Chen Ren looked outside the carriage, his eyes staring off into the distance as his mind raised thoughts about currencies.

On Earth, people had started with bartering—trading goods and services to meet their needs. It was a basic system, full of flaws, but it had worked at the time. Eventually, coins appeared, shaped and made differently depending on the culture.

The Romans had their denarii, the Chinese used cash coins, and other civilizations had their own forms of money. Then came paper money—light and practical for bigger trades. Nations worldwide adopted it, tying it to a global system where its value constantly shifted due to markets and politics.

In this Xianxia world, things weren’t too different, at least for mortals. Bartering had long been replaced by a currency system of copper and silver wens, minted officially by the emperor. These coins kept the mortal markets moving. In fact, a reliable system that everyone followed.

But for cultivators, the rules were different. Their currency had always been the source of their power—Qi. More precisely, Qi in its solid form: spirit stones. These stones were like crystals, holding raw energy inside them. Their worth wasn’t decided by people but by the power they carried.

Chen Ren didn’t know exactly how much Qi was in a single stone. All he knew was that low-grade stones had less energy and weaker power, while higher-grade stones held far more Qi and were much stronger. He didn’t bother with the details. What mattered was collecting as many spirit stones as possible—for himself, his sect, and the goals he had set.

Looking down at the bag in his hands, a small smile crept onto his face. He untied the leather cord and peeked inside at the glowing pile of low-grade spirit stones. The crystals were glowing under the sunlight. He couldn’t help but raise one into the air and closely observe.

Then, he got to work.

He counted them again and grinned. Ninety stones.

He’d started with an even hundred, but before leaving Cloud Mist City, he had spent ten to secure an official status for the Divine Coin Sect. It was a hefty price, and the loss still stung a little.

“Worth it,” he muttered, tying the bag shut swiftly.

For Chen Ren, getting official sect status wasn’t about pride—it was a smart move. An official sect wasn’t only prestigious; it was a shield against heavy taxes.

Now, he didn’t have to pay the steep 20% yearly tax the local authorities collected for the capital. Even better, as his sect’s rank rose, the taxes would drop further. If he could push the Divine Coin Sect to the rank of a Guardian Sect, he wouldn’t owe any taxes at all.

The thought stuck with him, especially when he considered sects like the Soaring Sword Sect. Their endless, fat wealth wasn’t just from their resources; their high status freed them from any tax obligations.

Chen Ren’s hand brushed the pouch of spirit stones tied to his waist as he sat deep in thought. Until a feline voice broke through the silence.

“What are you thinking about with that serious face? You look like you’ve just spotted a meridian expansion realm fish and can’t decide if you should catch it or let it swim away.”

Blinking, Chen Ren turned toward the voice. Yalan, his sharp-tongued feline companion, sprawled lazily across Tang Xiulan’s lap in the carriage. The pair of ambers glinted mischievously as her tail flickered.

To her left, the street children huddled together under a thick blanket, fast asleep. Up front, Anji held the reins behind the small window, her face set with extreme focus as she steered the carriage. She’d insisted on driving to prove herself, tackling the job without a word of complaint.

Chen Ren sighed, leaning back. Mentally, he replied to Yalan, “I was just thinking about spirit stones and how to turn our sect into a Guardian Sect.”

Yalan snorted, her whiskers twitching as if the idea amused her. “Our sect? Last I checked, I haven’t joined anything.”

Chen Ren couldn’t help but smile at her predictable attitude. She’d always been like this.

Shaking his head, he replied, “Stop acting like you don’t care. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

Yalan opened her mouth, ready to speak, but Chen Ren ignored her, pulling out a notebook and quill instead. He began writing. The notebook was something he’d recently decided to maintain—a detailed status of his progress and plans.

The pages already contained his name, age, cultivation level, elemental affinity, techniques, and businesses like a status screen. After a moment of thought, he added a new section: Goals.

1. Uncover the secrets of the medallion and the golden dragon.

2. Explore opportunities for new businesses.

3. Expand the sect.

As he finished jotting down the last line, Yalan’s voice cut through his focus again.

