Dao of Money
Chapter 127: Broken ridge city

Chen Ren was floating in a void—or so it felt like that.

It was a dark expanse all around him. He tried to squint his eyes to see, but there was no light, no sound, not even the beat of a heart to anchor him. It was the kind of silence that didn’t only deafen a person—it erased; it erased to the point where his own existence felt thin and faulty as if reality had forgotten he was supposed to be there.

But he knew he existed.

Otherwise, how could he be thinking? How… how could he remember the pain so clearly that he felt it torn through every nerve in his body just moments ago? Or wait. Was it months ago? Years ago?

He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t even tell if the time here moved. Maybe it never had.

All he knew was the cold, creeping dread that he might have slipped back into the cycle of reincarnation.

Heavens, that would have been the worst, worst possible outcome.

He had only just begun to find his place in this world—friends who didn’t want to stab him in the back, and a sect that he could build something out of, a strange new life that, for once, felt his. And starting over again? Throwing it all?

He grimaced—at least, he thought he did. It was hard to be sure in this formless black.

That trope had always annoyed him in the xianxia novels he used to read, the one where the protagonist died, lost everything and had to rebuild from scratch just to get stronger. It was pointless to say the least.

Well, he didn’t think of himself as a protagonist, he couldn’t be. But the point still stood.

And now, with every passing thought, his mind felt muddier. Like it was melting in the void. The images in his mind grew fuzzy, logic slipped through his fingers, and soon, he had a feeling that his own memories would begin to fray at the edges.

He simply drifted—and continued to drift more.

Who knew how long he drifted like that—

His hand touched something.

He almost missed the sensation, but no, he was sure. It was a resistance against the nothingness. And it grounded him, if only for a moment. Before he could process, he heard a sound.

It was not his thoughts, or an echo. He was sure it was a voice, almost too soft to hear—but unmistakably there, calling to him.

Where is it coming from? He tried to focus on it. Tried to follow the direction. But the sound kept slipping through his grasp, close, and yet impossibly far.

Chen Ren gritted his teeth and pushed. He knew his strength wouldn’t be enough, but he pushed with will, trying to seize control over whatever this place was. He needed to move—to choose.

And for a breath, he thought it was working. It feltlike it was working. But then came the pain. A sharp pain pierced through his skull like a blade of ice, sudden and blinding. His thoughts scattered, his control shattered.

And the void swallowed him again. He cried out as his eyes flew open.

The void shattered.

Cold air brushed his face and it felt like someone was holding him. Soon, voices filled in, muffled at first—and then they became clearer.

Yalan, Anji and Wang Jun were all looking at him.

He was alive.

Chen Ren blinked hard, breath ragged as he tried to piece everything together. His limbs still trembled, but the pain was gone—leaving only a phantom echo in his bones.

Yalan’s voice was the first to break the silence.

“Are you okay? You passed out screaming.”

He turned to look at her, his vision still a little off-center. Screaming? The fight came back to him. The spectres. The lightning. The cold. The void.

His brows tightened. “Was I cursed?” he asked, eyes darting to each of them. “I don’t know what happened. I just felt this… pain—like everything was tearing apart.”

Yalan shook her head. “There were no other spectres around. I would’ve sensed it. And I’ve never heard of a curse like that. Even if you were cursed, there’s no foreign qi in your body. Everything’s… stable.”

“Then why did I pass out?” Chen Ren muttered, almost to himself.

Wang Jun scoffed under his breath. “How would we know? All I saw was you getting cocky and overextending yourself. Maybe you just burned yourself out.”

Chen Ren turned toward him with a small frown. “No… I had qi to spare. I’ve been in tougher fights than that. It just doesn’t add up.”

Before he could spiral further, Anji gently took his hand.

“I don’t think you should overthink it right now,” she said quietly. “What matters is that you’re awake. Whatever happened… you can figure it out once we’re in Broken Ridge.”

