Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 122: Chu Qin Sect Martial Assembly

“Those two have real aptitude. Worth nurturing.”

Wei Minniang sat beside Qi Xiu, murmuring her assessment as the youngest group’s final match unfolded below. Qin Siguo versus Zhao Yao—both had won every previous bout. The winner would claim the prize for their age bracket.

Both children were at Qi Refining Layer 1. Zhao Yao had started learning characters later than most and her Spiritual Root was a messy mix, so her reserves ran shallower than Qin Siguo’s. Right now she was on the back foot, scrambling to keep up.

Still, the girl had grown up hard. Her will was iron. Even as sweat plastered her fringe to her forehead, she refused to fold.

Qi Xiu nodded with a faint smile. More talent in the sect was never a bad thing. But watching Zhao Yao duck and weave, barely staying alive, he frowned and leaned closer to his wife.

“She’s already ten. Body’s starting to change. How is she still dressing and acting like a tomboy? You’re the matriarch of Chu Qin Sect. Stop focusing all your energy on yourself and Yue’er. Teach the girl some proper feminine arts while you’re at it.”

Wei Minniang’s cheeks flushed. She opened her mouth to retort—

—but the arena changed.

Zhao Yao suddenly dropped low, rolling through a barrage of Qin Siguo’s strikes with the exact slippery Spirit Monkey Movement Art Gu Ji had once created. She closed the gap in a heartbeat. Using every ounce of her slight size advantage and the fact that girls mature earlier, she planted one solid kick into his midsection and sent him sprawling.

Bai Xiaosheng raised a hand. “Match over. Zhao Yao wins.”

“Not fair! She cheated!”

Qin Siguo scrambled up, red-faced and yelling, eyes brimming. The sight of the indignant little boy—tears trembling on his lashes—was so earnest that the entire crowd burst into warm laughter.

Wei Yue’er, no longer the clingy toddler she used to be, had been sitting primly at the small table beside her mother, slowly savoring snacks with the careful poise of a young lady. But the second she saw her best friend win, she leapt up, squealing and clapping until her palms turned pink—every bit the excited child again.

Bai Xiaosheng crouched down to Qin Siguo’s level, voice gentle.

“Winning is winning. She didn’t break any rules. That movement art she used? It was created by our Senior Brother Gu. Back in the day, with only Qi Refining Layer 2, he relied on that exact set of footwork to defeat a late-stage Qi Refining cultivator and shook the whole Black River region. But you know how he died? An old mortal hunter in White Mountain Forest caught him off guard with a hidden projectile. The lesson is simple: the Dao of combat is about victory. Not about how fancy your techniques are, not about magical treasures, and certainly not about who has the higher cultivation. Understand?”

Qin Siguo sniffled, thought it over, then bowed properly to everyone and stepped down.

Qi Xiu heard Gu Ji’s name spoken aloud and felt the old scar tear open again. Grief flickered across his face before he could hide it.

A soft hand settled over the back of his own.

Wei Minniang had noticed. She didn’t say anything—just pressed gently, letting him know she understood.

He gave her a small, grateful look that said I’m alright, then rose.

“Zhao Yao is the winner of the youth bracket.” He produced the promised tiny first-grade flying sword and presented it. The girl’s eyes lit up like lanterns. She bowed, waved excitedly at Wei Yue’er, and scampered off the platform.

Now came the main event.

The adult bracket would use single-elimination by lot—plenty of room for surprises.

Qi Xiu gave the usual opening remarks about rules and sportsmanship, then reached into the box and drew the first pairing.

He looked at the slip. A wry grin tugged at his mouth.

“First match: Zhan Yuan versus Bai Muhan!”

A husband-and-wife showdown right out of the gate.

The crowd erupted in hoots and laughter. Pan Rong and Shen Chang—Zhan Yuan’s closest cronies—were the loudest.

