Chen Ren leaned against the wooden frame of his stall, arms crossed, eyes watching the flow of people on Market Street.

It had been a week since Jiang Wu’s little stunt had been decimated by him— trying to sabotage him with rumours about his noodles. And now, like clockwork, every vendor kept their distance from him and no one dared to go against him.

As expected, Jiang Wu's steamed bun stall had seen fewer and fewer customers each day. In a business where word of mouth ruled like a tyrant, faulty ingredients were a death sentence. The foolish man had cursed his own livelihood.

Meanwhile, Chen Ren’s fortunes were a rising tide. More customers came daily, their numbers swelling as though drawn by an invisible current. A bowl of noodles had become a staple of the market crowd, bringing him more business than he could have anticipated.

"120 to 130 bowls a day…" he murmured, running the numbers in his head.

At 5 to 7 copper wen per bowl, that meant he could earn between 600 and 910 copper wen daily. Over the course of a month, the numbers compounded further. After deducting costs for ingredients, wood for the fire, and other essentials, he was left with a profit margin that hovered around 150 silver wen every month. It was more money than he had ever held in his hands in this world, and even after paying Tang Xiulan for her help, there was still a respectable sum left for himself.

Yet when he considered the mountain of debt he owed—the price for his medallion— this new fortune was more like a drop in the ocean. He would be able to reclaim the medallion, yes, but it would be tight. Perhaps, just barely, by the end of the set time.

He also had to remember the fact that Feng Ming wasn't his only debtor.

But Chen Ren didn’t worry too much. Why should he? His first business venture was thriving, and along the way, he had unknowingly connected to the Dao of Money. It was esoteric in nature, something most cultivators overlooked in their pursuit of power, but Chen Ren had felt its pull, its hidden current.

Money flowed like qi— always moving, always circulating, with its own momentum. And momentum, Chen Ren knew, was everything. With the ideas swirling in his mind like a vortex, he felt certain he would conquer his debts sooner than expected. His thoughts were already moving beyond the simple act of selling noodles.

But for now, he pushed those ambitions aside. There were other things to focus on. His first goal— stabilising the stall— had been met. It was time to shift his focus inward.

He should begin to devote more time to learning about cultivation techniques, something he had neglected in his pursuit of profit. A balance needed to be struck. After all, the Dao was not just about silver and copper.

***

In the quiet, secluded garden of the Tang Clan, Chen Ren stood before a wooden training dummy. The air was still, disturbed only by the soft rustling of leaves, and the warmth of the afternoon sun kissed his skin. His hands flexed in front of him, muscles tensing as he focused on his next move.

"[Thundering Fist!]" he yelled, thrusting his fists forward with force.

A spark of lightning arced out from his knuckles, crackling faintly in the air before dissipating. His punch connected with the dummy, causing a few minor cracks to spread across its surface.

Chen Ren stepped back, his brows furrowing in frustration. He glanced over at Yalan lounging nearby, her amber eyes half-closed as she basked lazily in the sun.

"You sure this isn’t a faulty technique?" he asked, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.

Yalan didn't bother to open her eyes fully, stretching out lazily. "It's not faulty," she purred. The rest of the words came aloud. "It's one of the few fist techniques passed down in the Chen Clan. Works well with your element. Thunder resonates with your qi. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to pick up a sword."

Chen Ren followed Yalan's gaze, glancing over at the neatly arranged swords and cultivation manuals lying on the side. The Chen Clan had always been a clan of swordsmen, known for their mastery of blade techniques.

It was clear why the old Chen Ren had wanted to join the Soaring Sword Sect— everything in his upbringing had pointed to it. But for the former, the thought of wielding a sword left him cold.

He wasn’t interested in close-combat weapons. Swords, spears, hatchets, axes— they were cool to play with in games, but in real life, he would rather keep his distance from the enemy.

Hence, the idea of wielding a bow had intrigued him ever since he first entered this world. To defend from a distance, to strike from afar— that was more his style. But cultivators who specialised in bows were rare.

Bows required such fine precision and balance between strength and qi that it was hard to even find one that could withstand the power of a cultivator.

For now, he was stuck with the basics, working on his form and balance with these fist techniques. Even though it was a close-combat technique, it would be smart to learn a technique or two like this.