Yalan purred in agreement. “There should be healers there—cultivators with more insight into body or soul injuries. You should get checked out. We still don’t know if that demonic cultivator did something to you back in the vault. If he unleashed some sort of a curse, then you would have been the recipient of it since my cultivation was stronger than his.”

That made Chen Ren pause.

Right. That encounter… the strange feeling that had clung to his core ever since. His jaw tightened, thoughts spinning faster now.

Something had happened.

And whatever it was—it wasn’t done with him yet. Chen Ren gulped at the thought, feeling a pit forming in his stomach.

“Hopefully it’s not that,” he muttered. “I don’t feel any pain now, but what I did feel… It was like embers burning through my veins from the inside out. I never want to feel that again.”

Wang Jun huffed from the side. “Then don’t push yourself. Use as little qi as possible. You were perfectly fine ever since you started working on your standardizing pill production. But suddenly you collapse right after a ghost fight? If it’s not a one-off, then something’s wrong with your body. You should rest before you do something stupid again.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly. “Okay. If we’re lucky, I’ll figure out what’s happening before we run into any conflict in the city.”

“We’re not even there yet, and you’re already thinking about conflicts?” Wang Jun asked.

Chen Ren shrugged at that, the edge of a smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m being smart. Planning for what lies ahead.”

Another snort. “If you can still talk like that, then yeah, you’re probably fine.”

Oddly enough, Chen Ren had to agree with him.

Aside from a dull ache pulsing in the back of his skull—where he’d knocked his head against the carriage roof trying to sit up too fast—he felt no lingering effects. No tightness in his chest, no stiffness in his limbs, no trembling of qi.

And as a cultivator, he would know.

He had trained enough to have a clear sense of his body. Of when something was wrong. But now… there was nothing.

So why had he passed out?

Why had the pain felt like his body was being torn apart from the inside?

No answers came.

Just another mystery.

One more added to the growing pile that had started ever since he stepped foot in this world.

Chen Ren leaned back against the carriage wall, closing his eyes briefly as the wheels rolled onward over uneven terrain. And somewhere in the corner of his mind, a single, bitter thought echoed:

Why can’t things ever just be simple?

He didn’t know.

And that—more than anything—frustrated him.

To distract himself from the mess in his head, he turned to the window and took a slow sip from the canteen. The water was lukewarm, but it helped to settle the dry feeling in his throat.

The forest had long since vanished behind them.

Now, the road cut through wide open plains. There was golden-brown grass flattened by winter winds. In the distance, he could see the forms of carriages and farmer carts dotted the road like ants moving toward a hive.

Chen Ren watched them roll by—some filled with grain sacks, and others carrying bundled up families. And he knew that the city was close.

He tried to picture what a border city would be like. He hadn’t traveled closer to the empire’s fringes. His mind conjured tall, worn walls, a stationed garrison.

Turning his head slightly, he glanced at Yalan.

“Have you been here before?” he asked.

She looked at him, an apple now mysteriously in front of her—half-eaten, as if she’d conjured it from thin air.

“I passed by it once,” she said between bites. “Not a bad city. But back then, there were more… insectoid attacks.”

Chen Ren’s brows lifted. “The insectoids?”

Yalan nodded. “Yeah. The Empire started reinforcing the place after that. Rebuilding the walls. I think it’s much safer now.”

“How big is the wall?” he asked.

She tilted her head lazily toward the horizon. “Should come into view soon. When I passed by, they were still building it. You’ll see.”

Chen Ren nodded, shifting slightly in his seat and fixing his eyes outside. The clouds were heavy and white, drifting lazily above the winter-chilled plains. The cold pressed against the carriage walls, but instead of biting, it felt grounding—soothing, even.

His gaze drifted upward again, following the skyline until something far in the distance caught his attention. Peaks.

Stolen story; please report.

They rose from the earth like fangs, dark and distant. Between them, he thought he saw shapes—angular structures nestled between the cliffs, unmoving.

Buildings. A sect? Probably. This close to the city, there could only be one.

