Jasmine—Qing He inhaled the smell deeply as the porcelain teacup swirled gently in her hand.

Her eyes locked in at a cluster of young girls—mortal, rich, giggling and infuriatingly loud–huddled around a table. Their voices raised after one another as they all debated (with an annoying heat) over that story. The one penned by the odd young cultivator, Chen Ren.

Her fingers tapped on the table in a soothing rhythm as her lips curved in a satirical smile.

It had been quite some time since the so-called love story was released. She half-expected the fascination to die long back but on the contrary, it had become an obsession. They’d been treating the book akin to a classic folk tale.

She sighed at that thought.

These girls—they were reimagining, filling the gaps with their own absurd fantasies; alternating endings, impossible love triangles and even theories that bordered on the ridiculous. She had talked to Chen Ren about it and he had simply labelled it as “fanfiction” and told her to let it grow.

According to him, every popular work would have fan renditions, but Qing He had never even heard the term before.

Her brows twitched as the two youths started raising their voices, trying to assert dominance over their narrative of the protagonist’s love was truly required.

She sighed, feeling that her patience was wearing thin.

“Maybe I should've just burned the manuscript,” she muttered to herself. Or maybe, I shouldn’t have ever accepted letting that young cultivator take a look at my collection in exchange for the novel.

Because the deal had struck true, the profits continued to flow inside her small tea stall like nothing, and it had been mostly due to the book ‘Liang Shan’ and ‘Hua Yun’.

With that, a chuckle escaped her lips. At least the business has been doing well.

As she took another sip of her tea, her mind refocused on Chen Ren. With his sly grin and strange aura, he had been on her mind far more often than she cared to admit.

Two hundred years ago, she might’ve mistaken this curiosity for a girlish crush—one that ran deep. But now? Now she knew it was something else entirely.

He was an enigma and Qing He detested enigmas. He was a strange, mysterious cultivator and those kinds almost brought a new set of problems with them.

This morning, he’d entered her shop without so much as a greeting and made a beeline for the first floor, where the books were. And he moved with the authority of a man with a big, fat purpose.

But that wasn't the reason why he had been on her mind.

It was due to the fact that his aura had changed, from a weak four-star body forging realm cultivator to a seven-star. She had seen him just three days back and he hadn't looked anywhere near a breakthrough then.

Her teacup paused mid-air, her fingers tightening around its rim. One thought swirled in her mind.

“Is he a demonic cultivator?” she said aloud, unable to help herself.

And more importantly, even if he was, could she kill him with the spirit cat following behind him?

She hadn’t reached that conclusion for no reason.

Qing He had seen many strange things in her centuries of life, enough to dismiss the eccentricities of most cultivators. Because they were, by nature, an odd breed. Endless pill-popping, retreating into caves for decades at a time, and emerging half-mad and wholly awkward.

But this? This was something else entirely.

No cultivator, no matter how talented or dedicated they were, leapt three stars in the body-forging realm within a single day. That was a fact as immutable as the heavens themselves. She had confirmed it with her own senses–he had been a fourth-star novice barely a week ago, and now—his aura was much more noticeable at the threshold of the eight star.

At first, she thought it could be because of pills. After all, it wasn't unreasonable. Chen Ren had recently earned a significant fortune by winning a Trial by Might.

He could’ve easily bought body-strengthening or bone-forging pills, the type used by wealthy but untalented disciples to brute-force their way through the early realms. But pills, no matter how strong they were, took time to absorb into the body. They worked with the marrow, the bones, the muscles and even the bloodline. No pills, no matter how rare or expensive they were, could slip the natural order.

So, how?

If he wasn't a demonic cultivator whose rumours had been speeding through the city, then what was he? The thought of him being a heavenly genius crossed her mind. That would at least explain the spirit cat she’d seen trailing him.

And yet,something about that explanation felt… wrong.

Her instincts, experienced over decades of watching the rising and fall of countless cultivators, rejected that idea.

No, he didn’t fit into the mould of a demonic cultivator or a prodigy.

His path felt stranger, more labyrinthine.

The truth felt like something that she couldn’t figure out just yet. And for the first time in decades, she felt curiosity bubbling inside her, and her mind felt like an itch that she couldn’t quite scratch without proper answers.

On the other hand, the mystery surrounding the man was intoxicating. She felt almost giddy, wanting to know what he was up to, who he was and how he did it.

A part of her even wanted to march towards him, block his path with a single thought and demand answers directly. Words or force, she didn’t care.