He had to start somewhere, and at least the [Thundering Fist] seemed to align with his element, even if he couldn’t fully control it yet.

He had also read in the manual that it could be used to throw around arcs of lightning, even from a distance at a greater mastery, so there was more than enough reason to learn it.

Taking a deep breath, Chen Ren squared up with the dummy once more, his fists raised. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to sense the flow of qi in the air. This time, as he struck forward again, he could feel it— the energy around him becoming more tangible.

The qi was beginning to respond to his movements, his strikes gaining a subtle weight behind them.

"[Thundering Fist!]" he called out again, his fist cutting through the air. This time, the sparks of lightning were stronger, lingering a bit longer before vanishing. As he pulled his hand back, he glanced down at his arms.

Lightning crackled faintly along his skin, running up his forearms. His control over his qi was growing, and with it, the technique’s potential. A slow grin crept across his face.

"Better," he muttered, feeling the thrum of power starting to build within him.

Chen Ren flexed his fingers, watching the faint arcs of lightning still dancing along his forearms. The power was starting to feel more natural, almost as if it belonged there. But a thought gnawed at the back of his mind.

He glanced at Yalan, now lazily stretching, completely unbothered by his struggles.

"Hey," he called out. "You sure this is just a mortal-grade technique?"

Yalan's tail twitched, and she opened one eye to peer at him. "Yes, it’s a mortal-grade technique," she replied with a yawn. "If it were earth-grade, you'd barely be able to perform it. Most earth-grade techniques require a lot more qi. Even though you're starting to sense it, using qi in techniques is an entirely different art."

Chen Ren frowned, running a hand over his arm, where the lightning had cracked moments before. "And why doesn’t the lightning harm me?"

Yalan sat up, blinking as if the answer should’ve been obvious. "You’ve got lightning affinity spirit roots," she said. "Your affinity gives you a natural resistance. The technique won’t harm you unless you push yourself too far."

Chen Ren nodded, absorbing the information. It still felt strange to him, being able to wield lightning without burning himself, but he supposed there was logic to it. At least Xianxia logic.

If his spirit roots were tied to the element, it made sense that his body would be more in tune with it.

He stepped back to the wooden dummy, his focus sharpening. His strikes came faster now, each punch laced with more qi from the last.

"[Thundering Fist!]" he roared, his fist crashing into the dummy. Cracks began to spiderweb across its surface as arcs of lightning danced around the impact site. His control was improving; he could feel the qi more distinctly, his strikes more powerful, the lightning sharper.

As he worked through another series of punches, Yalan’s voice broke through his concentration. "What are you going to do about your Dao?"

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

Chen Ren paused mid-strike, turning to face Yalan with a puzzled expression. "What do you mean?"

Yalan tilted its head, giving him a scrutinising look that ended up being cute due to her being a cat. "Your growth has slowed. You’ve been earning a decent amount from the stall, sure, but if you want to grow more, you’ll need to improve it. Or expand into other businesses. You can’t just stay at one level forever."

Chen Ren wiped his brow, his thoughts briefly drifting back to the noodle stall.

Tang Xiulan was handling things at the market today, managing the customers and keeping everything running smoothly. She was reliable, which allowed him the freedom to focus on cultivation. But Yalan wasn’t wrong. If he wanted to expand, the stall needed more. More customers, better products, and maybe even more locations.

"I’ve thought about it," he said, his voice contemplative. "But I’m waiting for the right opportunity."

Yalan narrowed its eyes. "What kind of opportunity?"

Before Chen Ren could respond, the loud sound of footsteps echoed through the garden. A guard appeared, striding toward him with an air of urgency.

"The clan head is looking for you," the guard announced, his eyes briefly flicking toward the lounging cat with mild curiosity.

Chen Ren glanced at Yalan, who met his gaze with a knowing look. This was the opportunity.

"That kind," Chen Ren thought to himself but knew the cat heard him as he dusted off his robes and prepared to follow the guard. His fists still tingled with the remnants of lightning, and though his mind was focused on what lay ahead, part of him couldn’t help but feel that both his business and his cultivation had just taken their first steps toward something greater.

