Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 126: First Day of the Arena Tournament

Time had moved on, yet plenty of familiar faces remained.

Some still remembered Qi Xiu. When their eyes met, they’d offer a nod, a quick word or two.

“Little Friend Qi, your cultivation has climbed quite a bit these years!”

The old Foundation Building elder from the Spirit Herb Pavilion—the same one who’d once barked down Su Wentai on Chu Qin Sect’s behalf—spotted Qi Xiu and greeted him warmly. His gaze slid past Qi Xiu’s shoulder, searching. “Eh? Where’s that youngster who took down the Shandu cultivator back then?”

Qi Xiu had already begun to bow. Halfway through the motion, a dull ache bloomed in his chest. The polite smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“He passed away years ago. I’m… touched that you still remember him.”

The old man sighed, genuine regret creasing his weathered face. “How could anyone forget? Everyone knew his name after that day. Such a pity. And Wang Guan? Where’s that old fossil?”

Qi Xiu opened his mouth.

Before he could answer, a young disciple behind the elder cleared his throat pointedly. He leaned in, murmuring low. Words like “Wang family” and “Qi Xiu killed Wang Qing” drifted out just loudly enough to be overheard. The elder’s expression changed in an instant. The warmth drained away; suspicion—and something darker—replaced it.

“Quite the character, Sect Leader Qi. Heh.”

The sarcasm dripped like venom. Without another word, the old man turned on his heel, robes snapping, and led his disciples away.

Qi Xiu nearly choked on his own breath.

“How is this my fault…?”

Zhan Yuan glanced around, voice dropping to a mutter.

“It’s that Chu Youguang. All the ugly stories circulating about us in the market? His handiwork. He’s a South Chu Sect cultivator—who’s going to doubt his word over ours?”

“That old dog.”

Qi Xiu’s teeth ground together hard enough to hurt. A sect’s reputation was no small thing. When Wei Tong had moved against Shandu Mountain all those years ago, he’d spent months gathering every scrap of dirt he could find—anything to make the attack seem justified. Public opinion mattered.

Now the same poison was being fed to the world about Chu Qin Sect: ungrateful, treacherous, backstabbing. And the source? A cultivator from their own nominal ruling sect. No matter how Qi Xiu protested, people would believe the worst. A slow-acting toxin. One day someone would use it as pretext to strike.

There was nothing to be done. Chu Youguang was untouchable. Swallow the bile or choke on it.

Chu Qin Sect’s delegation took their assigned seats among the second-tier sects. Almost immediately, another familiar face appeared—right next door.

White Sand Gang.

Sha Konghe had reached the peak of Qi Refining. He kept craning his neck, scanning the Chu Qin group, obviously hunting for the boy who’d humiliated him a decade earlier.

Qi Xiu was already in a foul mood. He closed his eyes, pretending to meditate.

Trouble, however, refused to leave him alone.

“Eh? Isn’t this the Chu Qin Sect rabble? What are you doing sitting with proper second-tier sects?”

Qi Xiu’s eyes snapped open.

The speaker was a Foundation Building cultivator from Zhenlin Sect—another ghost from the Border Post Market battle. Back then, their Foundation Building elder had died at Kan Lin’s hands. They’d tried to fish in troubled waters and ended up being swallowed whole by their former ally, the Liu family of Zhen Yang. Qi Xiu had later sweetened the pot by gifting the Liu family a prime property in Black River Market.

Old grudges. Fresh resentment. Naturally, Zhenlin Sect had zero goodwill left for Chu Qin.

Qi Xiu forced down the rising anger of his disciples, pasted on a smile, and stepped forward.

“Senior. A few years back, a Foundation Building guest elder joined our humble sect. That’s how we earned second-tier status this time.”

A Zhenlin disciple behind the elder immediately sneered.

“Guest elder? You mean that dog Bai Xiaosheng—the one who was chained up in Black River Market like an animal, eating filth? Picking up trash. Aren’t you afraid of shaming the entire Daoist path?”