Her reverie was broken by the soft creak of footsteps, drawing her eyes toward the staircase.

Chen Ren, the man who’d clouded her very thoughts for the longest time today, emerged. He had a small stack of books balanced in his arms, and that spirit cat—his perpetual shadow, padded silently behind him.

A faint smile crossed her face as she straightened, placing the teacup in front of her and she folded her hands on the counter.

The young cultivator stopped before her, putting the books down with a casal thud. “Senior Qing He, I found these books and was hoping you could help me understand them.”

Qing He’s eyes flicked to the titles, her brow arching with each one she read. Talismans and Their Makings. Arrays and Applications. A Dumb Cultivator’s Guide to Pill Creation.

Hmm. Interesting.

Her gaze rose to meet his. “Are you… trying to learn all the cultivation disciplines at once?” she asked, a faint edge of incredulity lacing her voice.

Chen Ren grinned, an expression so disarming it nearly masked the absurdity of his response. “Actually, yes,” he said with a casual nod. “I was looking for books on spirit beasts, but these caught my eye. They seemed... interesting.”

Qing He pressed her fingers to her temple, exhaling slowly. “Interesting,” she repeated, her tone dry. “I don’t think you realize what you’re getting into. Most cultivators only dabble in secondary arts when they’ve reached a bottleneck or lack talent in pure cultivation. Sects value a skilled alchemist or array master because those talents are rare, but mastery of a secondary art is an entirely different path from cultivation itself. Few have the time—or the capability—for both.”

Chen Ren nodded thoughtfully, his grin never faltering. “That’s precisely why I want to dabble in them,” he replied, his voice carrying a conviction that caught Qing He off guard. “I believe they’ll unlock the next set of opportunities for me.”

“Opportunities? What kind of opportunities?”

His grin widened, a glimmer of mischief in his expression. “I believe you already know,” he said smoothly. “Business opportunities.”

Qing He blinked, momentarily stunned by the simplicity of his answer. She leaned back, her lips pressing into a thin line. She couldn’t understand this man or his intentions, and she was far from assuming what they were. “Business opportunities,” she repeated, shaking her head. “You’re an odd one, Chen Ren. Most cultivators seek power, enlightenment, or even revenge. And here you are, treating cultivation as a stepping stone to—what? Becoming a merchant?”

“Not just a merchant. A successful one.”

For a moment, Qing He said nothing, simply studying him. There was no hesitation in his words, no sign of doubt. If nothing else, she had to admit: his confidence was as intriguing as it was maddening.

She let her eyes linger on him, her expression an amalgam of disbelief and curiosity.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

It wasn’t the first time Chen Ren had said something so wildly unconventional. She still remembered the day he’d nonchalantly talked about founding a sect as if it were the same as opening a tea shop. Now, here he was again, speaking of mastering cultivation disciplines—not for self-defence, enlightenment, or even survival, but for business.

Her lips twitched with a mixture of amusement and incredulity. “You’re telling me, that you’re learning these—not to make pills for breakthroughs, or to protect yourself with arrays, but… for business?” She waited for his response.

He nodded, enthusiastically.

“Are you dumb?” she asked, not holding back her thoughts.

Chen Ren didn’t flinch, his grin unfaltering. “Obviously not,” he replied. “Business is my path. I’ve been doing well in the mortal market, as you’ve probably noticed, but it’s only a stepping stone. Sooner or later, I’ll need to target cultivators and to do that, I need to understand what they want to buy. These books”—he gestured to the stack on the counter—“are the key to developing products they’ll value. And, as you said, these skills can double as tools for self-defence. That’s just a bonus.”

Qing He let out a sharp laugh. “Going by your unnaturally fast breakthroughs, I seriously doubt you need more tools to defend yourself.”

Chen Ren’s expression shifted ever so slightly—a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. He met her gaze squarely. “I can see that your old eyes are still working.”

Qing He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “They work better than yours and I haven’t lived for centuries just to miss something so obvious,” she replied. “And you don’t strike me as foolish enough to think mortals would have books on cultivation disciplines. It’s clear you understand what I am.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly, his fingers drumming lightly against the counter as his eyes darted around the shop. After a moment, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “So, can you help me with these? I’ve skimmed through them, but most are written in overly formal language, full of jargon that’s hard to grasp. If I’m going to learn, I’ll need guidance. And frankly, you’re the only one I can come to.”