“Alright,” she said. “Let’s say I decide to help you out. I need to know what I’m helping with. You’ve left your businesses behind to play sect leader, but if you want my help, I need to hear your plans—to see if you’re brilliant or just plain stupid.”

Chen Ren smiled wryly, his quill pausing mid-air. Yalan’s bluntness wasn’t new to him, but he also knew her well enough to see through her words. If she’d truly doubted him, she wouldn’t have stayed by his side this long.

Looking up at her, he replied, “First of all, I didn’t leave my businesses behind. They’re in capable hands. I’ll get reports on their progress every two months, and I trust they’ll run smoothly without me micromanaging. Second, as for plans...” He trailed off, his gaze flicking briefly to Tang Xiulan and the children sleeping soundly beside her.

“We do need to talk about that,” he admitted, his tone softening. “A sect isn’t built on ambition alone.”

Yalan tilted her head, her tail swishing as if to urge him to continue.

Chen Ren turned toward Tang Xiulan and put his hand on her shoulders. Her eyes fluttered open, sharp and alert despite the long journey.

“Xiulan,” he began, “I think it’s time we discuss what’s next—what happens when we reach Meadow Village.”

It took a moment for her to reorient herself before she nodded, sitting up straighter. “I’ve been waiting for this conversation, young master. I need to know what you expect from me.”

The air in the carriage grew heavier, but not with tension—with purpose. Chen Ren’s mind spun with possibilities, but now, it was time to turn ideas into action.

"Yes, the first thing should be setting up a base. We’ll hire locals to start construction on a proper sect building. I’ve already sketched out a few plans for that. Once the groundwork is laid, the second priority will be recruitment. You, Anji, and the kids are a great start, but we’ll need more hands—especially cultivators. A sect without cultivators won’t last long. And if trouble comes, there won’t be many people to defend it besides me and—"

Before he could finish, Tang Xiulan interrupted, her voice calm but knowing. “Yalan.”

Chen Ren froze, his eyes widening. “You know?”

Xiulan nodded. “I saw it during the tournament, when she tried to break the barrier. Others were panicking and running, but I wasn’t willing to flee, so I noticed.” Her gaze softened as she looked down at Yalan, gently patting the cat’s sleek fur.

Yalan stiffened slightly at the unexpected gesture, her amber eyes narrowing, but instead of snapping, she allowed it. After a moment, she spoke, her tone carrying an air of haughty amusement. “Well, my dignified self doesn’t have to pretend to be an ordinary cat anymore.”

Xiulan’s eyes widened, her hand stopping mid-stroke. A gasp escaped her lips as she bore her eyes towards the cat. “She... she can talk?”

Chen Ren chuckled, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small grin. “Well, there’s that.” He leaned back, his posture relaxing slightly. “Yalan is... sort of my mentor, or maybe master. Call it whatever you like. She’s also agreed to act as a defender for the sect.”

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

Yalan let out a small, approving hum, her tail flicking lazily.

“But,” Chen Ren continued, his tone growing serious again, “we can’t rely on just two people to protect the sect. That’s why recruitment is so important. We need people—dedicated cultivators—who can help us grow and defend this place when the time comes.”

Tang Xiulan sat silently, her brows furrowed in thought. After a moment, she spoke hesitantly, “But, young master, why would cultivators join our sect? I don’t mean to question you, but… we’ve built no real reputation outside of your businesses, and those are confined to one city. Most cultivators would prefer to remain rogue than join a new, untested sect. And the ones we do get would likely be—”

“The throwaways,” Chen Ren interrupted. “The ones no one wants. The so-called trash. And that’s fine. I’m not looking for cultivators with unique physiques or a large number of spirit roots. We can do a lot with those who have few spirit roots.”

Xiulan blinked, her lips parting to ask, “How?”

“Do you know how many roots I have?”

She hesitated, clearly wracking her brain for an answer, before finally shaking her head. “No, I don’t.”

“Twenty one,” Chen Ren said simply.

