Extra26
patreon
Dao of money Chapter 168
🕑 Added 2025-09-16 06:19:22 +0000 UTCChapter 168
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.
Comments
Ekko
Time to start printing mon- I mean talismans!
Storyflower
"Feiyu welcomed the extra hands in her workshop" Wasn't Feiyu male?
Storyflower
“I’ve seen cultivators wielding both wind and water affinities blend them like that. Rare… and always troublesome to face.” -> I guess -> “I’ve seen cultivators wielding both wind and water affinities. Blend them like that? Rare… and always troublesome to face.”
