Dao of Money

As soon as Renjie lunged forward, Chen Ren knew the outcome was already decided. It wasn’t because Renjie was a higher-realm cultivator—far from it. From what Chen Ren had gathered, Renjie was at most in the ninth star body forging realm, a level Feiyu should have been able to contend with, even surpass easily, despite his lack of formal martial training.

But when Renjie’s fist shot forward, Feiyu didn’t move.

The punch slammed into his chest with a dull thud, forcing him back a step. His stance wobbled, but he caught himself before falling. Chen Ren narrowed his eyes. He could understand taking a single hit to gauge an opponent—but this wasn’t that.

Renjie smirked and didn’t let up. He twisted, sending a sharp kick toward Feiyu’s ribs. This time, Feiyu reacted. His arm snapped up, blocking the strike just before impact. A faint ripple of qi pulsed over his forearm, reinforcing his body, but the force still made him grimace.

Chen Ren observed silently. Renjie wasn’t terrible, but he wasn’t particularly skilled either. His attacks were riddled with openings, his footwork sloppy. Even an amateur could exploit them. Yet Feiyu never struck back. He absorbed each blow, muscles tensing, face tight with restrained pain, his arms trembling from the repeated impact.

The lackeys watching snickered. One of them clapped.

"Young master, just knock him down already!"

Renjie scoffed, eyes gleaming with arrogance. "You really are a coward. No guts to do anything but block?" He took a step back, planting his feet. "Fine, try blocking this."

“[Iron Bull Punch]!” He roared the technique’s name and charged.

The moment the punch landed, a shockwave rippled through the air. Feiyu’s feet lifted off the ground as he was sent flying, crashing hard onto the dirt floor with a sickening thud. Dust billowed around him.

The lackeys burst into laughter.

Chen Ren leaned forward slightly, eyes sharpening.

Why? Why wasn’t he fighting back?

Feiyu pushed against the ground, trying to rise, but before he could even lift his chest, Renjie was on him.

With a swift movement, the young master pinned him down, knees digging into his ribs, pressing him into the dirt.

The lackeys howled with laughter.

"Don’t let him crawl away, Young Master!"

"Teach the dog a proper lesson!"

Chen Ren barely spared them a glance. His focus remained on her, Lingyan.

The girl stood frozen at the edge of the circle, fists clenched at her sides. Her lips parted as if to protest, but no words came. She wanted to step in—he could see it in the way her weight shifted forward, in the way her fingers twitched—but she forced herself still.

Chen Ren turned his gaze back to the fight—if it could still be called that.

Dust clung to both men’s robes, streaking their sleeves, darkening the once-pristine fabric. But that was where the similarities ended. Renjie’s face was untouched, still twisted in a cruel grin, while Feiyu’s skin bore the evidence of his silence—bruises blooming across his cheeks, his jaw, his neck. Blood on his lips, and his eyes—they were bloodshot.

Chen Ren exhaled sharply and rose to his feet. "Young Master Renjie, I think that’s enough."

The strikes halted. Renjie’s fist froze mid-air before he lowered it, turning toward Chen Ren with a raised brow.

Recognition flickered in his eyes the next second. "Daoist Chen. I didn’t know you were watching."

Chen Ren met his gaze evenly. "I was here from the start," he said. His voice was even, calm, though his fingers twitched at his sides. "It was a good spar. But he lost. Let him go."

For a moment, Renjie said nothing. Then he smirked.

"Of course," he said smoothly. He stood and dusted off his robes before looking down at Feiyu, still sprawled on the ground.

Just when Chen Ren thought he’d let Feiyu go, the man spat—just shy of Feiyu’s face. The arrogant asshole knew no bounds.

"It was a good session, Feiyu," Renjie drawled and then chuckled. "I hope you learned something. Do better next time."

Laughter erupted around them once more. Chen Ren’s eyes went to the lackeys. They clearly enjoyed the bullying.

Still sprawled in the dirt, Feiyu inhaled sharply, forcing himself upright despite the pain. His voice remained steady, though his ribs trembled beneath the weight of bruises forming.

"Thank you for the pointers, Young Master." He bowed.

Renjie grinned, wiping dust from his sleeves. "Anytime you need them, I’ll be happy to oblige." He said lightly, but the mockery laced within it was unmistakable.

He turned back toward his lackeys, who snickered, whispering amongst themselves about the so-called spar. As he passed the young miss Lingyan, he leaned in, murmuring something just for her ears.

She didn’t respond at first. Then, slowly, she smiled—wry and forced. Her hand came towards her opposite elbow, rubbing slow circles. Her entire form screamed that she was uncomfortable, but it looked as if she had no other choice.

Chen Ren watched as they walked off, their laughter fading into the evening air. Only then did he step forward.