“You filthy-mouthed cur! If a Foundation Building cultivator is a dog, what does that make you?!”

Bai Muhan exploded to her feet, face flushed with fury.

The two sides were seconds from coming to blows when Sha Konghe bustled over, all smiles, playing peacemaker. Somehow he managed to talk both groups down.

“Eh… heh heh. Greetings, Sect Leader Qi. So… where’s your little genius He Yu?”

Once the Zhenlin people were shooed away, Sha Konghe turned back with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He’d always talked a big game, but when he lost he’d immediately withdrawn the lethal spell aimed at He Yu. The man had some spine. Qi Xiu could at least respect that much.

With a sigh, he explained: He Yu had left. Gone northwest. Chasing a Foundation Establishment opportunity.

Sha Konghe’s face darkened by degrees. He muttered, almost to himself.

“So that’s what a real genius looks like… I… sigh.”

He turned away, shoulders slumped, and shuffled back to his seat. The fight had gone out of him before it even began.

Not long after, the Liu family of Zhen Yang arrived. Three Foundation Building cultivators—solidly mid-tier among second-grade sects. They took the prime front-row seats with the best view.

The arena itself had been completely rebuilt. Grand. Circular. Intended as a permanent commercial venue after the tournament. Grand View Pavilion had spared no expense. Ordinary spectator seating alone numbered nearly ten thousand. Second-tier sects were comfortably placed in premium zones. Private boxes and VIP galleries ringed the upper levels—reserved for the true powers. Even the most prosperous market Qi Xiu had ever seen, Clear River Market, had nothing on this scale.

The Liu delegation was surprisingly cordial. They sent Liu Yi—the same man who’d once clashed with Qi Xiu—to exchange greetings. Liu Yi sensed Qi Xiu’s current cultivation level, winced visibly, and retreated to his seat to nurse his bruised ego in silence.

Once all the sects were settled, the stands filled to about eighty percent capacity.

A Golden Core Ancestor appeared at the center of the arena without warning. He cleared his throat once.

The sound rolled outward like distant thunder. The entire crowd fell silent.

“This tournament is Black River Market’s grand event—once every ten years! Divided into Foundation Building and Qi Refining brackets. Today: the Qi Refining preliminary elimination!”

As he spoke, the vast arena shimmered and split. Sixteen identical platforms materialized, perfectly equal in size. Sixteen identically dressed Foundation Building cultivators leapt onto them—one per stage. Referees, obviously.

“Ten years ago the event was rushed. Many details were crude. On behalf of Grand View Pavilion, I apologize.” The Golden Core cultivator’s tone was measured. “This time we’ve done things properly. And we’ve extended an opportunity to the rogue cultivators. A hundred of them—carefully selected from all applicants—have earned the right to compete in today’s preliminaries. One will advance to the main Qi Refining bracket… and may even claim a share of Black River Market itself.”

A roar swept the stands.

Rogue cultivators winning property? The temptation was almost obscene. Some in the crowd were already groaning in regret, as if they’d have been guaranteed victory had they only signed up.

“We’re also offering official betting pools. Place your wagers through our channels—don’t fall for those crooked underground books again like last time. Enough talk. Let the drawing begin!”

A talisman-and-artifact cultivator from the Qi Alliance leapt onto the central platform to handle the lots. White Mountain lineage. For the rogue-heavy White Mountain crowd, that choice alone screamed fairness.

Zhan Yuan watched the Pavilion attendants weave through the stands collecting bets, then leaned toward Qi Xiu.

“They’ve got the White Mountain loose cultivators figured out cold. This tournament alone is going to make them a fortune.”

Qi Xiu stared at the scene—envy and bitterness twisting together in his gut.

He let out a long, sour breath.

“This whole Black River Market… it was my idea in the first place. Who even remembers that anymore?”