Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 124: He Yu Withdraws

“Nothing serious. Just heart strain and some damage to his foundation. A good long rest and he’ll recover.”

Qi Xiu pretended to take Mo Jianxin’s pulse, letting his See Human Nature talent sweep over the boy in one quick pass. No hidden injuries, no lingering curse—only exhaustion. He pressed a second-grade healing pill between Mo Jianxin’s slack lips, then turned to He Yu.

“Go down to the market. Tell Zhan Yuan to buy every decent recovery pill he can find. The best ones.”

He Yu bowed and left without a word.

They carried Mo Jianxin back to his own cave chamber. The place was a disaster: stacks of forging manuals, raw spiritual ores, half-finished components, and assorted scraps piled so high there was barely room to step. Mo Guinnong insisted on staying to watch over his grandson. Qi Xiu murmured a few comforting words to the old man, then quietly withdrew.

Outside, Qin Weiyu had come down from the peak after hearing the news. He stood there with his usual blank, ox-like stare.

Qi Xiu felt a familiar twinge of irritation.

The boy had been sharper at twelve than he was now. Cultivation was supposed to sharpen the mind along with the body. What in the world had gone wrong?

“Your junior brother Jianxin is living like a rat in a hole,” Qi Xiu said, voice clipped. “You’re the steward of Black River Peak. Show some concern for your fellow disciples. Clear out a bigger cave down at the foot of the mountain and move him in.”

Qin Weiyu blinked slowly, then nodded like a marionette. “Yes, Sect Leader.”

He turned and trudged off to carry out the order. At least the boy was obedient. That much could be relied on.

Not long after, He Yu and Zhan Yuan returned with a fresh batch of pills. They checked on Mo Jianxin once more, saw that the medicine had already steadied his breathing, then stepped outside.

Zhan Yuan was beaming. He carefully lifted the newly born Moonshadow Mysterious Ice Sword from its resting place above the cold spring and offered it to He Yu with both hands.

“With this in your grip, the tournament is yours to lose. You’ll sweep the floor.”

He Yu’s Spiritual Qi occasionally leaked out in uncontrolled ripples—the unmistakable sign that he stood right on the threshold of Qi Refining Perfection. Yet he gently pushed the sword back toward Zhan Yuan.

“Sect Leader. Senior Brother Zhan. There’s… something I need to tell you.”

Qi Xiu and Zhan Yuan exchanged a glance.

“Speak plainly,” Qi Xiu said. “Between us, there’s no need for ceremony.”

He Yu hesitated, fingers tightening at his sides.

“The day before yesterday… while I was meditating… I felt it. Very clearly. Somewhere far to the northwest, there is a Foundation Establishment opportunity waiting for me. I need to leave soon. I… won’t be able to participate in the Black River tournament.”

Zhan Yuan’s face drained of color.

“What?!”

He grabbed He Yu by the shoulders and shook him hard.

“He Yu! Ten years ago you already withdrew halfway! If you pull out again, we have no chance—none!—of claiming a meaningful share this time! Ten years! Do you understand? Ten years between each redistribution! Miss this one and we wait another decade!”

Qi Xiu felt the words land like stones in his gut.

Foundation Establishment was, objectively, the greater prize. But the Black River Market’s once-a-decade reapportionment could secure the sect’s future for the next ten years. Right now every disciple’s stipend was eating the spiritual fields clean. The Wang family loot had already dwindled. Without new holdings in the market, they would limp along at best.

“Is there really no way to do both?” Qi Xiu asked quietly. “The tournament is only two or three months away. Can’t you go northwest afterward?”

He Yu shook his head, eyes fixed on the ground.

“The feeling is too strong. Every instinct a cultivator gets comes from somewhere real. I can’t ignore it. The tournament… I won’t make it back in time.”

Zhan Yuan looked desperately at Qi Xiu.

“Sect Leader…”

Qi Xiu exhaled through his nose. “Give me a day or two. I’ll send word to Senior Bai. He’s the Transmission Elder, after all.”

He Yu nodded gratefully.

Qi Xiu hurried up the peak, scrawled a concise message explaining the situation, tied it to the leg of the waiting Messenger Wind Crow, and released the bird. Then he sat down to wait.

Zhan Yuan followed him up, breathing hard.

