Dao of Money

Chapter 102: Immortal blood

The sound of Wang Fu’s footsteps followed him as he walked through the corridor. His eyes trailed at the murals and hanging scrolls that were on the wall, depictions of legendary elders conjuring flames into dragons, phoenixes soaring above burning mountains and lone cultivators tempering themselves in volcanic infernos.

But none of that compared to the qi.

It was all around the very air he breathed, coiling around his limbs. Just standing within the inner sect hall felt nourishing. It almost felt like the air was feeding his cultivation, filling his dantian and reinforcing his bones.

A few years ago, he had been wasting away his life in the outer courtyard, a nobody with dull meridians, and no hope of advancement. He remembered the cracked tiles he slept on, the cheap knockoff pills he peddled, and the rank stench of latrines he cleaned for coins. He had no fortune to call his own, no guidance to reach his goals, he was left with only a stagnant path to nowhere.

But now? He was breathing immortality. The one that everyone in this world wished for.

Disciples passed him, bowing with respectful nods.

“Senior Brother Wang.”

“Greetings, Senior.”

He gave a slight nod, allowing himself a small smile. Not arrogance—just recognition. These weren’t the same men who used to sneer at his patched robes or mock his failed breakthroughs. These were the ones who knew what it meant to survive in the Blazing Ember Sect.

And he had done more than survive. He had chosen the forbidden path.

At first, he hesitated. But desperation had carved open his heart, and once the decision was made, there was no looking back. He had nearly lost his life to a meridian expansion cultivator during his first field trial—his arms had burned for days, and he had been forced to gnaw on spirit leaves just to dull the pain—but he had endured. And survived.

As he neared the crimson double doors at the end of the corridor, he paused. On his left, the training grounds were busy with activity.

Rows of disciples meditated cross-legged atop blackened stone platforms, their bodies bathed in ambient flame. A few sparred under the watchful eye of a golden-robed instructor, their fists alight as they shattered boulders into red-hot shards. Further along, one fool had wrapped himself in a cocoon of fire, his skin bubbling and charring, only to reform with each breath. A trial by torment—for the legendary [Infernal Carapace Technique].

Wang Fu had tried that once. Lost three toes and the ability to sit for a week.

With the power coursing through his meridians, those training grounds felt like distant memories. The techniques the outer disciples bled to master were mere sparks to him now—childish attempts at kindling flame.

Still, Wang Fu didn’t linger. His destination was ahead.

He turned from the training yard, his pace quickening until he stood before an enormous set of crimson doors. Runes were alive across their surface, shimmering beneath the surface. He paused for a breath, taking in the craftsmanship—a seal of power, a reminder of who waited inside.

Then, he pushed the door open and stepped into the inner sanctum. Immediately, he was warped with the scent of burning incense and sandalwood.

And at the heart of the room, there awaited a man.

His silver beard reached the floor. His narrow, small, beady eyes stayed closed. His robes layered in gold thread and red silk, and embroidered with phoenixes wreathed in fire. He sat unmoving.

On either side of him, two female disciples attended to him, one fanning gently, and the other pressing her soft hands onto his back, fingers glowing faintly with soothing qi.

Both were beautiful, extremely beautiful. The kind poets would write in scrolls for hours. They looked untouched by time or hardship, chosen not just for their skill but for their bond to the elder.

Wang Fu’s eyes betrayed him for a moment, lingering. But just as quickly, he averted them. They were not his to desire. They were Dao Companions of the sect raegent himself.

His gaze lowered, and without hesitation, he dropped to his knees, his forehead touching the cold stone floor.

“This lowly disciple greets Sect Regent Shen Linao, Infernal Warrior of the Empire.”

He held the bow until a rough voice broke the silence.

“Raise your head.”

Wang Fu obeyed, lifting his gaze just in time to see his master flick his eyes toward the two women. Without a word, they bowed gracefully and glided out through a side door, their presence vanishing like smoke.

Now, the room felt different.

He was alone with his master, and that meant only one thing—Something dangerous. Something secret.

The last time they had spoken privately, he’d ended up barely surviving a fight with a meridian expansion cultivator and losing three of his toes while infiltrating another sect for over a year.

Still… This was how he’d gained power. And if his master was calling him again—then something important was about to begin.

Cultivation had never been a path for the safe and the soft. It was a road paved in blood, betrayal, and endless risk. And so, Wang Fu said nothing—he simply waited.

Sect Regent Shen's voice broke the silence again, rough, like stone grinding against stone.

“Your cultivation has improved by leaps and bounds. You’re approaching the bottleneck of the foundation establishment realm. Have you faced any issues?”

Wang Fu bowed his head again—not as deep this time, but still with reverence.

“This lowly disciple is grateful for the pills and treasures Master has bestowed. Without them, I would still be stuck clawing at the threshold.”

He paused, his lips tightening for a brief moment.

“There have been... whispers. Some inner disciples are jealous. Spreading rumors, questioning my progress. But none have dared act. Not with your shadow behind me.”

His master gave an approving nod. His eyes, deep like simmering coals, held a glint of something unreadable.

“Good. My shadow brings protection... but it also casts pressure. If you want to stand further within it—and perhaps one day cast your own—you’ll need to prove you're worthy of more.”

“I’m ready,” Wang Fu said without hesitation, fists clenched against his robes. “Whatever task Master commands, I will complete it. Even if I must burn for it.”

