Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 120: The Arena Draws Near

Qin Ji had finally shown his hand. The intent was plain as day—he was done swallowing pride. This trip to Qi Yun? He’d beg the Qi Yun Chu clan to carve out a formal place for the Qins, something solid and titled. What he didn’t know—what he could never know—was how deep Qi Xiu’s private ties ran with the South Chu Chu clan. Even if the Qi Yun branch wanted to yank the sect leader seat away, they’d have to get past Chu Hongchang first. A hundred percent impossible.

Qin Ji’s dreams were moon in water—pretty reflections, never real. Qi Xiu felt certain of it. Let the man make his noise. When he came back broken, there’d be time to clean up the mess.

Qin Ji was nothing more than an irritating rash—annoying, but hardly fatal. The real storm was closing in fast.

“The Black River Market’s ten-year arena bout is locked in—fifteen months from now. Rules are drafted. Sect Leader Senior Brother, take a look.”

Zhan Yuan slid a slim booklet across the table. Qi Xiu cracked it open. Pages crammed tight, over a hundred clauses, every detail nitpicked to death. He skimmed, then passed it to Zhang Shishi beside him.

Frowning at Zhan Yuan: “Why so many rules?”

“Ten years of fat profits for anyone who put down roots in the market. Everyone’s watching like hawks this time. Some of the bigger sects have real backing—Guanghui Pavilion can’t afford to be sloppy.” Zhan Yuan’s eyes gleamed with a predator’s hunger. “He Yu should hit peak Qi Refining by then. We’ve got a real shot.”

Fifteen years grinding in that market had turned it into home for him. Only inside those two Chu Qin shops did he call the shots. Now the chance to climb higher? His blood was up.

“Guanghui spitting out so many shops—any hit to our two?” Zhang Shishi flipped through the booklet, passed it on to Yu Denou, Mo Guinong, the rest.

Zhan Yuan shook his head. “None. We were one of the original four founders. When Guanghui moved in, they swore hands-off on our shops forever.”

Back then Qi Xiu had started four: one kept by Chu Qin, one to Wang Guan, one to Zhao Liangde, one to Chu Youmin. Times changed. Wang Guan’s ended up with Chu Qin. Zhao Liangde’s went to Beast Taming Sect. Chu Youmin’s auction house? Now under Chu Youguang.

Qi Xiu snorted. “At least they left us some scraps.”

“Heh. That new outer ring might turn our corner into prime real estate again.” Zhan Yuan unfolded a map. The old market layout, plus a fresh outer band of land circling it—chunks close to Chu Qin’s holdings. Prize territory for the upcoming bouts.

If the new zone boomed, their two shops would ride the wave.

Good news. Nods rippled around the hall.

“Guanghui carved out twenty-four plots in the new area. Last decade they handed out fifty-plus; now they’re clawing twenty-four back. Forty-eight total up for grabs. Bouts split Foundation and Qi Refining. Foundation fights for the fat central blocks. Qi Refining scrambles for the edges—but even those are solid.” Zhan Yuan traced circles on the map—prime picks he figured He Yu could claim.

Yu Denou’s brows shot up. “Twenty-four? Guanghui actually coughing up meat they already swallowed?”

“Most belong to small sects that fouled up the last decade—fake pills, customer scams. Stripped of operating rights. The big players couldn’t look too greedy, so they tossed in the worse locations to make up the number.” Zhan Yuan fielded the follow-up questions one by one.

Once the last doubt cleared, Qi Xiu leaned forward. “We’re classed second-tier this time. Three Qi Refining fighters, one Foundation. Who goes?”

“He Yu’s locked in.” Zhang Shishi ticked off on his fingers. No argument—twenty-eight years old, Qi Refining Tenth Layer. Unquestionable. “What about Senior Bai?”

Qi Xiu actually laughed. “Him? He flat-out said when he joined—no arena nonsense. Even if he did, against real Foundation elites? He’d get shredded. Now, if it was a debate contest… he might sweep the board.”

Laughter rolled through the hall. Bai Xiaosheng hadn’t been around long, but everyone had his measure by now. Classics, geography, gossip, old tales—he dominated. Real combat? Someone might skip tiers and flatten him.

Zhan Yuan joined the chuckle. Bai Xiaosheng’s reforms had hit him hardest—son-in-law status first in the crosshairs. If He Yu ever became Elder, Zhan Yuan’s shot at sect leader was dead. So he’d stopped competing with Zhang Shishi, doubled down on his market corner instead. Warm feelings toward his father-in-law? Long gone.

“Then who for Foundation?” Zhang Shishi’s gaze drifted to the two Qi Refining Eighth Layers present—Qi Xiu and Yu Denou, top of the ladder under He Yu.

Qi Xiu shook his head. “Not me. Under the current rules, I’ve got zero chance anyway. Better give the young ones experience.”

Yu Denou waved it off too. “Count me out. I’ve bled for this sect plenty—two life-or-death scrapes. I’ve earned the right to say no.”

Silence settled. Truth sat heavy: aside from He Yu, nobody stood a real chance. Iron fact.

Qi Xiu exhaled. “Same here. I know my limits—barely better than Denou. Let the youngsters try.”

Eyes met around the table. No obvious picks. Chu Qin’s foundation still shallow—old men, kids, one standout in the middle. Qi Xiu progressed fast, but his talents ran everything except fighting. Dead end.

Wei Minniang’s voice cut through from the side. “Why the blank stares? You can’t just think your way to an answer. They’ve never fought each other—how do you know who’s strongest? Hold our own sect tournament first. Winner goes. Fair. Fun. Done.”

Qi Xiu shot her an appreciative glance. “Why didn’t I think of that? Other sects run these regularly—keeps the edge sharp. We never bothered when numbers were tiny. Now’s perfect. One stone, two birds. If it works, make it tradition—every few years.”

No objections. Voices overlapped, hashing out details. Chu Qin’s first southern-era internal trial took shape right there.