest. “That’s true. I have known about the ring for a while and it's simply for safety. Still,” he glanced between the two, “I must say, I didn’t expect such a being to accompany you, Chen Ren. Is she your master, perhaps?”

Chen Ren looked from Yalan to the city lord, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Something like that,” he said after a short pause. “She’s… taught me a lot, at least.”

Yalan gave him a sideways glance, then turned back to Princess Yanyue, her voice steady and cold. “And like I said, I have no intention of sending him to his death. The Pagoda of Eternity might hold countless treasures, but if what you say is true—if disciples from Guardian and Established Sects will all gather there—then it won’t be a simple trial. It’ll be a slaughter.”

She stepped closer, her tone dropping slightly. “You said it yourself: no one knows what happens inside. If people die there, who will confirm it? Who will even know?”

Qing He finally spoke, setting her empty cup down with a soft clack. “That’s right. The pagoda sounds like a perfect place to bury rivals,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “And if even half of the empire’s geniuses will be stepping inside, I wouldn’t be surprised if more than a few ‘accidents’ happen. It’s not just unsafe—it’s an open invitation for murder under the guise of a trial.”

“Nothing in cultivation is ever safe, Master Qing He,” Princess Yanyue said quietly. “You’re the one who taught me that.”

Qing He’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “True,” she said, “but you also know there’s a difference between facing danger we must confront and diving headfirst into danger we can easily avoid. The latter is foolish, and you know that too.”

The princess went silent at that, her expression tightening just a little as she pressed her lips together. For the first time since she’d entered the sect, she looked slightly less composed.

At one end, Qing He and Yalan were trying to shield him like two walls standing firm between him and danger, but Chen Ren knew that he couldn’t let them make this decision for him. He wasn’t a child to be protected. So, taking a quiet breath, he straightened his back and took control of the conversation.

“I’m pretty sure,” he said, looking directly at Princess Yanyue, “that you’ll be able to find something to let Yalan enter the pagoda with me.”

The princess’s brows lifted slightly, her expression unreadable. “And why do you think that?” she asked.

“Because you’re a princess,” Chen Ren said simply. “You clearly have the backing of City Lord Li Baolong as well. If you can’t get one treasure that allows her to enter the pagoda, then no one in the empire can.”

For a moment, silence hung in the air as the princess tapped her finger against the table, thinking. Her eyes drifted briefly toward City Lord Li Baolong, who nodded slowly.

“There is something we can use,” Li Baolong said finally. “An Essence Locking Pill. It suppresses one’s cultivation down to the foundation establishment realm for about a week. It’s mainly used to rebuild a weak foundation or restructure the meridians, but it’s… not pleasant. Painful, even. Still, it should be enough to let her enter the pagoda.”

Chen Ren’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “But we’d need more than one, right?”

“Yes,” Princess Yanyue said, folding her hands together. “The pagoda will stay open for at least a month, maybe two. We’d need several pills for her to remain inside that long, and they’re not cheap.”

Qing He let out a quiet snort, leaning back in her chair. “Money isn’t exactly a problem for you,” she said dryly.

Yanyue’s lips curved just slightly. “That’s not the point, Master Qing He. I still need to decide how much I’m willing to invest in this venture.” Her eyes flicked toward Yalan. “But… having a powerful elder spirit beast on our side does sound useful.”

Yalan’s tail swished behind her as she said evenly, “I don’t know what will happen inside that tower, but I can promise one thing—I’ll deal with any arrogant cultivator who thinks about bullying Chen Ren.”

Her tone was cold enough to make even City Lord Li shift slightly in his seat.

Chen Ren smiled faintly, looking from her to the princess. “Let’s say you do manage to get the pills,” he said. “And Yalan can come with me. Even then, I’d still need a reason to go into that pagoda for you.”

Princess Yanyue arched her brow. “A reason? I’m already spending quite a bit just to make that possible.”

“Yes,” Chen Ren said and clutched his hands in front of him, “but spending that much only increases the chances that I’ll actually find what you want. It doesn’t mean I’ll do it for free.”

A long silence followed, heavy enough that the sound of the teacups settling on the table felt loud. Princess Yanyue’s eyes lingered on him, and for the first time since she’d arrived, her expression shifted—just slightly with a hint of annoyance—but then it was gone, replaced by her usual composed look.

Finally, she leaned back and said coolly, “Very well, Sect Leader Chen. What do you want?”

Chen Ren’s lips curved into a small, confident smile. “Why don’t we start the negotiations?”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

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Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

Volume 3 Epilogue 1

Jun of the Immortal Path sat cross-legged with flames wrapped tightly around his body. They weren’t gentle or warm. They moved like a living beast—like a phoenix made of fire—coiling up his arms, slashing across his skin, burning him until flesh peeled and blood dripped onto the stone floor.

Every second, his skin scorched, cracked, and opened. Every second, the flames healed it all again, restoring him as if nothing had happened.

People liked to say that once you reached a high realm in cultivation, pain became a distant memory—something you barely felt. Jun knew better. You never stopped feeling pain. You only learned to keep moving through it.

His body remembered every injury from every century he had lived. He had been slashed, stabbed and pierced by every weapon there was in the world. The time an old monster of a cultivator had ripped his heart straight out of his chest while he watched. He even remembered the time his head had been almost severed, hanging by a strip of flesh as he forced his body to heal.

He had lived through everything—every kind of suffering a cultivator could experience in the pursuit of strength.

And none of it—none of it—came close to this.

The flames of a phoenix were torture beyond torture. They didn’t just burn the skin. They went deep, stripping him all the way down to bone and then rebuilding him piece by piece. It was like deliberately throwing himself into hellfire, pulling himself out just to breathe once, then stepping straight back in.

But this was training. Necessary training.