His master's gaze lingered on him a while longer before he finally spoke.

“There are two matters that require attention. The first is regarding the medallion to the Gate of Immortals. From the information I got, it resurfaced in Cloud Mist City. One of the Chosen Immortal’s own disciples attempted to obtain it, and failed. It is still in the region… for now. The task of retrieving it has been entrusted to me.”

Wang Fu bowed again. “Do you want me to retrieve it?”

Master Shen raised a single finger, silencing him.

“Not yet. First, the second task. After the war with the Void Blade Sect, we

The Blazing Ember Sect had been searching for the vault for a while now. Now that he had decided to go there, he didn't want to give them any more time. It was prudent to clear it as soon as possible before they could even get a whiff off it.

So he moved fast.

When he told Anji about his decision, she looked visibly relieved, like a weight had been lifted.

“I wasn’t sure you’d go through with it,” she said, brushing her hair back. “But... I promise, it’ll all be worth it.”

He hoped so. Because now, it was all about preparation.

He wasn’t going to charge into the unknown like some hot-headed disciple in his first field trial. This was a sect vault—which meant traps, formations, maybe even ancient puppets or guardian beasts. Every mistake could cost them lives.

So the first question was, who was going with him?

Aside from Yalan and Anji, who were non-negotiable, Chen Ren decided on bringing only one more—Hong Yi.

There were reasons.

Zi Wen's fighting style was around his beast bonds. And if Anji’s description was accurate, the vault was built into a mountain and stretched deep underground. He didn’t want Little Yuze down there. The space would be tight, the formations would be layered, and a rampaging beast—no matter how loyal—would be a liability.

Not to mention, Zi Wen was busy these days trying to form bonds with the striker beaks, a species of flying beast that lived on the eastern edge of the surrounding forest and Chen Ren wasn’t going to pull him away from that. Those birds could fly and scout—things he might need later.

Luo Feng was too weak and not combat-oriented. A support cultivator without a strong defense was just extra weight in a place like that.

Feiyu was still refining his guns and working closely with Qing He on guns and even thinking of ways to build sniper rifles. Taking him now would just slow them all down.

But Hong Yi—Hong Yi brought something different.

His puppets were both shields and extra hands. They were reliable, durable and extremely silent. And more importantly, he had a history with secret vaults and inheritances.

So when Chen Ren mentioned the possibility of inheritance, hidden artifacts, and legacy techniques? Hong Yi agreed on the spot.

He didn’t even ask questions—just nodded, eyes already glowing with calculation as he returned to reinforce two of his older constructs.

With the team formed, Chen Ren wasted no time.

The vault wasn’t close. It would take time to reach it. So once everything was ready, they didn't delay and set off at once.

Even though all of them were cultivators, Anji wasn’t—not truly—so they decided to travel by carriage, keeping a low profile and sparing her the strain of keeping up on foot.

Inside the carriage, the ride was smooth, the rhythmic clatter of wheels against the dirt road providing a background hum. Chen Ren sat near the window, polishing a gun resting across his lap—one of the newer prototypes Feiyu had passed along.

It wasn’t as refined as the finalized model, but it would do.

Across from him, Anji raised a brow.

“Why’d you bring a gun?”

Chen Ren didn’t look up as he answered, running a cloth over the rifle.

“Testing purposes. If we come across any Tier 1 beasts, I’ll try it out. Also… helps me practice my aim. Lightning’s great, but hard to control—and right now, I’m still trash at precision.”

Anji nodded at that, settling back in her seat, but Chen Ren caught the amused glint in her eyes. He didn’t press it.

Instead, he shifted topics.

“So, how many days from the village to the vault?”

“Few days. It’s hidden pretty deep, though. Once we get there, we’ll probably be out in half a day—just need to get to the main vault, take everything and be on our way.”

“You think it’ll be that easy?”

“Why not?”

“You mentioned traps. And the vault’s entrance is near a forest. Forest means beasts. Hidden ruins usually mean layers of problems.”

Anji shrugged. “I’ve studied the place a lot. I’ve got a good idea about the outer formations and traps. I’ll handle them. The bigger issue is the guardians that protect the inner chamber. But if we reach the main vault hall, I’ll be able to handle them too. They’re programmed not to act against sect members.”

She sounded confident—too confident, if Chen Ren was honest.

He remembered her explanation from before. The guardians were puppets, constructs built to defend the inheritance chamber against outsiders. Their task was simple, protect the legacy, destroy any not of the Void Blade Sect.

That’s why Anji believed they’d let her pass. Chen Ren didn’t argue. They probably would be fine.

Still… He leaned his head back against the carriage wall, exhaling slowly. He didn’t trust things to go smoothly. Not anymore. Maybe it was paranoia. Or just experience. Things always went wrong. Even Qing He had once told him, while elbow-deep in making gunpowder, that in cultivation.

“The heavens test everyone trying to climb higher. The road to immortality is supposed to be hard.”

Chen Ren didn’t know if he believed the whole “heavens are watching” thing. Sounded a bit too dramatic. As far as he was concerned, no divine judge was needed to make life hard. Life handled that fine on its own. But the thought that there was someone alive and judging—forget about it.

He wasn’t the type to brood.

He had a good feeling that something was going to go wrong. But he’d come out on top anyway. He always did.

***

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