Xiulan’s eyes widened in shock. “Twenty one? But that’s—”

“Abysmal?” he finished with a faint smile. “Yes, I know. And yet, despite that, I’ve been growing faster than most would expect. If I can do it, why can’t someone else?”

Before Xiulan could respond, Yalan’s voice cut in. “Are you forgetting you’re an exception, Chen Ren? Your case isn’t something others can just replicate.”

“Maybe I am an exception. Maybe I’m not. But one thing I’ve learned about myself is that I’m not as special as I sometimes think I am. And even if I am special, I know for a fact that I’m not the only one. Do you really believe there’s only one esoteric Dao in existence? There are countless paths, countless ways to grow.”

Yalan’s tail twitched, but she didn’t interrupt as he continued.

“No one ever said cultivation has to be about fighting, popping pills like a drug addict, or meditating for centuries to progress. That’s just what the Martial Dao has popularized. But cultivation isn’t limited to that. We can think beyond it. We can create something different—a place where growth doesn’t come with the weight of expectations or the burden of conformity.”

Tang Xiulan’s shock slowly melted into contemplation, her gaze softening as she absorbed his words. “A different kind of sect,” she murmured.

Chen Ren nodded. “Exactly. A sect where anyone willing to work hard and think differently can find a place to belong—and grow.”

Yalan let out a soft, amused snort. “Well, that’s certainly ambitious. But I suppose ambition is a good start.”

Chen Ren smiled faintly. “Ambition, a plan, and the right people. That’s all we need.”

Yalan tilted her head. “Mmm, not a bad thought, but finding people like that will be difficult. There's a reason they’re called esoteric Daos—rare and elusive.”

“We won’t know until we start looking. Besides, I’m not planning to rely solely on cultivators for protection.”

Xiulan and Yalan both tilted their heads, curious.

“You two already know my plans to bring mortals into the sect,” he continued.

They nodded, waiting for him to elaborate.

“We just need to give them tools to defend themselves,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Tools that can do real damage, at least against lower-realm cultivators.”

Yalan frowned, her ears twitching. “What kind of tools are you talking about?”

Before Chen Ren could respond, Anji’s voice rang out from the front of the carriage. “We’re nearing the village!”

Chen Ren immediately leaned out the carriage window, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. The landscape opened up before him—a vast expanse of wide plains framed by distant mountains. A dirt road stretched out ahead, winding toward their destination. In the far distance, he could just make out wooden walls. Though they were still far away, his enhanced eyesight allowed him to spot the faint outline.

“Do you want to rest, Anji?” he called out.

She waved him off without looking back. “I’m fine! The village is close anyway. If nothing goes wrong, we’ll get there in forty-five minutes.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than a deep, guttural growl echoed from the forest around them. The carriage shuddered to a halt, and the air grew tense.

The children jolted awake, their wide eyes darting around in fear. “What’s going on?” one of them asked, his voice trembling.

Xiulan leaned out of her seat. “What was that?”

“Probably a wolf beast,” Yalan said nonchalantly. She spoke through mind keeping the kids from finding her identity. “Low tier most likely. We didn’t hear of any stronger ones in this area. But wolves usually move in packs. If they’re around, it’s better to deal with them now before they start chasing us.”

“Stay inside.”

Chen Ren stepped out of the carriage, leaving them inside.

Yalan leaped out gracefully, landing beside him. She stretched, her claws extending slightly. “If they’re weak, you can handle them. If not, I’ll jump in.”

Chen Ren smirked. “Good to know you’ve got my back.”

The forest remained eerily silent for a moment, the growl from earlier still echoing faintly in their minds. Then, a rustling sound came from the underbrush, followed by the unmistakable sound of low growls.

Chen Ren tightened his grip on the weapon—a sleek spear with runes etched along its length for more piercing damage and durability, the gift from the city lord.

He glanced over his shoulder at Anji, who was frozen in place, her hands gripping the reins tightly. Her face was pale, but she wasn’t panicking, just waiting for instructions.

“Get inside the carriage,” he said calmly, his tone firm but not harsh. “I’ll handle this.”

Anji blinked, then nodded wordlessly, climbing into the carriage with a speed that belied her hesitation. The children huddled together, watching anxiously as the door shut behind her.