He needed his body tempered to a level no ordinary cultivator could imagine. Strength alone was not enough anymore. He had killed countless powerful cultivators, more in the past decade than in the hundreds of years before it, but the path he was trying to walk now… the entire world would stand against him for it. If he relied only on his usual methods, he would be crushed before he even reached the gate he sought.

Hence, the training. If he could destroy his whole body and rebuild it stronger, he would do it without hesitation. The feeling of growing stronger had long become an addiction—one far greater than any fear of pain or death. Mortal concerns meant nothing to him anymore.

The flames circled him again, burning deeper, carving through muscle, filling the air with the smell of charred flesh. Then, just as quickly, they healed him. Flame. Flesh. Flame again. Over and over.

He was lost in the cycle until a sound broke through his focus.

Footsteps.

Jun’s hearing stretched across miles, so the moment someone stepped on a branch at the bottom of the mountain, he knew. Two people. Both were familiar. Both moving quickly, using movement techniques to cross terrain others would never dare to tread.

His qi sense brushed over them and confirmed who they were. His eyes narrowed.

He exhaled once and dispersed the flames around him. The fire vanished instantly, and his burned, blood-soaked skin repaired itself in a wave, leaving him whole again. Jun stood up straight and waited.

The pair climbed the last stretch of the mountain path and finally stepped into the clearing where Jun trained after an hour. Neither of them hesitated when they saw him. Instead, both dropped to their knees at the exact same time and bowed their heads.

“Master.”

Jun’s gaze moved over his two disciples.

The girl was slim but sturdy, with sharp eyes that always tried to hide the fear she felt around him. Her dark hair was bound behind her head in a tight braid, and even after weeks outside, her posture remained disciplined. She had the look of someone who refused to fail.

The boy beside her was broader, with strong shoulders and a heavy build. His expression was calmer, more composed, but Jun could see the tension in his fists. He had grit—more than most—but grit alone didn’t impress Jun.

Jun looked at both of them, expression unreadable.

“Shuyi,” he addressed the girl. Then he shifted his gaze to the boy. “Wenji.”

“You have been out searching for the next medallion for a month,” Jun said. “Yet I sense no change in your dantian. You returned unharmed—no wounds, no injuries, no hardships that shaped your cultivation.”

His qi pressed down on them like the weight of a mountain. Shuyi’s shoulders shook. Wenji’s forehead pressed harder into the ground. But neither looked away.

Good.

That meant they had came here with good news.

Jun continued, his voice sharp and cold: “So tell me, have you brought what I asked for? Or do you intend to be thrown aside and stripped of your right to walk the Immortal Path as my core disciples?”

As Jun watched, Wenji slid a hand into his robes and pulled something out. A faint metallic glint flashed between his fingers.

A medallion.

Jun’s eyes sharpened instantly. A thread of his qi shot forward, pulling the medallion from Wenji’s grasp and into his own hand. It landed in his palm with a familiar weight, and Jun turned it over slowly. He pushed a pulse of qi through it. The surface rippled faintly, responding exactly as it should.

It was real.

A genuine fragment. Another piece of the puzzle he had sacrificed centuries for. Another step toward the Gate of Immortals.

His lips curled into the barest hint of a smile.

He raised his other hand, condensed his qi into a blade, and sliced across his palm. A line of blood welled up instantly, and he let a few drops fall onto the surface of the medallion. The moment they touched, a thin glow ran through the metal as the connection formed. His control over it settled smoothly into place.

Jun closed his fist around it and looked at his two disciples. They were smiling—modest, relieved smiles—but their eyes revealed pride.

“Good,” Jun said. “Tell me, did you have to kill many to retrieve it?”

Shuyi bowed her head. “Yes, Master. But we did it during the night. The medallion was guarded by a monk in a monastery. No one else there was close to our realm.”

Her voice was steady and unbothered.

“We killed the orphans he had taken first,” she said, “so they wouldn’t slow us down. Then we dealt with the monk and retrieved the medallion.”

Wenji continued immediately, as if they had rehearsed it.

“We also made sure the scene looked natural. We damaged the surroundings and tore the bodies in a specific pattern. If the Imperial Inquisitors investigate, they’ll assume a spirit beast wandered in and destroyed the monastery. Nothing ties it back to the Immortal Path.”

Jun nodded… but his mind flashed back to something.

He narrowed his eyes.

“Were you sure,” Jun asked quietly, “that every one of the orphans was killed? Did you count them individually?”

For the first time since they arrived, Wenji hesitated.

A faint crease formed on his brow. “We… killed everyone we could find, Master. But we didn’t know the exact number of orphans living in the monastery.”

Jun’s expression tightened at Wenji’s uncertain answer. It wasn’t anger, just a controlled, cold frown. There was no way to know for sure now, not without going back, and that would be a waste of time. Still, a loose end always carried the chance of creating trouble later.

An orphan who survived a massacre… someone who watched their home burn… someone who witnessed their protectors die… Those were the ones who grew teeth.

Those were the ones the heavens themselves liked to push forward, giving them trials, opportunities, and sometimes the very blind luck needed to stand against monsters.

Jun didn’t fear them. Not really. Even if an orphan survived, even if fate decided to gift that child with ridiculous fortune, it wouldn’t matter until centuries later.

By then, Jun would be standing at the threshold of immortality. He dismissed the thought and looked at his two disciples again.

“You did a good job,” he said, and tossed a spatial ring toward them.

Both caught it together, almost fumbling, and immediately sent their senses inside.

“You’ll find enough resources in there to reach the peak of the foundation establishment realm,” Jun said.

Their faces lit up, excitement breaking through their fear.

“Thank you, Master!” they said in unison, bowing deeply.

Jun only flicked his hand to dismiss their gratitude and turned his attention back to the medallion resting in his palm. He pushed a steady flow of qi into it, and instantly a glowing hologram shimmered into existence, projecting itself into the space between him and his disciples.

A full, detailed image of a sprawling sect compound appeared.