Darkmoon Sect.

He leaned slightly forward, eyes narrowing as if it might bring the image into better focus. It surprised him, still, that a border city like this hadn’t been placed under the authority of a Guardian sect. But then again—Guardian sects were all built atop major qi veins, places carefully chosen for cultivation.

Relocating would’ve cost them more than it was worth. Which left room for Darkmoon to expand… and take.

There could’ve been other reasons too—but Chen Ren didn’t dwell on them. His attention was pulled forward, toward the road and what lay beyond it.

He saw it.

The first silhouette of Golden Ridge City’s outer wall.

It loomed in the distance, rising steadily with each roll of the carriage wheels. Far more massive than he had imagined, the wall stood easily fifty feet tall—constructed from grey stone slabs stacked and sealed with precision. Even from afar, he could tell that it was a fortress.

As the carriage drew closer, the finer details sharpened. Guard towers lined the wall, manned with crossbow-wielding soldiers in thick winter cloaks. The gates themselves were a pair of iron-reinforced slabs, tall enough to let through caravans and wagons in double lines.

And in front of them—stood the crowd. Two lines had formed at the city’s entrance.

To the right, a longer line of civilians, farmers, and tradesmen—some with carts, others on foot. To the left, shorter but more distinct—cultivators.

Chen Ren recognized them instantly by the faint shimmer of qi radiating from their bodies, like heat rising off stone. There were at least two dozen outside the gates already, waiting their turn or speaking quietly among themselves.

He let his perception flow, subtle and smooth.

The strongest qi signature belonged to a man leaning against the wall with a spear on his back—Foundation establishment realm. The rest were mostly qi refinement cultivators, with a few that gave off the sturdier, more physical aura of body forging realm ones.

That many cultivators just standing outside? His eyes gleamed. Every single one of them was a potential customer.

He would need to investigate how large the cultivator population in the city actually was—but if the numbers were anywhere near his estimates, then his plans might go beyond just success. He could become rich. Very rich.

The carriage rolled into the cultivator line. Slowly but surely, they inched forward, the winter wind brushing against the sides and causing the cloth canopy to flutter faintly.

At the gate, Tao Li handed over a small pouch of silver to the stationed guards.

The guards gave them a bored glance, then nodded. No questions or inspection. They waved the carriage through.

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed slightly as they passed under the towering gate. That easy?

He remembered how Gu Tian had managed to sneak into Cloud Mist City so effortlessly—and now it made more sense. Even border cities like this didn’t seem to have strict vetting, especially for cultivator entries.

Still… he supposed it made sense.

In cities thick with cultivators, who would dare cause trouble? And who would survive if they did?

Of course, unless someone was a high-realm expert. But even then, there were ways to stall them—long enough for someone stronger to arrive and deal with the threat.

As their carriage finally rolled through the towering gate, Chen Ren shifted slightly to take in the sights. The head grumbled from the front bench, already anticipating what was coming.

“Back to the bag again,” he muttered, voice dry and bitter.

Anji sighed with him. “Just for a little while, Master. You know it’s only until the room is secured.”

Chen Ren didn’t say anything. He did feel bad for the old being—but they had no choice. The head had lived this way for a long time. He’d have to bear with it a little longer.

The streets of Golden Ridge were wide and lined with stone-paved roads. Tall buildings stretched upward on both sides—shops, homes, and towers that hinted at merchant wealth and old city architecture. Everything had that border-town sturdiness to it.

What caught Chen Ren’s attention most were the people.

Cultivators filled the streets—more than he’d expected. They strode confidently with sheathed swords on their backs or spirit tools at their hips. Their robes came in every color and style, but the most common by far were grey robes striped with black—Darkmoon Sect colors, if he had to guess.

And not a small number, either. They were everywhere. And wherever they walked, the crowd made room. Mortals instinctively stepped aside, heads lowered. Even other cultivators gave them a wide berth.

Influence, Chen Ren thought, eyes narrowing slightly. They weren’t rulers here. But they were treated like it.