***

Chen Ren moved swiftly through the hallways of the Tang Clan, the scent of noodle broth filled the air around him.

In one hand, he carried a bowl, steam rising from the broth and curling through the air, laced with a delicate fragrance of spices and herbs. The other hand hovered near the hem of his robe, ready to steady the bowl if needed. His steps were light as he continued along the same path.

The guards at the door barely glanced at him, already informed of his presence here, and they stepped aside without a word.

Chen Ren approached the entrance to the clan head’s chambers, but something stopped him just before he knocked on the door. Voices, quiet but clear, drifted through the door.

“Father, please! It was important to me!”

He froze, realising the familiar female voice he had heard often these days. It was Tang Yuqiu’s.

"You know it was just a trial," A deep, serious yet calm voice followed. He used his memories to pin it as Tang Clan head, Tang Jihao.

Tang Yuqiu’s voice was sharp, almost trembling with frustration. "It matters, Father. I failed. But don’t worry, I’ll fix it. I’ll find something to make sure the business gets money."

"You don’t have to push yourself," Tang Jihao replied softly. "You can learn under me. There’s no shame in that."

"No!" Yuqiu's voice cracked with emotion as she almost shouted. "I will do it. And I will show you. Just give me more time!"

There was a pause. Chen Ren could almost hear the silence echoing in the space between them.

Before he could step back or announce his presence, the sound of hurried footsteps drew closer. The door swung open, revealing the young lady.

Her hair was slightly dishevelled, her robes a bit wrinkled unlike every other time he’d seen her in a perfect light and her eyes carried a look of fierce determination— until they landed on him. She froze.

Chen Ren, caught off guard, managed an awkward "hello."

For a moment, they stood there, an uncomfortable silence filling the space between them. Then, without a word, Tang Yuqiu brushed past him, her steps quick as she strode off down the hallway, her figure stiff with tension.

Chen Ren exhaled softly and stared at the empty space where she’d been standing. He wasn’t sure what he had walked into, but the weight of their conversation lingered in the air.

"Come in," urged the voice of the clan head, cutting through his thoughts.

Chen Ren straightened himself, stepping into the room. As he entered, Tang Jihao’s eyes settled on him, offering a brief but warm smile. "Sorry you had to witness that," he said, gesturing for Chen Ren to approach.

He looked down at Tang Jihao— sunken eyes, wrinkled face, frail figure, bony hands. Despite being known to be a foodie and a rich merchant, he looked worse than most poor commoners. Despite that, his voice was clear and serious, befitting of his status.

Chen Ren guessed that the rumours about the man going through some sort of a curse were true and as he took more than a comfortable amount of time to stare at him, Tang Jihao raked a hand through his goatee.

That was enough of an action for him to shake his head and offer a polite bow.

"No problem at all." His gaze shifted to Tang Jihao’s expression— calm yet burdened— and he stepped forward, holding up the bowl of noodles. "I thought an eastern delicacy might lighten the stress of running so many successful businesses."

Tang Jihao's pupils dilated slightly with interest as the steam from the bowl wafted toward him. "Ah, your famed noodles. A thoughtful gesture."

Chen Ren presented the dish, hoping the food would offer more comfort than his words. He could still feel the tension from the previous exchange hanging in the room, but for now, he must focus on the present.

Tang Jihao took the bowl with a small smile, steam rising as he inspected the dish. "Very interesting," he said in a warm tone.

The noodles were a simple gesture, but for someone like Tang Jihao, they were the best way to approach. It also seemed to work as the man raised his hand and gestured to Chen Ren to take the opposite seat.

Chen Ren complied, watching as the clan head took his first bite. His gaze was unreadable, but after a brief pause, the head let out a quiet sound of approval. The tension in the room seemed to ease with every slurp of broth, and Chen Ren felt his shoulders relax slightly.

“Thank you for letting me stay here for so long,” Chen Ren began, his voice steady but sincere. “Even if I’ve been nothing but trouble.”

Tang Jihao's head chuckled softly, setting the bowl down for a moment. “Well, these noodles are good enough to make me let you stay for a whole year."

Chen Ren, his tone lightening, replied, "Then I’ll make sure to have it delivered every day."