Massive stone walls spread across the landscape, forming the outer boundary of a sect that looked more like a small country than a single place. Towers rose layer after layer, their jade-colored tiles catching the light as they climbed higher toward the clouds.

Broad pathways circled the entire complex, laid out with the kind of precision only ancient array masters could achieve. Courtyards, training grounds, meditation halls, and alchemy gardens lined the inner rings in perfect order, creating a sense of structure and purpose.

A sect built with arrogance, wealth, and power at its peak.

Jun stared at it, committing every angle to memory, then used one of the first techniques he had ever learned as a child—the basic [Memory Mapping Method]. A simple method by his current standards, but it allowed him to remember everything he had ever seen since birth.

He eyed the hologram with focus, comparing it against what he had seen in his childhood travels, his centuries wandering the world, every sect he had infiltrated, destroyed, or passed through.

His mind combed through thousands of experiences in a cold, methodical sweep.

Seconds passed.

His frown deepened.

Nothing matched.

Jun closed his eyes again, this time focusing not on his memories, but on the countless books he had devoured over the centuries. Geography tomes. Ancient sect records. Forbidden scrolls. Even travel logs from wandering cultivators who wrote more gossip than truth.

He sifted through them, page by page within his mind. Nothing.

So he leaned closer to the hologram, letting his eyes scan every detail of the terrain surrounding the projected sect—mountain ridges, the angle of the sun, the vegetation, the faint traces of spiritual energy drawn into the projection.

He closed his eyes again and matched that terrain to the vague, half-forgotten maps he had once memorised. For a moment, he found nothing again… until a faint memory tugged at him from an older, thicker book—one he had nearly burned because of how useless it had seemed at the time.

Jun mentally flipped through its pages.

And there it was. A match.

His eyes snapped open.

“The next medallion,” he said slowly, “is in the Corpse Lands.”

Both disciples stiffened.

Jun continued, “But I have never seen this sect anywhere near that region. I’ve been there dozens of times. I know every ruined structure, every dead valley, every corpse pit, every cursed mountain range. And I have never seen anything that looks remotely like this.”

He raised an eyebrow at them.

“You two know anything?”

He fully expected blank stares. But the girl stepped forward.

“We do, Master.”

Jun tilted his head. That was unexpected.

“Speak.”

“Recently… the Pagoda of Eternity emerged from beneath the ground in the Corpse Lands,” she said. “I believe the hologram might be related to that.”

Jun muttered, “The Pagoda of Eternity… I remember hearing about it. Legends said it was built for lower-realm cultivators to obtain an inheritance.” He exhaled through his nose. “I was too busy to care back then.”

His disciples nodded. The boy stepped forward next.

“It is that place, Master. Before coming here, we stopped by the capital. We spoke with the Thieves Clan to gather information. They told us the Guardian sects and even the royal family are preparing to send their disciples into the pagoda. Everyone wants the inheritance and whatever other treasures are inside. The pagoda hasn’t opened yet, but they said it will open soon.”

Jun went completely silent and this expression darkened.

The pagoda appearing now—after thousands of years—was not a coincidence. It aligned too perfectly with the appearance of medallions resurfacing across the world.

It was definitely a play by the heavens—another one of those subtle, infuriating nudges that shifted the focus of the entire world in a new direction. Jun had lived long enough to recognize the pattern. Whenever powerhouses of the empire gathered in one place, something monumental happened. The heavens loved spectacles. They loved upheaval. They loved rearranging the pieces on the board the moment people grew too comfortable.

This felt exactly like that.

As Jun stood there, thinking it through, Wenji spoke up.

“Master… do you want us to retrieve the medallion for you?” he asked, hopeful. “We can handle anyone who goes into the pagoda.”

The girl nodded immediately. “Yes, Master. With the new resources you’ve given us, we can easily climb the pagoda. It won’t be difficult.”

Jun considered it for a brief second before dismissing the idea entirely. He shook his head.

“I won’t be sending you two alone.”

Both disciples froze, their eyes widening.

“Master, you don’t need to come personally for such a small task,” they blurted out together.

Jun scoffed. A wave of his oppressive qi slammed onto them, instantly silencing any further objections. They trembled but held their ground—good. They weren’t completely useless.

“It’s no small matter,” Jun said in a low voice. “I’m not going there just for the medallion.”

Through clenched teeth, Shuyi managed to push out, “Then… Why, Master?”

Jun huffed, flames crackling faintly off his skin as if responding to his irritation.

“The pagoda will gather every Guardian sect’s disciples,” he said. “Only cultivators of the foundation establishment realm and below can enter it, so they’ll be sending their future core disciples—the geniuses they expect to dominate the next century.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “If I kill them before they grow into eyesores, it’ll be a tremendous victory for the Immortal Path.”

Both disciples stiffened, their expressions turning vicious.

“And,” Jun added calmly, “the pagoda is ancient. Its treasures are older than most of the sects that exist today. Some relics inside might be worth more to me than the medallion. Ancient artifacts from forgotten eras are far more valuable—and far more dangerous—than anything you could steal from a monk’s abode.”

“So… you’re going to seal your cultivation to enter, Master?” Wenji asked cautiously.

Jun nodded. “Yes. That won’t be difficult. And if the pagoda truly houses the medallion, then it may also hold more information on the Gate of Immortals.”

Both disciples exchanged a glance—equal parts awe and hunger—before turning back to him.

“Master… can we accompany you inside?”

Jun studied the two of them.

They were strong. Both well into the foundation establishment realm. Smart enough. Obedient enough. And most importantly, utterly ruthless—he had trained them well. At his level, he wouldn’t have time to babysit them inside the pagoda, but he doubted they would need it. More hands would simply mean more efficiency.

And more blood spilled.

He gave a single nod. “Very well. You may come.”

Their faces lit like torches.

Jun held up a hand.

“But remember, my goal is the medallion. Your only job is one thing.”

Both disciples leaned forward.

