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Dao of money Chapter 172
🕑 Added 2025-09-24 07:58:53 +0000 UTCChapter 172
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.
Yuqi’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.”
Yuqi’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.
