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Dao of money Chapter 174
🕑 Added 2025-09-28 14:29:02 +0000 UTCChapter 174
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.”