“Kill,” Jun said, “every promising cultivator who might one day interfere with what we are building. Leave no future threat alive.”

The two disciples bowed deeply.

“Yes, Master.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

Volume 3 Epilogue 2

In the different corners of the empire, there were a lot of places that were both dangerous as well as filled with thick, potent qi. So much qi that sects had historically tried to wipe out the dangers in order to build their sect grounds there—to bask in the qi and let their disciples grow stronger by cultivating in such dense energy. Most of these places were either on top of a qi vein, deep in the ground where qi leaked from the center of the earth, or at the tallest peaks in the empire.

Frostpeak Sect, one of the four Guardian sects, had chosen the latter. They stood on top of Mount Tianhan, the tallest mountain in the empire, where snow covered everything and even simple travel from one place to another could cost lives. Because of this, they were known as the sect that would survive even if the entire empire fell. Something that every member of the sect firmly believed.

But they were special in a different way too. They were the only sect that hadn’t moved to kill off all the dangers around their peak. Instead, they used every dangerous element around them to forge their disciples, pushing them to become stronger, faster, tougher, and far more resolute than anyone else in the empire.

Even now, in the cold morning air, dozens of disciples ran around an open ground within the sect, chains looping in their hands as they rolled, dodged, and jumped while balls of flame and ice crashed into the floor around them, trying to kill them. Up in the sky, flying beasts circled and screeched, their shadows sweeping across the snow as they eyed the disciples below.

They were snow wyverns, the original rulers of Mount Tianhan. For the last few centuries, they had been in constant battle with the Frostpeak Sect and its disciples. Their original nesting grounds had been taken over by the sect long ago, forcing them to retreat to distant peaks, but they always returned, intent on killing humans and taking revenge. And the sect used them as training targets.

Centuries of living in the cold had given these fire-aspected beasts the ability to wield freezing ice, making them far more dangerous than any other wyverns in the empire. But Frostpeak disciples didn’t even flinch at their attacks. They stayed in a formation that, to an outsider, would look like a frantic, chaotic scramble, but every step was coordinated.

At the front of the group was Han Qingshi, the prodigy of the sect and the son of the current sect leader. A peak foundation establishment realm cultivator.

Elders stood at the edges of the training field, watching as Qingshi rolled away from a blast of frozen flame and hurled his metallic chain straight at the wyvern. The chains wrapped around the beast’s legs, catching and tightening around its claws as Qingshi pulled hard.

That was the signal.

The disciples who seemed to be running randomly suddenly acted in perfect sync, throwing their chains from different angles and latching onto more parts of the wyvern’s body. Then, together, they pulled.

The wyvern crashed downward. Even before it hit the ground, the waiting disciples leapt onto it. Qingshi reached first, loosening his own chain only to flick it upward and loop it tightly around the wyvern’s mouth, clamping it shut before the beast could release another attack.

An axe materialised in Han Qingshi’s hand, its surface a dull stone-grey. He didn’t hesitate—he hurled it straight at the wyvern’s mouth. The weapon tore through the creature’s face in a single, brutal cut. He left the axe lodged there, unclipped the chains, and leapt over the wyvern’s collapsing body. His eyes swept the sky, immediately landing on the three remaining beasts still firing attacks at the other disciples.

“I’m going to finish all of you in the next ten seconds,” he said, loud enough for the entire training ground to hear. It wasn’t a boast—more like a declaration of fact.

Before the elders could blink, he flung his chain toward the wyvern that had just frozen several disciples. This time, he didn’t pull the wyvern down. The wyvern pulled him up. His body shot into the sky like a fired arrow, reaching the beast in two seconds.

Another axe appeared in his hand. He loosened the chain mid-air and pushed off the surrounding qi, propelling himself straight toward the wyvern. The creature spat a stream of freezing fire, but Qingshi blocked with his axe and forced his way through. Then he struck the wyvern in its eye, burying the blade deep. Blood sprayed out, but he was already climbing, sprinting across the wyvern’s back while it thrashed in pain.

Just before the creature dropped toward the ground, Qingshi jumped again. His chain snapped outward and wrapped around a second wyvern. This time he didn’t land on its back. Instead, the axe vanished from his hand and a longer chain appeared in its place. With a clean throw, he wrapped the second chain around the third wyvern’s torso.

Then he pulled.

Both wyverns were ripped off balance and slammed into each other with a crash that echoed across Mount Tianhan.

Han Qingshi hit the ground with a heavy thud, the stone beneath him cracked from the impact. He pushed himself up in time to see the two wyverns he had smashed together tumbling off the cliff, their bodies shrinking into the distance. From that height, there was no chance they would survive.

He took a breath and footsteps drew his attention. Several elders were walking toward him across the training ground. Around them, the other disciples had finished off the remaining wyverns, but none of their kills compared to his four. Qingshi pulled his chains back into his spatial ring just as the elders stopped in front of him.

The leading elder gave a short bow.

“You did well, Qingshi. As always. These wyverns are no match for you.”

Qingshi shook his head. “I only used what the sect taught me.”

One of the female elders smiled faintly. “Good. You still have humility. That will take you far, especially with the Pagoda of Eternity opening soon.”

Qingshi lowered his gaze for a moment, remembering what his father had told him about the inheritance inside the pagoda. A legacy left behind by a nascent soul cultivator. A chance that came once in a lifetime.

“I’ll do my best,” he said.

“We know you will.” The elder’s voice carried confidence. “The other Guardian sects will be there. This is your chance to show them you stand above every member of your generation.”

Qingshi nodded once. “They’ll understand that soon.”

His eyes drifted toward the distant sky. He imagined the Corpse Lands, the towering pagoda, and all the rivals waiting inside it. His fingers twitched with anticipation. He could already picture their blood on his chains.

Once he reached the top of the pagoda, the entire empire would know his name.