Feiyu groaned, trying to push himself up from the ground, his arms trembling under the effort. Chen Ren extended a hand.

"Let me help you up."

A pause—then rough, calloused fingers gripped his own. Chen Ren pulled him to his feet, steadying him when he staggered.

"That was a tough one to watch," he said, glancing at the bruises forming along the man’s jaw. "Why didn’t you fight back? You were holding yourself back."

Feiyu exhaled through his nose, wincing as he rolled his shoulder. "If I so much as scratch him, I’ll have worse problems than a beating. I might get in trouble just for calling him that, but that bastard knows it well. That’s why he does this—every time he loses a fight to one of his cousins, he comes to me."

Chen Ren nodded, the picture becoming clearer. "Have you ever hit back?"

A bitter chuckle. "Once."

Feiyu’s fingers curled into fists at his sides.

"They made me sleep on the cold floor in winter—no blankets, no warmth. I was barely a cultivator then, and I shivered all night. The next morning, I took lashes for harming a family member." His voice was quiet now, but the weight of it hung heavy between them. "I don’t want to talk about it, Daoist Chen."

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Chen Ren studied him for a long moment before nodding. "I get it." Then, with a lighter tone, he added, "For now, let’s get you patched up. I might have some herbs that’ll help."

Feiyu snorted but didn’t refuse. Chen Ren took that as a yes.

***

After the spar, Feiyu was in no shape to work. His bruises ran deep, and though his cultivation would speed up recovery, Chen Ren guessed it would take him at least two days before he could properly return to his forge.

And two days was more than enough time for someone to visit him.

Just as Chen Ren had expected, on the first night after the fight, the young miss Lingyan slipped through the quiet halls, moving towards Feiyu’s quarters.

From the shadows, Yalan tracked her movements, her presence silent and unseen. Lingyan entered the cabin with ease, and from her hidden vantage point, and Yalan listened to every word spoken between them.

And Chen Ren had to say, it was everything he had expected.

First, she apologized—earnestly—for her cousin’s actions, her voice carrying a rare gentleness. Then, she presented a small pouch, filled with concoctions meant to speed up his healing. Feiyu simply smiled, his eyes soft through the entire exchange.

At first glance, it was obvious what kind of relationship they had. Unlike the rest of her family, she spoke his name with ease—without hesitation, without contempt. And throughout their conversation, they held hands.

For the young miss of an affluent clan, this was as clear of a sign as any.

Still, even with this new insight, Chen Ren didn’t act immediately. He waited. Planned. This wasn’t a matter to rush—one wrong move could turn everything into an unsalvageable mess. And he couldn’t afford it—especially because he needed Feiyu in his sect.

Even with the knowledge of their relationship, there wasn't much he could do without Feiyu accidentally losing his head. Doing things himself without involvement was also out of question. Even if Feiyu didn't agree to join his sect, he wasn't a person who would throw a man towards his death.

A scandal with Lingyan was something that would have his head fall in an instant. Not only because she belonged to Zhu Clan, but because she was the current patriarch's youngest daughter and someone with around seventy nine spirit roots, making the clan put a lot of hope on her. This was common information he had found after searching about her.

In a way, Feiyu was playing with fire by having a relationship with the clan's princess and as he had talked to Yalan and others on what they could do here, he felt like other than trying to poach the man in his sect, he was also saving him.

After all, it was clear that the relationship was going to come out one day and when it happened, Feiyu would be buried with his ancestors.

So, before that could happen, Chen Ren played his hand.

Once he had a solid approach in mind, on the evening of the second day of Feiyu’s recovery, he finally stepped into his quarters—intent on having a conversation.

When Feiyu saw him, the man shifted, trying to sit up despite his injuries.

"No need for that," Chen Ren said, raising a hand. "Just lay down. How are you feeling now?"

Feiyu grunted. "Better. I’ll be back at my forge by the evening."

Chen Ren chuckled. "You really love that forge, don’t you?"

A sheepish grin spread across Feiyu’s face. "It’s all I have," he admitted. "Technically, it belongs to the Zhu family, but I’ve worked there since my father taught me how to hammer metal. It’s like my home—the only place I feel safe."

Chen Ren nodded. He could understand that sentiment. He had felt the same about the room he lived in at the Tang Clan and had been pretty upset about leaving it. Then, after a brief pause, he asked, "Do you ever think about having a forge of your own? One that belongs wholly to you?"

Feiyu blinked at him. Chen Ren knew what exactly went through his mind. And then he sighed. "Of course. Once my slavery period is over, I plan to save whatever money I can and start a forge in a small village. Spend the rest of my years there in peace."

His voice was calm like a river but Chen Ren could hear the quiet yearning beneath it.

"I probably won’t ever reach the foundation establishment realm," Feiyu continued. "So I’ll have maybe forty, fifty years left after my servitude ends. That should be enough."