Just as Chen Ren turned his focus back to the forest, another growl cut through the tense silence. It was louder, closer. His sharp eyes scanned the dense foliage, his muscles coiled like a spring.

For a long moment, nothing happened. The forest seemed unnaturally still, the usual sounds of rustling leaves and chirping insects absent. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, a dark blur shot out from the trees.

It was a wolf—larger than he’d expected. Its fur was pitch black, almost blending into the shadows of the trees, and its teal eyes gleamed with predatory hunger. It leaped from the trees, aiming directly at Chen Ren with its jaws wide open, sharp teeth glinting menacingly.

***

Haoran looked at the stack of letters piled high on the ornate desk in their office. These were the reports sent to their department from all across the Kalian Empire, a routine correspondence from every corner of the realm. Sorting through them had become a habit since they had taken on the role of one of the attendants to Princess Yanyue.

This practice wasn’t new; it was a system established by the previous emperor near the end of his reign. Under this system, every ruler—from the smallest village chief to the most powerful city lord—was required to submit a monthly report detailing the events within their jurisdiction. These reports covered everything from mundane administrative updates to notable discoveries, such as hidden artifacts or emerging talents.

The purpose was clear: to ensure the royal family remained informed of anything unusual or promising, no matter how remote or minor it might seem. From these reports, key information would be carefully cataloged, creating a detailed repository of knowledge that allowed the royal family to keep tabs on potential threats, opportunities, and the shifting dynamics of power within the empire.

Of course, the system wasn’t perfect. Not everything made it into the letters. Talents were often concealed, kept hidden by their families or patrons to protect them from royal scrutiny—or exploitation. Ancient ruins weren't informed about, not letting the royal family get their hands on it. And then there were the lords who deliberately withheld vital information, preferring to keep their findings to themselves rather than share them with a royal family that had, over time, become little more than observers.

Still, the letters were a window into the empire’s pulse, and Haoran knew better than to overlook them. Even the smallest detail could hold the key to something extraordinary—or disastrous. With a quiet sigh, they picked up the first letter, the seal still unbroken, and began to read.

It was already well into the day when the attendant found himself still sorting through the mountain of letters. Some reports were dry, simply confirming the usual—everything normal, no disturbances to report. Others, however, contained more intriguing tidbits. One lord in the northern region, Zhang Ma, mentioned a mountain that had been destroyed—possibly a result of a clash between high-realm cultivators or a battle with a powerful beast. The lord had little proof, but the attendant found it noteworthy. Another report detailed the discovery of a new ghost ruin on the western side of the empire, while others spoke of skirmishes between the barbarians and the border lords.

As the attendant moved through the letters, one report from the City Lord of Cloud Mist, Li Baolong caught his eye. For a while, the letter seemed uneventful, just like the others—nothing but routine updates. He half-expected it to be the same as always, filled with trivial matters.

But as he reached the middle section, the attendant's eyes widened more with every passing line. It started innocuously enough—just a mention of a demonic cultivator on the loose, then the annual tournament. But then, the mention of an unexpected turn of events in the tournament caught his attention. A cultivator, once insignificant and unknown, had killed the demonic figure—Gu Tian. The report said the cultivator was blessed by the golden dragon itself and had even earned the nickname of “Dragonheart.”

The attendant blinked, unsure if he had misread it. He read the passage again, his heart thudding in his chest. Then he read it one more time, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. There were no disclaimers, no signs of humor. It wasn’t a joke. It was written in an official report, which made it even more impossible to dismiss.

Lying in an official letter was considered a serious crime, one no lord would risk, especially not for something as absurd as this. No, this had to be true. He could feel a chill running down his spine as it settled in. A dragon—the dragon—had appeared in the empire after thousands of years.

The attendant didn’t hesitate. Normally, he would have set the letter aside, continued his work, and moved on to the next report. But this... this was far beyond his usual duties. The implications of this discovery were monumental, and there was only one person he needed to inform.

Without wasting a second, the attendant gathered the letter in his hands, his heart still racing, and left his chambers.

***

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