***

If there was any place in the empire known as the land of alchemy, it was the Emerald Sun Sect. Everything about the sect—its training, its reputation, even its history—was built on fire, cauldrons, and pills. They were the only Guardian sect whose main path wasn’t the sword, body, or the elemental aspects. Their disciples trained their dantian to hold hotter, denser flames than anyone else, and they pushed their alchemy so far that some believed they could refine pills strong enough to change fate itself.

Most cultivators in the empire thought pills were just support tools—useful, yes, but not worth basing your entire life on. No one in the Emerald Sun Sect agreed. To them, alchemy was as equal as cultivation.

And among them stood one man who believed that more than anyone else to the point that he lived by it. To him, pills were the reason to cultivate.

Elder Ruan Minghe, the youngest elder the Emerald Sun Sect had ever produced. He was only eighty-nine years old, but already at the verge of breaking to the fourth realm of cultivation. He could have attempted the breakthrough months ago, but he refused. His alchemical foundation wasn’t perfect, and he believed that if the foundation of his craft wavered even a little, there was no meaning in rising higher.

So instead, he stood at the edge of a cliff near the sect’s main alchemy grounds, guiding the flames inside his cauldron with absolute focus.

The cauldron roared, bubbling as if alive.

Ruan Minghe added ingredients one after another without hesitation—Crimson Bone, Moonvine Blood, and chipped pieces of Ironwood. Each material struck the mixture with a violent reaction. The liquid inside churned in aggressive waves, threatening to explode at any second.

But Ruan Minghe’s qi pressed down on it firmly, controlling every motion.

The heat increased. Flames curled up in a perfect vortex, wrapping the cauldron in a tight spiral. He extended two fingers, weaving refined strands of fire through the mixture. Slowly, the essence within the materials began to separate. A faint glow lifted from the bubbling mess, rising into the air as if responding to his will.

Making pills at his level wasn’t about whether he could succeed. Ruan Minghe already knew the result would be a success. What mattered was purity. If a pill dropped below seventy percent purity, he considered it a complete failure. To be known as the best alchemist in the empire, he needed to reach a point where almost no essence leaked into the air, even during difficult mixtures.

But that was far easier said than done.

As he mixed the essences floating above the cauldron, a silver glow flashed in his eyes. It was the technique known as [Silver Vein Eyes], and it was the only reason he had reached this level at such a young age. The technique showed him what ordinary alchemists couldn’t see—the tiny streams of essence escaping into the surroundings with every second that passed.

And right now, far too much essence was slipping away.

Ruan Minghe narrowed his eyes and increased his speed. He poured more of his qi into the mixture, tightening his control and forcing the essences to compress toward the forming pill. Every breath he took felt like he was fighting against time itself. More essence leaked out. More resistance came from the ingredients. But he didn’t slow down.

He dragged the remaining essence out of the Crimson Bone. He pulled the last drops of purity out of the Moonvine Blood. He spun the Ironwood essence into the mixture, keeping it from scattering.

Some of the essences clashed violently, pushing away from each other because they were naturally incompatible. Ruan Minghe didn’t panic. He simply pressed his own qi into the mixture, smoothing the conflict and forcefully stabilizing them.

The pill shape slowly became solid. The heat rising from the cauldron grew sharp enough to distort the air.

Ruan Minghe clenched his jaw and poured out half of the qi in his dantian in one go. A bright light burst above the cauldron.

The flames flared high, then abruptly died down. The clashing essences in the air vanished. All the chaotic heat snapped into stillness.

And then—finally—a single pill formed above the cauldron, floating in place like it had always been there.

Without wasting a second, Ruan Minghe raised his hand and wrapped his qi around it, pulling the pill into his palm.

He turned the pill over in his palm, inspecting it from every angle. It was a deep jade-green, smooth on the surface but with faint swirling lines inside—traces of the three essences blending together. When he pushed a thread of qi into it, the pill gave off a steady glow, the colour brightening at its core.

Ruan Minghe narrowed his eyes and pushed a bit more qi into the pill to check its purity. A moment later, numbers formed in his mind, and he allowed himself a small smile.

Seventy-seven percent.

Better than expected. He had assumed this pill would barely scrape past seventy. Some atmospheric qi had slipped in during the process—his own mistake—but it didn’t affect the pill’s overall strength. It only meant he needed to be sharper next time.

He closed his fingers around the pill for a moment, then lowered his hand and looked out across the mountain.

Far along the cliffs, dozens of other alchemists were working in the cold air, each standing beside their cauldrons. All of them were disciples, not Elders, and all of them had been ordered to refine as many pills as possible before the trip into the Pagoda of Eternity. Flames rose and died across the slopes like flickering stars.

Thinking of the pagoda made Ruan Minghe’s smile widen.

He had fought for the position to lead the Emerald Sun Sect into it. Some Elders had wanted to seal their cultivation with pills and enter themselves, but in the end, the sect leader chose him. And Ruan Minghe intended to make sure the Emerald Sun Sect came out on top.

But prestige wasn’t the only reason he wanted to enter the mythical pagoda.

There was another goal—one shared quietly by every senior alchemist in the sect.

The pagoda was filled with secrets. Ancient techniques. Pills lost to time. And somewhere inside, hidden within the first ten levels, was said to be the legacy of a master alchemist who had crafted Heaven-grade pills. A man who left behind treasures meant for an alchemist “with enough fire in his heart.”

Ruan Minghe’s fingers tightened around the pill pouch at his side.

He wasn’t going to the pagoda just to climb it—he was going to claim everything that the master alchemist left behind.

Once he had that legacy in his hands, being the youngest Elder would feel small. Too small.

With that thought, he turned back to the cauldron, and summoned the flames again.

It was time to make the next pill.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

Volume 3 Epilogue 3

The sky of the Kalian Empire held as many wonders as the earth. Giant beasts drifted between the clouds with lazy wingbeats, and higher-realmed cultivators cut through the heavens on flying swords. Up there, the qi thickened with every breath—dense enough to hum against skin—though ordinary mortals, trapped on solid ground, would never know it. They only ever saw hints of the mysteries above.