Tang Jihao laughed— a deep, genuine sound. "Chen Ren, you’ve really changed. You’re very different from the first time we met."

Chen Ren didn’t flinch at the statement, keeping his expression composed. "I know."

The head’s eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity. "Why is that? I’ve been meaning to ask ever since you started your business."

Chen Ren paused for a moment, thinking of how to pick his words carefully. After a breath, he replied, "I realised the path I was fighting for wasn’t mine. I was inadequate and arrogant. The heavens are open to all, but only those with the ability can afford to be arrogant. I didn’t have any, so I changed my path."

The old man’s gaze lingered on him, thoughtful. "And what is your path now?"

Chen Ren considered the question, feeling the weight of it. He could hardly tell the truth— that his true path was still blurry, somewhere between survival, finding his footing in a world that wasn’t his own and creating a business empire. But instead, he smiled faintly and decided to mix them with lies. "My path is one of business. I want to help people, make their lives comfortable by selling things, and earn karma in return."

"A path of a merchant?"

"A path of prosperity," Chen Ren corrected.

Tang Jihao nodded, seemingly impressed. "A noble goal. And how did you come to this conclusion?"

Chen Ren, maintaining his calm, crafted his next story with care. "My ancestor who founded the Chen Clan. Before he became a cultivator, he was a merchant. He walked the path of prosperity until a chance encounter with the heavens led him to cultivation. But even after that, he never forgot his roots in trade. Through his business, he prospered many lives."

"I thought he was always a cultivator."

"No, he was a merchant first. His success in business laid the foundation for the cultivation path he later took. It was his understanding of balance— both in trade and cultivation—that led him to prosper."

Tang Jihao let out another small chuckle, nodding thoughtfully. "Interesting. You’ve given me a lot to think about. A path of prosperity, you say?"

Chen Ren nodded, his expression unwavering, though inside, he knew the truth was far more complicated.

It was, in fact, true that one of Chen Ren's ancestors had been a merchant who stumbled upon a chance encounter that changed the course of his life. However, despite that origin, the Chen Clan wasn’t built on trade but rather on blood and blades. Even now, they were known as a sword clan, ruthless and battle-hardened, with little room for the softer arts of commerce. Still, the story served its purpose.

The clan head took another bite of the noodles, his approval clear.

“I’m proud of you for walking down the path of your ancestor,” he added.

Chen Ren offered a humble nod, his posture relaxed, but his mind was still calculating.

The head leaned back and pulled out a small bundle of letters, setting them on the table between them with a heavy thud. “You know what these are,” the head said, his tone losing some of its warmth.

Chen Ren’s eyes flicked to the letters. He knew exactly what they were. "Yes, they’re letters from my debtors."

Tang Jihao’s expression darkened slightly as he added, "They asked me about your debts, thinking I would pay them off for you."

Chen Ren had anticipated this. He had been aware of the clan head’s role in keeping the debt collectors at bay for a while now. He had written letters, asking for more time, but that wouldn’t have done much if his debtors hadn't assumed that he was under the Tang Clan. "I appreciate that, truly," Chen Ren said, his tone careful. "I know they’ve been pressing you."

Tang Jihao gave a slow nod. "Yes. I’ve been keeping them from taking any action against you because I find you interesting. But it won’t stay this way forever, Chen Ren."

Chen Ren had expected as much. He knew Tang Jihao wasn’t doing this out of charity or goodwill. "I understand. It must be difficult to hold them off on my behalf, and I’m grateful for it. But I think I can give you a reason to hold them back a bit longer."

The clan head’s eyebrow arched slightly. "And what reason would that be?"

Chen Ren’s lips curled into a slow, calculated smile as he uttered a single name. "Tang Yuqiu, your daughter."

At the sound of the name, Tang Jihao's expression shifted ever so slightly. His eyes flickered with something— surprise? Curiosity? Chen Ren couldn’t tell. He waited, wondering what his response would be.

After a moment, Tang Jihao leaned forward, his voice low. "So, you’re finally ready to marry her, then?"

Chen Ren froze, and his entire body went cold. His smile faded, replaced by a look of sheer panic.

***

A/N - It's a bonus chapter. I will do one more bonus chapter at 3000 followers, if we manage to reach it by 14 November.