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Dao of money Chapter 76
🕑 Added 2025-02-25 16:06:44 +0000 UTCChapter 76
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.”
Comments
Dirk Gent Lee
You’ve been waiting for that line drop, great setup.