For a moment, Qing He was taken aback. Surprise flickered in her eyes as she studied him, searching for any sign of deceit.

The man stood tall, with his usual smile on his face. Not even the smallest falter of emotions in his eyes.

Finally, finding none, she opened her mouth, ready to reject him outright.

But then, her earlier questions about his rapid progression surfaced in her mind, tugging at her curiosity. She hesitated, the words dying on her lips. Instead, she leaned back.

“I could help you, but in exchange, I want something from you.”

Chen Ren tilted his head. “And what might that be?”

“You’re going to tell me how you’ve been progressing so fast in your cultivation.”

***

Chen Ren hesitated, his eyes shifting between the stack of books and Qing He’s steady, expectant stare. Revealing his dao wasn’t something he took lightly. By now, he understood just how rare it was.

The idea of casually sharing it with others felt similar to handing over a priceless treasure—dangerous and foolish. More importantly, if his suspicions were correct, his dao might be the thread that tethered him to a lost heavenly beast. That connection wasn’t something he wanted prying eyes on.

But again, Qing He… wasn’t just anyone. Though the woman carried herself with the aloof dignity of someone who didn’t care much for others, Chen Ren had spent enough time around her to know better. She was sharp, sure, but also bound by her word—a rare trait in a world where deceit was second nature to many. And while she sometimes acted like she’d rather be anywhere but talking to him, she’d still been honest, patient even, in their past conversations.

He sighed, leaning forward slightly. “Fine, I’ll tell you, but only if you promise—no, swear—that you’ll never speak of it to anyone.”

Qing He frowned, her forehead wrinkling as she looked at him with the same thoughtful expression she always wore. “You have my word. Now, speak.”

Chen Ren took a deep breath, steeling himself before he began to explain. He spoke carefully, omitting any mention of the dragon or the deeper mysteries he hadn’t fully unravelled himself. Instead, he focused on the essence of his path: the Dao of Money. He described the way it resonated with him, how it shaped his understanding of the world, and how it opened doors in ways few could comprehend.

As he spoke, Qing He’s expression shifted. At first, her brows furrowed in thought, her lips pressed into a thin line. Then, as the realization sank in, her jaw slackened, and the teacup, she grabbed up to take a sip, remained in mid-air. When he finished, she closed her eyes and let out a long, slow breath.

“So,” she finally said. “you’re not a demonic cultivator. You simply follow an esoteric dao… of money.”

Chen Ren nodded, a small, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “That’s right.”

She opened her eyes and set the teacup down. “And here I was, wondering if you were the soul-devouring fiend skulking through the city.”

Chen Ren blinked, caught off guard. “Wait. Why would you even think that?”

Qing He leaned back in her chair, her fingers idly tapping the armrest. “Because there’s been talk. Whispers of a demonic cultivator roaming the city, killing people and consuming their souls. It’s spreading fast—too fast. Even the city guards have ramped up their patrols to hunt the culprit down.”

Chen Ren’s brow furrowed as he processed her words. He went silent, his mind drifting to the streets he’d passed through earlier. Now that she mentioned it, the atmosphere had been strange. People moved with a cautious edge, their gazes darting to every shadow, their steps quick and lacked the usual calmness. He’d dismissed it as paranoia, but if a killer was truly on the loose, their wariness made sense.

“I did notice people acting… off,” he admitted. “But I didn’t think much of it at the time.”

Qing He studied him for a moment, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “Well, at least I can cross you off the suspect list,” she said dryly.

He paused. Unable to know what exactly to respond with, he replied, “...Thank you? And, I’m not that. I’d never do something like that.”

Qing He studied him for a moment before giving a slow nod. “You don’t carry any demonic qi—that much is certain.” Her gaze shifted slightly, landing on Yalan, who lay nonchalantly by the counter, her tail flicking lazily. “But what about your spirit beast?”

Before Chen Ren could respond, Yalan hissed with sass and spoke directly into their minds. "I’m not his."

Qing He’s other eyebrow shot up, the faintest trace of amusement flickering in her eyes as she looked back at Chen Ren. “Care to explain that one, kid?”

Chen Ren scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “She’s... complicated. Yalan isn’t just any spirit beast. She’s been the protector of my clan for generations. In this lifetime, she’s bonded to me. But,” he paused, glancing at Yalan, “I’d say she acts more like a master than anything else.”