“Sect Leader! These past years we’ve poured everything into him—everything! Every time you buy something good, it goes straight to him. Senior Brother Zhang, Senior Brother Yu, Senior Kan, Senior Bai—everyone spoils him rotten. The best spirit field is his. The best pills are his. Even little Jianxin nearly died forging that sword—for him! And now he wants to give nothing back? What’s the point of raising him to Foundation Establishment, to Nascent Soul even, if he won’t lift a finger for the sect when it matters?”

His face was flushed crimson, veins standing out at his temples. Years of pent-up hope were crumbling right in front of him.

Qi Xiu’s temper flared. He seized Zhan Yuan by the collar and slammed him down into a stone chair.

“Enough! We’re all from the same sect. Why keep score like this? The boy has a real shot at Foundation Establishment—should we hold him back just to prop up the rest of you?”

Zhan Yuan went white as death. He slumped in the chair, chest heaving, silent.

Qi Xiu immediately regretted the sharpness of his tone. He softened his voice.

“He Yu has never been useless. The Black River Lizard fight. The Nameless Valley ambush—when he held off two enemies alone. He risked his life both times. And even in ordinary days, he’s always been obedient. East, he goes east. Never once disobeyed. When the sect was short on spirit stones, he handed over his own Water-Nurturing Sword without a second thought so we could sell it. How many juniors would do that? This time it’s about his own Foundation Establishment. For any cultivator, that comes first. It’s obvious. The sect isn’t facing extinction. We can’t ruin his Dao just to fatten our pockets. Even if we forced him to stay, the fruit would be sour. In the future he’s the one who will carry Chu Qin Sect forward. Your father-in-law will leave us in a few years. After that, He Yu is the pillar. Do you understand?”

Zhan Yuan gave a bitter laugh.

“Hmph. You all spoil him too much. He’s grown up thinking everything he gets is owed to him. He doesn’t remember what we sacrificed. Doesn’t remember you, Sect Leader. Doesn’t remember Senior Brother Zhang, or me, or even Pan Rong and Yu Jing. Doesn’t remember Gu Ji and Huang He who gave their lives. While I run myself ragged every day in Black River Market, he sits in a cave meditating. While you exhaust yourself for the sect, he meditates in a cave. Even Zhang Shishi—though he and I don’t get along—has broken his back for this place. And for what? For the sect. For this home. Without it, where would we be?”

“Ten years ago, Gu Ji fought until he was half-dead. When He Yu said he was withdrawing, he withdrew. Back then Senior Wang Guan was still alive. Later when I paid respects to the old man, he told me straight: this habit is bad. You can’t keep coddling He Yu. If he has ability, he should shoulder more responsibility. Don’t raise him in a greenhouse forever. Every time he fights, he says it’s good for his state of mind—to temper himself in life-and-death situations. But that’s not the same as us burning our lives for the sect! Why isn’t he saying that this time? Because Foundation Establishment is dangling right in front of him. Suddenly fighting for the sect isn’t worth the risk! Go ask him now: five-five odds, risk your life, and the sect gets a third-grade spirit field. See if he’s willing!”

“Enough!”

Qi Xiu’s voice cracked like a whip.

“Stop spinning fantasies! Wang Guan was infallible, was he? Look at the successor he chose—Wang Qing! That idiot ran the entire Wang family into the ground until they had no heirs left! Maybe He Yu does put his own Dao ahead of the sect’s interests. And maybe that’s fine. Which cultivator in this world would turn his back on a Foundation Establishment opportunity to fight a tournament with unknown odds? Not everyone is built like you and me—running ourselves into the ground day after day. That’s our fate. Not his.”

Zhan Yuan opened his mouth to argue again.

Then he noticed Mo Guinnong standing awkwardly at the entrance of the hall. The old man had clearly overheard every word of the shouting match. Zhan Yuan swallowed whatever retort he had prepared. He refused to embarrass the Sect Leader in front of an outsider—even one who had been with them for years.

Qi Xiu waved Mo Guinnong in. The three of them sat in silence, each lost in his own thoughts, in the very same Chu Qin观 hall where they had once slept shoulder-to-shoulder when they first arrived in the Southern Border.

The next day at noon the reply arrived.

Qi Xiu untied the tiny scroll from the crow’s leg. One word only.

‘可’

Acceptable.

He showed it to Zhan Yuan.

Zhan Yuan stared at the single character. Then he crushed the paper in his fist, threw it to the ground, and stormed out without another word. A moment later he took to the sky, streaking back toward Black River Market.