Zhan Yuan’s ears went scarlet. He strode down to the arena anyway, blustering, “Fine! Let’s fight! This is a man’s business—even if the opponent is my own wife!”

The bravado was paper-thin. Everyone laughed harder.

Bai Muhan glided down after him, gave a graceful curtsy, and said sweetly, “Since it’s a man’s business, this humble wife begs her great lord husband to go easy on her.”

“Easy, no problem!” Zhan Yuan answered instantly—then immediately betrayed himself by flicking a silver needle talisman at her while simultaneously throwing up an elemental barrier.

Adult matches followed Black River Market rules. Talismans, treasures, everything was fair game.

Bai Muhan’s cultivation outclassed his by a wide margin. She sidestepped the needles without effort, summoned her signature eight-faced little hammer, and began tapping—methodically, almost lazily—at his shield.

Zhan Yuan, determined to uphold the dignity of the household, unleashed a dazzling stream of talismans in response. He poured everything into the barrage.

Every single one was intercepted by Bai Muhan’s second-grade Magnetic Light Emerald-Green Hairpin Step-Sway. She moved through the storm like someone taking a stroll on a spring day.

Slowly, patiently, she chipped away at the elemental barrier until it flickered on the verge of collapse.

Zhan Yuan reached for another talisman to reinforce it.

Bai Muhan seized the opening. A golden dart talisman flashed from her sleeve, shattered the shield, and her little hammer tapped him—ever so gently—across the cheek.

Bai Xiaosheng smiled. “Match over. Bai Muhan wins.”

Bai Muhan curtsied again, voice soft and teasing. “It’s not that I didn’t want to let my husband win. It’s just… watching him burn through so many expensive talismans pained my heart. I had no choice. Please forgive your wife.”

Zhan Yuan’s face had thickened considerably over the years—almost rivaling Qi Xiu’s now. He didn’t look embarrassed at all.

He turned to the crowd, grinning. “Letting my wife win? Nothing shameful about that. Right, brothers?”

“Right!”

Pan Rong and Shen Chang bellowed in unison, forcefully salvaging what dignity they could.

The stands dissolved into another round of laughter. Yu Deno kept shaking his head, muttering “Shameless… utterly shameless,” though no one was entirely sure who he meant.

Qi Xiu drew the next lot. Another chuckle escaped him.

“Second match: Pan Rong versus Shen Chang!”

The two men who had just been shouting encouragement for Zhan Yuan instantly deflated. They exchanged a miserable glance, then trudged down to the arena like condemned prisoners.

And so it went—cheerful, good-natured, almost familial.

Eventually the bracket whittled down to four.

The biggest upset of the day came from Mo Jianxin. The quiet young man at Qi Refining Layer 2 somehow defeated Wei Minniang herself, then went on to beat the winner between Pan Rong and Shen Chang in the playoff.

Old Mo Guinnong sat in the stands, beard bristling with pride, grinning so wide it looked painful.

Qi Xiu was genuinely happy for him.

Wei Minniang might be at Layer 5, but everyone knew the truth: back then the Wei family had fed her miracle pills to forcibly raise her cultivation—just so she would look good enough on paper when she married into her first husband’s clan. Cultivation had never really interested her. These days she spent her time doting on Yue’er and trying (with considerable enthusiasm) to give Qi Xiu an heir. When it came to actual combat, she was hopeless. Losing was no surprise.

“Next round: Zhang Shishi versus Bai Muhan!”

The two stepped onto the platform and saluted.

Zhang Shishi immediately shook out a heavy first-grade shield and planted it in front of him—his fourth Mysterious Yellow Tower Shield. The previous three had been shattered respectively in the Black River Lizard battle, the Nameless Valley ambush, and the Scripture Pavilion defense. Each broken shield had marked one of Chu Qin Sect’s many near-death experiences.

Bai Muhan’s expression grew serious. She might be quicker on her feet and more adaptable, but the aura Zhang Shishi carried—the weight of a man who had repeatedly fought for his life—was impossible to ignore.