Qing He’s lips quirked into a faint smirk, her sharp gaze flicking between him and Yalan. “Interesting. Makes me wonder about your clan, but I won’t pry further.” She let the silence settle briefly before shifting her attention to the books on the counter. “Now that my questions are answered, let’s get to business.” She tapped the top book with her finger. “I’ll help you with the basics of these disciplines, but don’t get your hopes too high. I’m no master of any of them—just someone with a baseline understanding. You’ll have to make do with that.”

Chen Ren nodded quickly, his excitement plain. “That’s more than enough for me, Senior Qing He. Where do we start?”

She slid the book on talismans toward him. “Tomorrow afternoon. Meet me at my shop, and we’ll begin with talismans. It’s as good a place to start as any.”

“Tomorrow? Why not now?” Chen Ren asked, ready to pout her way in if it would work with the old woman.

Qing He pointed out the window, her tone wry. “Because it’s already night, and unlike your young bones, mine need proper rest. I have to close up and do some reading of my own.”

From her place by the counter, Yalan let out a soft, amused snicker but said nothing.

Chen Ren nodded, his excitement dimmed only slightly. “Fair enough.” He glanced out at the darkening streets and sighed. “Either way, I need to go. One of my creditors has something of mine—a medallion—I need to collect, tonight.”

Qing He’s expression turned serious at that, her gaze narrowing. “You’re heading out this late? Be careful. The demonic cultivator hunts at night, and you don’t want to cross paths with him or her. Most of the attacks have been closer to midnight, so you might be fine, but caution is always wise.”

Chen Ren dipped into a slight bow, his tone respectful. “Thank you for the warning, Senior Qing He. I’ll be careful.”

With that, he turned and stepped out of the tea shop, the faint jingling of the bell above the door accompanying him into the night.

Yalan padded silently beside Chen Ren, her sleek form appearing noticeable even in the shadows as they moved through the quieting streets. The path to Feng Ming’s estate was familiar to him—not from this life, but from the fragmented memories he had inherited. The layout of the city’s upper side was etched firmly in his mind, making it easy to navigate the straight route from the tea shop.

The upper side of the city exuded quiet wealth, with paved roads and well-maintained lanterns emitting a steady glow, but even here, the usual hum of life seemed muted.

As they walked, Yalan’s voice brushed against his thoughts, sharp and inquisitive. "I’m curious about this demonic cultivator on the loose."

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow, glancing at her. "Why? Aren’t they a pretty staple thing in this world?"

“Staple or not, they’re not brain-dead,” she replied with a dry edge to her tone. "Even the most reckless of them would think twice before entering a city so close to a guardian sect. If a demonic cultivator is here, actively killing people, it’s not random. They’re here for a reason. And I doubt it’s a small one. I would caution you to not let your guard down, even for a moment, no matter what.”

Her words carried an unmistakable warning tone, and Chen Ren frowned slightly, his steps slowing for a brief moment. He knew she was right. He had no illusions about his strength—he had grown, yes, but not enough to take on a demonic cultivator.

He rubbed his temples as he walked. "I get it. I’ll be careful."

“Good,” Yalan said.

From what he knew, the demonic cultivators were stronger on the same level because demonic qi inherently were far more destructive. It was because they used a lot of forbidden techniques, making it always tricky to fight them.

They never played fair.

But well, she was right. He should be careful.

The streets grew quieter the further they walked. Shops were shuttered, their owners hurrying home, and even the few pedestrians Chen Ren had seen earlier seemed to vanish. The mist, which usually began creeping through the city as the night deepened, hadn’t even started to rise, yet the unease in the air was palpable.

More guards patrolled the streets than usual, their lanterns swaying as they moved in pairs, scanning the shadows with sharp eyes. Chen Ren noticed the tension in their postures and the way they gripped their weapons until their knuckles were white.

The unease was infectious.

A part of him considered turning back, leaving this errand for daylight. It would’ve been the safer choice—less risk, less tension crawling up his spine with every step. But he’d already sent a Tang Clan messenger earlier that morning to arrange a time for retrieving the medallion. The response had been clear: this hour, tonight.

And he didn’t want to delay that. He had no idea if Feng Ming wouldn't stall him if he delayed the meeting and he wanted to end the matter of his debt tonight.

So, despite the unease coiling in his chest, he pressed on, shoulders squared and steps steady. Hopefully, he thought wryly, the demonic cultivator/ serial killer is taking a well-deserved break tonight.

The attempt at humor didn’t quite dispel the tension, but it was enough to keep him moving forward.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.