Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 10: Funeral in the Ruins

Qi Xiu stepped back into the west side hall and the world narrowed to one cold, lonely figure beneath a yellow talisman sheet.

He knelt, kowtowed until his forehead bruised the floor, then crawled forward on his knees to straighten his master’s robes for the coffin.

A sect leader’s funeral should shake heaven and earth—seven days of mourning, a thousand disciples in white, spirit banners snapping in the wind.

Now they had three days, a borrowed mountain, and no one who cared.

Qi Xiu glanced toward the main plaza. The “loyal” disciples he had just threatened were huddled by the doors, whispering and pointing. Not one crossed the threshold.

“Master… you really didn’t make many friends, did you?”

He spoke softly, the way close friends tease each other over wine.

“Will I end up the same? Just as pathetic?”

The thought slipped out unbidden. He shook his head hard, chasing it away.

“If I give everything I have, treat people with sincerity… even if I never achieve greatness, someone will remember the effort when I’m gone. Right?”

Outside, dawn broke. Early-rising invaders began reporting to their new puppet leader. Some wore the old vermilion robes—turncoats. Words were exchanged; voices rose; the puppet leader had to bark them quiet.

Qi Xiu watched and quietly crossed half the remaining names off his mental list.

Those people were never boarding any ship south.

An old man shuffled in—Huang-Zuo Clan, sent by the puppet leader to “assist” with the funeral.

The first person to offer real help was from the enemy camp.

Qi Xiu almost laughed.

Old Zhan had buried more cultivators than most sects had disciples. He rattled off procedures like a marketplace auntie haggling prices: coffin, burial clothes, incense, timing—everything decided in the space of one incense stick.

There was no coffin prepared; the old sect leader had never expected to die in bed. They made a list of mortal necessities from the sect’s emergency stores—stores the three sects had already looted once. Since the puppet leader had promised cooperation, he wouldn’t quibble over a few planks of spirit-cypress.

Old Zhan left to fetch materials.

Two young men slipped in right behind him—quiet background faces from the twenty-three survivors. Qi Xiu barely remembered their names, which meant they had stayed out of the earlier scheming. Good enough.

The older one, Zhang Shishi, twenty-two, bowed awkwardly.

Single Life-Bound Essence, single spiritual root—like Qi Xiu—but his essence was some nameless merit stele lost in the infinite worlds. He had at least found a half-useful Companion Object and scraped over the third-layer hurdle to Qi Refining fifth layer.

The younger, Zhan Yuan, twenty-one, mediocre triple roots, still second layer.

Both shy, both honest. They rolled up sleeves without being asked.

While they worked, they brought news.

Scripture-keeper Zhang had tried one last time to rally a faction and leave for “better prospects.” About ten followed him down the mountain at dawn. They would not return.

Sister Qin had tried to organize a palace coup. Only the women clutching babies listened. The rest—mostly non-Qin surnames—ignored her. After yesterday’s betrayal, nobody wanted another Qin on the throne.

Qi Xiu snorted. “The Qin Clan… none of them are wired normally.”

Elder Qin had murdered his own sect for pride.

Qin Siyan had sold it for love.

Sister Qin—sweetest woman alive—had turned into a screaming harpy the moment bloodline was threatened.

Old Zhan returned with coffin wood and shrouds. The four of them washed and dressed the body in silence. One night of visitation, one night of vigil, burial at tomorrow’s dawn—that was all the time the living could spare the dead.

Zhan Yuan was dispatched to Chu-Qin Town to inform the mortal Qin lord of the migration south.

Zhang Shishi and Old Zhan stayed to keep vigil with Qi Xiu.

Night fell.

A steady trickle of visitors came—some sincere, most not. Invaders burning fake incense, shedding crocodile tears now that victory was assured.

Near midnight Sister Qin arrived, child on hip, female disciples trailing. She lit incense, kowtowed, then launched into the same tired speech about “returning the seat to proper Qin blood.”

Qi Xiu let her talk until her voice cracked, then cut in gently.

“I can promise this: if any Qin descendant ever proves worthy by cultivation and character, they will have priority for succession.”

She argued circles around it. He never budged. Finally she left, defeated and bitter.

Next morning four more disciples drifted in—quiet, ashamed, but willing. With Old Zhan directing and invaders lending muscle for appearances, the burial procession actually looked respectable.

They laid Sect Leader Qi in the back-mountain cemetery beside generations of ancestors, under a simple stele that read only:

Third-Generation Sect Leader Qi Changfeng

Lived for the sect, died for the sect

Zhan Yuan returned at noon, face grave.

“Lord Qin Ye—the mortal land steward—passed away yesterday. Almost the exact hour as Master.”

Qi Xiu’s heart clenched.

Last month the old lord had made a “delivery trip” for the sect… the same trip Qi Xiu had made to Clear River Market.

“He came back exhausted,” Zhan Yuan continued quietly. “Never recovered. Died two days ago.”

The Qin household was in chaos—new mortal overseers appointed by the three sects, branch families squabbling. The direct-line heir was a terrified sixteen-year-old boy named Qin Ji.

“He said he understands, but needs to discuss with the family.”

Qi Xiu exhaled a long, tired breath.

“Message delivered. That’s enough. We’ll ask the Chu Clan what to do with the mortal branch later.”

He looked toward the fresh grave, then at the handful of disciples waiting for orders—twelve souls in total, plus one toddler.

Three days.

Then south.

To whatever waited in the wilderness.

【Terminology Updates – Chapter 10】

- Zhang Shishi (张世石): Qi Refining 5th layer, single earth root crippled by nameless merit-stele essence

- Zhan Yuan (展元): Qi Refining 2nd layer, triple spiritual roots

- Qin Ji (秦继): sixteen-year-old new mortal heir of the Qin direct line