They tested each other briefly.

Seeing that she couldn’t crack his defense easily, Zhang Shishi gave a low shout and summoned his second-grade Profound Earth Vast Life Tower, bringing it crashing down.

Bai Muhan cycled through several countermeasures in rapid succession.

But in the end, brute force conquers all techniques.

On the third hammer blow, she could no longer hold. The tower smashed through her guard.

Bai Xiaosheng raised his hand. “Zhang Shishi wins.”

Then, to Zhang Shishi himself: “Your shield and tower work is becoming purer and more refined. But you rely too heavily on frontal defense. The openings are too large. You need to address that weakness sooner rather than later.”

Zhang Shishi had long known his flaw. He bowed deeply and asked for guidance.

Bai Xiaosheng considered for a moment.

“Both artifacts consume tremendous Spiritual Qi. If you try to patch the holes with more treasures, you’ll only drain yourself faster. I once gained some insight from Senior Brother Gu’s Spirit Monkey Movement Art. I’ve been working on a personal style—combining that footwork with weapon-dance principles into a complete shield-dance technique. It’s not finished yet. When it is, I’ll teach it to you.”

Zhang Shishi’s face lit up. He bowed again and again in gratitude.

Bai Xiaosheng might not be much of a frontline fighter, but his insight and experience among Foundation Building cultivators were almost unmatched. To create an original technique in so short a time? That was the mark of real genius.

The final match of the round: Qin Weiyu versus Mo Jianxin.

Qin Weiyu was slow-witted, but he had one virtue—single-minded persistence. Even when his future looked bleak, he spent year after year grinding away at meditation and cultivation.

Bai Xiaosheng had once tailored a special Blackstem Swamp Orchid (Blackstem Swamp Orchid – a rare aquatic spiritual herb with strong affinity for gathering and stabilizing Spiritual Qi) array for him in the spirit-gathering formation on Black River Peak. The synergistic effect far surpassed simply carrying a single stalk. Today Qin Weiyu stood at Qi Refining Layer 3—higher than the far more clever Pan Rong, Shen Chang, and Yu Jing.

He had even awakened a natural talent: Blackstem Swamp Orchid Array.

His previous opponent had been the newcomer Ming Jiu. Victory was never in doubt.

Mo Jianxin, meanwhile, had won his earlier matches thanks to the first-grade Illusory Moon Spirit Sword he had personally refined using water-tempering techniques. The sword fit his nature perfectly. Under Bai Xiaosheng’s guidance, he had also awakened one of its innate abilities: Bright Moon Hanging High.

But against Qin Weiyu… problems arose.

Illusory Moon was, at its core, a moonlight diffusion phenomenon—excellent for amplifying illusions and clouding the mind.

Bright Moon Hanging High specialized in dispelling illusions and clearing the heart.

Against an opponent like Qin Weiyu—dull, stubborn, straightforward as a brick—both abilities might as well have been nonexistent.

The match began.

Qin Weiyu activated his Blackstem Swamp Orchid Array. Countless black, whip-like stems erupted across the platform, snaking toward Mo Jianxin.

Mo Jianxin spun his flying sword in a protective ring, slicing through the vines as fast as they came.

But the Blackstem Swamp Orchid was endless, regenerating faster than he could cut.

Soon enough the vines began to press in. Mo Jianxin found himself steadily losing ground.

Water-tempering techniques teach patience above all else. He stayed calm, refusing to panic, maintaining his defense through sheer endurance.

The stalemate dragged on.

Eventually it became a pure contest of Spiritual Qi reserves.

After three full sticks of incense, Qin Weiyu—despite having a slight cultivation advantage—could no longer sustain the enormous drain of maintaining a field-control innate ability. He collapsed first.

In the end, Zhang Shishi and Mo Jianxin earned the two slots to represent Chu Qin Sect at the Black River Market arena tournament.