Hearing that, Chen Ren nodded before his eyes darkened slightly. The conversation he was going to have played through his mind and for a second, he wondered how Feiyu was going to take it, before he decided to lock away his worries.

"I don’t think you’ll ever have that forge," he said in a hushed tone.

Feiyu frowned. Confusion flickered in his bruised eyes. "Why?"

Chen Ren clutched his hands in front of him and looked directly into his eyes. "Do you really think the Zhu clan will just let you go?" He asked not just as a question, but also a statement.

Silence filled the room as Feiyu hesitated to answer. Making use of it, he continued.

"You’re a cultivator. A good blacksmith. And, more than that, you can’t disobey them." Chen Ren’s voice was steady, but his words were hefty. "You have too much value. You’re useful. Do you think they’ll just let you walk away when the time comes?"

Feiyu’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

"If I had to make a guess," Chen Ren continued, "near the end of your slavery period, they’ll accuse you of something—maybe theft. Something severe enough to justify extending your servitude. And once they do, that will be it."

His voice grew colder.

"You’ll never be free."

Chen Ren watched as Feiyu’s face fell, the color draining from it. Even though his body was healing, he suddenly looked sick again. The weight of realization settled on his shoulders, his mind racing through the implications of what Chen Ren had just said. The fear, the helplessness—Chen Ren could see it all, sinking into him like a stone in deep water.

But just as the man teetered on the edge of despair, Chen Ren spoke again.

"There might be a way for you to have your own forge."

Feiyu’s gaze snapped to him, hope flickering behind his exhaustion. "How?"

Chen Ren smiled slightly. "Come with me. My sect, the Divine Coin Sect, needs a capable blacksmith. I’ll build you a forge, and we can work on the guns together."

The man’s lips parted slightly in surprise.

"You follow the Dao of the Forge, don’t you?" Chen Ren continued. "I’m certain that working on such an artifact will not only strengthen your craft but also push your cultivation toward a breakthrough. And it’s not just one project. You’ll have the chance to work on different types of weapons—new ones, powerful ones."

Feiyu didn’t respond immediately, but Chen Ren saw it—the unmistakable spark in his eyes. Greed. Not for money, not for power, but for creation. For the chance to work on something that truly mattered. It was admirable.

For a moment, it looked like he might accept.

But then, just as quickly, the light dimmed, and he shook his head. "I appreciate the offer, Daoist Chen, truly. But I’m a slave. There’s no way I’d be able to leave."

Chen Ren’s smile widened slightly, having waited for the exact words. "What if there was a way to break your slave contract?"

Feiyu blinked, then scoffed lightly, as if Chen Ren had just made a joke. But when he looked at him again—really looked—he saw that the young cultivator wasn’t laughing.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "How could that possibly be done?"

Chen Ren’s gaze remained steady as he spoke.

"Anything is possible with a good plan and the conviction to see it through. But it won’t be easy. There's a risk—especially for you."

Feiyu hesitated for only a second before exhaling sharply. "If I can really get out of being a slave, I’m ready to take any risk. And like you said, there’s a good possibility I won’t ever be free if I don’t try. If there’s a way, I’ll take it."

Chen Ren's expression didn’t change as he said, "Even if it involves her?"

“Who?”

“Lingyan.”

Feiyu froze. His body tensed, and his eyes flickered with a storm of emotions—anger, shock, confusion, and something else, something deeper. His throat moved as he swallowed hard before finally asking, "You know?"

Chen Ren nodded. "I saw how she looked at you during the spar. Then, I saw her moving toward your quarters last night. I’m surprised no one else knows."

The man lowered his head, exhaling through his nose. "She’s careless. It hasn’t been found out because no one expects her to feel anything for a slave. She’s the patriarch’s daughter—no one would dare accuse her of something like that."

Chen Ren hummed in understanding. He had already guessed as much. After a moment of silence, he asked, "So, do you love her?"

There was no hesitation. "Yes. I do. But we both know it’s impossible. Sooner or later, she’s going to be betrothed to someone else. And with my status, I can never even think of something like that."

Chen Ren’s eyes sharpened. "You can if you get rid of the slave mark."

Feiyu’s head snapped up. "How?" His voice was rough, almost desperate. "You said it involves her, but if anything happens to her, I won’t be able to forgive myself."

Chen Ren’s expression softened slightly. "Nothing will happen to her. The patriarch loves her too much to punish her, no matter what." He paused for a moment before continuing, "Either way, my plan involves her. And if we succeed, not only will you be free, but you’ll actually have a chance to marry her."

Feiyu remained silent, staring at him, torn between hope and fear. Even if he had been willing to risk everything for freedom, involving the person he loved in it was different.

Chen Ren understood that.

In the end, the man took a deep breath and nodded. "I’ll hear you out."

***

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