And if they bothered to look long enough, those hints could keep them staring for days.

Today, one sight in particular dragged countless gazes upward: a massive cloud gliding over villages, towns, and entire stretches of countryside. At a glance, it looked harmless, just another wandering formation of mist. But anyone paying attention quickly realized something was wrong with it.

Clouds didn’t move like that.

This one raced across the sky with purpose, cutting through the air far faster than nature ever intended. A dozen cultivators stood upon it, their robes rippling from the speed. Each robe carried the woven insignia of a thunderous cloud, clearly marking them as part of the same force.

Qi thrummed beneath their feet as they guided the cloud forward. Whenever a flying beast strayed into their path, the lead cultivator simply raised both hands. A curved blade of wind burst from one palm, slicing clean through wings. From the other, a crack of lightning shot forward, locking the creature’s muscles until it tumbled helplessly toward the ground.

Beast after beast fell—crashing into forests, flattening patches of plains, and in a few unlucky cases, landing right at the gates of towns. Mortals scattered in panic, scrambling out of the falling shadows, tripping over each other to avoid being crushed.

The cultivators didn’t slow. They didn’t look down. Not even once.

A few mortals screamed for help when a dying beast skidded across a road. Others simply froze, staring in terror at the collapsing weight barreling toward them.

But atop the cloud, the group moved on without so much as a glance.

Mortals weren’t worth their attention. And if someone died from a falling beast, then in their eyes, that life wasn’t worth much to begin with.

That was simply how the Thunder Blade Sect saw the world. To them, cultivators stood on a level so far above mortals that the gap wasn’t even worth acknowledging. Mortals farmed, carried loads, bowed, and died, useful only as the foundation under the boots of those who truly mattered. The elders called it the natural order. The heavens’ will. Everyone in the sect grew up hearing that line until it settled into bone.

Their arrogance didn’t stop at mortals, either. The Thunder Blade Sect also believed they stood above every other Guardian Sect in the empire. Some members even spoke openly about the empire itself as if it were nothing more than a fragile shell, something they would break through once their strength reached the “true” level they believed they deserved.

And in fairness, their confidence had roots. The Thunder Blade Sect was the strongest among the Guardian Sects. Whenever tournaments were held and sects clashed, their cultivators walked away with the most victories. The only group that ever posed a challenge was the Soaring Sword Sect, and even they rarely lasted long before being overwhelmed.

Out of all the proud disciples of the Thunder Blade Sect, one man embodied this belief more than the rest.

Yun Zhaotian stood at the front of the cloud, the wind whipping his hair backward as he prepared another strike. He was the one responsible for clearing every beast in their way so the Heavenly Gale Cloud could glide without slowing. Each creature that fell was another reminder of his position.

He had climbed every rank of the Thunder Blade Sect himself, step by step, talent sharpening into power. Born to a mortal family, plucked early and raised on the sect’s teachings, he had grown up hearing that their sect was destined for supremacy. He believed it more fiercely than anyone.

He believed he would be the one to make it reality.

One day, even the empire would kneel—before him, and before the Thunder Blade Sect. Their destination today was only the beginning of that future.

As Yun cut down another pair of eagle-like beasts—wings sheared clean by wind blades, bodies twitching as lightning finished the job—Qin Ruyan, one of his junior brothers stepped closer. The younger cultivator kept his balance on the cloud with practiced effort, gaze fixed on the faint line of distant peaks.

“We’ll reach the Corpse Lands in two days, Senior Brother Yun.” Qin Ruyan hesitated, voice dropping. “Should we stop tonight? Everyone has been using their qi to fuel the Heavenly Gale Cloud for days now.”

Yun didn’t even pause. He flicked the last sparks of lightning off his fingers and looked straight ahead.

“No,” he said. “It would be foolish to stop now. We’re close to the Corpse Lands. I want us to be the first to reach it.”

Qin Ruyan blinked, uncertainty crossing across his face. “Is there… a reason to arrive first?”

“Yes.” Yun gave him a flat look. “You’re still young. You don’t understand yet, but in this world, everything is information. If we get there early, we can speak to the locals who saw the pagoda appear. We can study the runes carved into the structure before anyone else touches them. The other Guardian Sects might waste time, but we cannot.”

Qin Ruyan visibly considered this, then bowed slightly. “You are wise, Senior Brother Yun. But… will the locals really know anything about such an ancient structure?”

“No,” Yun said, “but they may have heard stories. Rumors. Anything. The pagoda has always been tied to the Corpse Lands. People who’ve lived near that place their whole lives must have heard something.”

Qin Ruyan nodded again, though his expression tightened. He still wasn’t convinced about pushing on without rest.

Yun noticed, but ignored it.

None of the sects knew what waited inside the pagoda. Not truly. Even his own sect had only one surviving record, and it stated plainly that most cultivators who entered never made it past the first floor.

That alone was reason enough not to waste a single moment.

Yun had no illusions about what waited inside the pagoda. Beasts, traps, enemies—each level would be a battlefield, and he doubted most of his junior brothers would last long. A few might survive the first floors, but after that? They would fall or leave, assuming the pagoda even allowed them to retreat.

He didn’t blame them for their limits. But he wasn’t going to slow down for anyone. Reaching the top was his goal, and for that he needed every scrap of knowledge he could gather, whether it meant exhausting his fellow disciples or not.

After he made his intentions clear, not a single junior brother or sister raised another question. They were tired, drained from days of feeding qi into the Heavenly Gale Cloud, but a handful of spirit stones would refill what they’d lost. Fortunately, the Thunder Blade Sect enforced hierarchy with an iron fist. Challenging decisions from above was as good as writing your own death sentence.

So they stayed silent.

