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Dao of money Volume 3 Epilogue 1
🕑 Added 2025-11-14 21:52:31 +0000 UTCEpilogue 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.”
Comments
Blazer66
God cultivators are so evil.
JAMAJ
Lol they totally want to gank Jun