The carriage continued, occasionally stopping as Zushi and Tao Li hopped off to ask directions. It turned out Tang Boming had already arranged lodging for them—somewhere near the merchant quarter, close enough to the central plaza but far enough from the sect grounds to stay low.

It took nearly half an hour of winding through the city streets, but they finally arrived.

The inn was a three-story building made of pale brick and timber. A small wooden sign swung out front with the name Quiet Pines Inn written in graceful calligraphy. A few people filtered in and out—travelers, merchants, and what looked like the occasional cultivator.

The moment the carriage stopped, Chen Ren stepped out first, stretching his back as his boots touched solid ground. The winter wind bit at his cheeks, but the air smelled fresh, clean—different from the streets outside the capital.

Anji followed behind and Yalan walked with her, both gazing up at the inn with unreadable expressions. The mortals hurried inside the inn to handle their tasks—checking in, arranging their luggages, sorting rooms.

And for just a moment, Chen Ren stood still and allowed himself a breath of quiet satisfaction.

This was why building a sect mattered. Not just for the name or the pride—but for the people. Delegation. Support. A real network. He didn’t have to worry about every small detail anymore.

And that… was progress.

After a minute of quiet observation, Chen Ren was pulled from his thoughts by the soft creak of the inn’s front doors. Tang Boming stepped out alongside Han Fei.

Tang Boming’s sharp eyes swept over the group, lingering for just a moment on each face. There was something unreadable in his gaze—perhaps disappointment—but it vanished the next second, replaced by a warm smile.

“You all arrived earlier than I expected,” he said, clasping his hands together. “Seems like you didn’t run into any migratory beasts.”

“Just a few frost spirits,” Chen Ren replied with a shrug. “Nothing serious.”

Tang Boming’s brow twitched upward. “Frost spirits, you say? I heard a lot of villages are tired of dealing with them. Still, glad to see you made it safely.” He gave a small nod. “I’ve been doing what you asked of me. Waiting. Listening. Gathering what I can. There are information guilds in this city, so getting anything without being noticed takes finesse.”

A glimmer of satisfaction lit his eyes.

“But I think you’ll like what I found.”

He gestured behind him. “Come inside. Let me show you the rooms first.”

They entered the Quiet Pines Inntogether, and Chen Ren’s eyes drifted over the layout. A small receptionist’s desk sat near the entrance, manned by a sleepy-eyed woman scribbling something on parchment. A few guests lingered in the common area, sipping tea or reading scrolls. The walls were painted in muted colors, and everything smelled faintly of cedarwood.

As they passed through the main hallway, Chen Ren caught sight of a back door slightly ajar—beyond it, the gentle clatter of dishes and muffled conversation revealed a restaurant built into the back of the inn.

Tang led them up the creaking wooden stairs to the second floor, where a corridor stretched with evenly spaced doors.

“I booked one for everyone in your party,” Tang said casually as they walked, opening doors one by one. “Second floor gives a good balance—easy to leave from, not too noisy. You’ll have space, privacy, and no nosy neighbors.”

Chen Ren gave a small nod of appreciation as each member of the group stepped into their rooms. When they reached the last room at the end of the hall, Tang Boming stopped and opened the door with a quiet creak.

“You can use this one, Sect Leader Chen,” he said with a smile. “I imagine you’re tired after the road. There’s a public bathhouse just around the corner from here. Clean and quiet. Hot water from natural springs. Cultivators love it, and I’ve already arranged for your party to be granted access.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Might be worth checking out right away.”

Chen Ren let out a soft breath, the thought of hot water easing his aching shoulders sounding like heaven.

“That does sound wonderful…” he said. “But I wanted to do something else first.”

Tang tilted his head. “Oh? What’s that?”

“Do you know any alchemy sects or small organizations in the city?” he asked, getting straight to work. “Preferably ones with a few members, maybe some working equipment… that might be interested in getting acquired by me.”

***

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