And eventually, the first silhouette of the Corpse Lands rose over the horizon.

The massive wall, the dark forest crawling with undead, the lingering haze that clung to the land—none of the disciples paid any attention to those things. Their eyes snapped to the one structure towering above everything else.

The pagoda.

It pierced the sky so cleanly that for a moment Yun wondered if it was even real. Taller than anything he imagined, far grander than the scraps of description recorded in the sect archives. It stood untouched, as if the world itself didn’t dare come close.

A structure like that shouldn’t have stayed hidden. Yet it had.

The Heavenly Gale Cloud drifted toward the wall, preparing to land amid the noise of startled guards scrambling at their arrival. Even with the commotion below, the disciples’ gazes remained locked on the pagoda the entire way.

His junior brother stepped up beside Yun again, unable to tear his eyes from the distant tower. “That pagoda is going to change our sect’s destiny, Senior Brother Yun.”

Yun allowed himself a rare smile. “Not only the sect,” he said quietly. “It will change mine as well.”***

Yun Zhaotian had been massively wrong about being the first to arrive in the Corpse Lands, wrong about being the first Guardian Sect as well. Another sect had already been here for a full week. Out of all the sects in the empire, it was the one that has mastered the art of swords—The Soaring Sword Sect

They prided themselves on mastery of the sword, but what the world often forgot was how terrifying their agility was, how much they had trained to be the quickest. Their most talented younger-generation cultivators had slipped into the Corpse Lands the moment the sect had announced the expedition for the pagoda’s inheritance.

They wasted no time.

The first thing they did was investigate the pagoda—circling it, examining the land around it, probing the air for formations. But it didn’t take long for them to learn they wouldn’t be able to enter for at least another two months. The opening simply refused to respond to anyone.

Next, they tried the locals. But the scavengers living on the outskirts were just as clueless, and the Soaring Sword Sect did not shape decisions based on rumors.

So they turned to the one thing their sect took more seriously than anything else.

Training.

Different groups formed out of the expedition force, and all of them moved to test themselves against the dangers of the Corpse Lands. One of these groups was led by Li Xuan who was in charge of disciples the vice sect leader had chosen personally and he made sure that he wouldn't disappear his benefactor. Zombies fell in dozens as sword flashes tore through their warped bodies. Thin limbs fell; heads rolled; the corpses collapsed before they even realized they’d been cut.

His group killed so many undead that the Corpse Lands responded.

Not with ordinary zombies this time. But with those who had gained just enough intelligence to recognize a threat: Zombie warriors.

The disciples of the Soaring Sword Sect halted atop a ridge of broken stone. Dust swirled around their feet. Their blades hummed faintly. And in the distance, the earth trembled.

Dozens… no, hundreds of zombies closed in from every direction. Their hollow eyes glowed with a dim, sickly awareness, focused entirely on the cultivators who had made themselves too dangerous to ignore.

The disciples tightened their grips on their blades as the horde circled them.

The horde was led by three zombie warriors, each gripping rust-eaten swords. Their eyes were clouded, hungry, faintly aware and intensely locked onto the Soaring Sword Sect disciples with murderous intent.

And at the front of the group stood Li Xuan.

He looked at the advancing undead the way people looked at flies. A nuisance. Nothing more.

He swept his gaze over the mass of bodies and spoke calmly, “You have ten seconds. Kill all of them. I’ll handle the zombie warriors myself.”

He had brought only five disciples with him today, but none of them hesitated.

“We won’t disappoint you, Senior Brother Li Xuan!” they shouted in unison.

And then the zombies charged, claws snapping, limbs thrashing, the force of the rush shaking loose stones from the ridge.

Li Xuan moved first.

He pulled his sword out and the next thing he knew was his body blurring through the initial wave. Rotten heads flew as his blade carved through necks with practiced ease. He didn’t slow. He stepped on a collapsing corpse, kicked off, and leapt straight toward the first zombie warrior.

The undead swung a broad arc meant to split him in half. Li Xuan bent low beneath the blade, sliding under the attack. For an instant, he caught a flicker of surprise on the corpse’s face.

Then his sword swept left.

The zombie warrior’s head separated cleanly from its body.

Dark blood sprayed across the ground as the corpse toppled, but Li Xuan didn’t spare it a glance. He was already moving.

The second zombie warrior barreled toward him, raising its sword. Li Xuan’s smile sharpened. In the next heartbeat, his blade pierced the creature’s chest mid-stride, skewering it through the core. It dropped like a broken puppet.

Only one remained.

This one was larger—much larger—towering over the others by several feet. Its muscles bulged under deadened flesh, and its grip on its sword was unnervingly steady.

Li Xuan didn’t care.

He sprinted forward as the monster swung down. Their blades clashed, the impact jolting the air, and Li Xuan pushed. The giant zombie staggered back several steps.

He didn’t pause.

His sword rose, and the zombie warrior barely turned in time to block his next strike. Sparks burst from the collision.

Lightning crackled across his blade.

Without as much of a flinch, he activated the Fourth Technique of the Seven Sword Arts—[Thunderfall Slash].

Power surged through the metal, the sword beginning to howl as arcs of electricity crawled over its length. Bolts split the sky as he brought the blade down.

A rain of thunder crashed onto the Zombie Warrior.

Its body convulsed, charred, and then collapsed onto the ground with a dull thud.

Silence followed, except for the crackle of fading lightning.

Like its brethren, the last zombie warrior crashed to the ground in a lifeless heap.

Li Xuan flicked the blood from his blade and glanced around. His heartbeat became steady as he realised his junior brothers had already finished off the remaining zombies; rotting bodies lay scattered around them in piles. All five disciples were now looking at him, waiting for his assessment.

“Good job,” Li Xuan said. “But these things are barely a threat to us. Slow, predictable, and falling apart at the joints. Tomorrow we head deeper. We need real challenges.”

The disciples nodded immediately.

But before he could say anything more, a shift in the air tugged at his senses. Li Xuan paused, eyes narrowing. He turned toward the horizon.

A massive cloud was drifting down toward the wall. Normally, he would’ve taken it for a usual cloud, but this one… this one was far too controlled, far too steady to be natural. It descended slowly, like some heavenly beast lowering itself into a nest.

He recognized it instantly. So did the others.

“It seems the heavens have brought us a challenge sooner than expected,” Li Xuan said, expression sharpening. “The Thunder Blade Sect has finally arrived.”

Murmurs rippled through his group and he could tell that their tension and anticipation were both rising.

“That means the other Guardian Sects won’t be far behind,” he added.

He slid his sword back into its sheath and stepped off the ridge.

“Come. Let’s go greet them.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action. Read here.

Table of Contents

Information
1. I'm a Young Master?
2. Market research
3. Old Man Tian
4. Rice... What?
5. First day
6. Marketing idea
7. Booming business
8. First employee
9. Yalan
10. Dao of... Money?
11. Esoteric daos
12. Tainting reputation
13. Turning it over
14. Right kind of opportunity (Bonus chapter)
15. A new wind
16. Haggling (Bonus chapter)
17. Lusty snake and rising wood
18. Qing He
19. Foresting
20. Spicy herbs
21. Refining and extracting
22. Business sect
23. Lots of dumplings
24. Bai Hu Trade Association
25. Women and strategy
26. Xianxia staple young master
27. Absolute Might
28. Unofficial sect status
29. Blood Snakes
30. Yu Kuang
31. Taking out a gang (1)
32. Taking out a gang (2)
33. Scheming
34. Faceslapping
35. Chosen
36. Spirit Manifestation
37. Cultivation disciplines
38. Ancient medallion
39. Escape in the mists
40. Bitter Pills
41. Innocent until proven (1)
42. Innocent until proven (2)
43. Registration
44. Tricks and Rivals
Annual Membership Patreon
45. Young master manipulation (1)
46. Young master manipulation (2)
47. Li of the Xuan
48. City Lord
49. Semi finalist
50. Trap
51. Thousand Poison Tongue
52. Vs Gu Tian
53. Heavenly qi
54. Primordial descent
55. Dragonheart
56. Dead egg
57. Future
Epilogue 1
Epilogue 2
58. Currency and a new start
59. Little yuze
60. Force of good
61. Locust extermination
62. Sect recruitment (1)
63. Sect Recruitment (2)
64. Sect recruitment (3)
65. A lesson on Dao
66. Puppets and beer
67. Whiskey
68. Star qi
69. Fooling a sect
70. Selling a lie
71. A new city, new opportunity
72. Best alcohol in the world
73. Finding your dao
74. Creating demand
75. Tender
76. Dao of Forge
77. How to free a slave
78. Brewing a plan
79. How to manipulate a clan patriarch
80. Return to Cloud Mist City
81. Expansion troubles
82. Devourers
83. Progression finally
84. Demonstration
85. Li Xuan's quest
86. Union
87. Bandits
88. Machine and machinations
Magus Reborn Volume 1 launch on Amazon
89. Marketing is constant
90. Paranoia
91. Counterfeits
92. Give and take
93. A meeting of merchants
94. End of the union head
95. A journey of flaws
96. The princess' interest
97. Corpse lands
98. Dao of trust
99. Secrets from past
100. A tale of a sect war
101. Making a decision
102. Immortal blood
103. Danger up front
104. Trailing
105. Array traping
106. Another act (Hope you like new cover)
107. Fuk yu
108. Demon
109. The vault
110. Getting head
111. How to talk to a head 101
112. Looting the library
113. Tax concessions
114. Lightning duel
115. Key and books
116. Carp sees the dragon
Volume 2 Epilogue 1
Volume 2 Epilogue 2.
117. Beast rising
118. Gains and dragon
119. Wolves of fur
120. Winter business
121. Stormbite Pill
122. Family situation
123. Eureka
124. Standardisation (1)
125. Need a little flavour
126. Spirits of the white
127. Broken ridge city
128. Hunters
129. Jadefire Hall
Announcement!
130. Misunderstanding
131. What remains of Jadefire
132. Negotiations over tea
133. Names are too much trouble
134. A rogue cultivator
135. Bird catching
136. Open shop!
137. Insured
138. Shadowy plans
139. Soul contact
140. Secret games
141. Master of disguise (?)
142. Changing tones
143. Sect leader agressions
144. Flames of merit trials
145. Structure of the trial
146. Helping head
147. Heating up
148. Purity is key
149. Innovative pills
150. Pill showcase
151. Advertisement is everywhere
152. Names Remembered
153. A spy's predicament
154. Cracks
155. Dragon meet
156. Types of Cultivation
157. Blazing knock
158. Blocked paths and ideas
159. Snowy paths
160. Overwhelming power (1)
161. Overwhelming power (2)
162. Overwhelming power (3)
163. Soul Cultivation 101
164. Body cultivation 101
165. Science class
166. Red Peak City
167. Chen Patriarch
168. Talismans
169. Printing talisman
170. City in war
Magus Reborn - Volume 3 is Out Now!
171. Burn like a sun
172. Small time tournaments
173. Tournament 101
174. Red Peak
175. Alcohol and young master
176. Drunk ramblings
177. Bloody training
178. Stalemate
179. Making a deal
180. Chen Eain
181. Get wrecked
182. Beast selection
183. Meeting the patriarch
184. Seeing it
185. Easy success
186. Sinkhole jump
187. Bone hunting (1)
188. Bone hunting (2)
189. Watching eyes
190. Princess and her book
191. Ancient sect
New book announcement!!
192. Impurities
193. Princess greetings
194. Princessly meetings
195. Pagoda of Eternity
Volume 3 Epilogue 1
Volume 3 Epilogue 2
Volume 3 Epilogue 3