Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 139: Chance at Foundation

The Wei family’s “reward” turned out to be simple geography: they carved off the outer ridges of the old U-shaped Immortal Forest Hollow territory—two barren mountain ranges and whatever scrubland clung to them—and handed the deeds to Chu Qin Sect. The triangle bloated into something closer to a circle. No fertile valleys, no spirit veins worth mentioning, just more rock and pine than they knew what to do with. Still, land was land. It had taken Wei Xuan months of quiet arm-twisting and favor-trading with neighboring sects to make it happen.

Qi Xiu gathered the elders. After a short discussion they relocated the families of Pan Rong and Ming Jiu to the new ground. The sect had far more dirt than people these days; no one raised a fuss.

Once the dust of moving settled, life slid back into its old grooves. Three more years slipped by like water through cracked fingers.

…

“Sect Leader Senior Brother, we’re almost there. Climb aboard the southbound beast ship here and you’ll cut straight into the deep White Mountains. Word is it’s rougher country than our north—stay sharp.”

Li Tan had shot up into a lean, confident young man. Ever since the Wei family sold them that first-tier Wind Lizard Crane, he’d thrown himself into beast taming. Now he handled the Immortal Forest Hollow–Black River route like he was born to it, even picking up side jobs hauling cargo or passengers. His horizons had widened faster than his shoulders.

Qi Xiu leaned over the railing. Below, a lone peak rose out of a sea of emerald, its crown ringed by the sprawling chaos of a cultivator market—Luoshan Market, the choke point for anyone traveling south from Immortal Forest Hollow or Shandu Mountain.

“I stopped counting the days I have left a long time ago,” Qi Xiu said. “Once I’m in Luoshan, I’ll find a proper passenger ship. You head home. Keep the accounts straight, keep cultivating, and—most important—look after each other. Live well.”

His plain cyan robe hung a little looser these days. Forty-nine years old. In the mortal world that already made him an old man. Cultivators aged slower, but the body still remembered every year. The older you got, the slimmer your odds at Foundation Establishment. That was common knowledge, carved deep into the bones of the cultivation world.

A few weeks earlier he had finally touched Qi Refining Perfection—same as He Yu once did—and the moment the breakthrough settled, a thread of insight had bloomed clear and undeniable inside his mind.

His greatest shot at Foundation lay somewhere deep in the White Mountains.

For any cultivator, receiving that kind of cryptic heavenly nudge was half the battle. The Dao was calling, and forty-nine was late enough. Qi Xiu arranged every lingering sect matter, said long, quiet goodbyes to his wife and concubines, then climbed aboard the Wind Lizard Crane with Li Tan at the reins and flew south until Luoshan Market spread out beneath them.

The past three years had been kind—almost suspiciously so. The ripples from the Black River Market upheaval had finally died down. Their businesses were turning steady profit again. Mo Guinong’s spirit fields produced like clockwork, still the sect’s fattest purse. Mo Jianxin’s forging had crossed the line from subsidized promise to genuine revenue. Li Tan’s beast ship earned its keep and then some. The real prodigies—Qin Sizhao, Chu Wuying—climbed realms so fast it hurt to watch. Even the steady ones—Qin Weiyu, Qin Siguo, Zhao Yao, Mo Jianxin—were making solid gains. Give it another decade and the sect would stand tall when these kids came into their own.

Chu Duo hadn’t dared show his face since his last near-fatal injury; the infant-snatching raids had stopped cold. The only lingering cloud was the cold war between the Artifact & Talisman Alliance and the Wei family. With Wei Tong gone, Wei Xuan was the Wei’s sole Golden Core. Their strength had taken a visible hit. That was the one itch Qi Xiu still felt between his shoulder blades.

He had named Bai Muhan acting sect leader in his absence. Zhang Shishi hadn’t objected—probably because Bai Muhan and Wei Minniang were as close as sisters. If Qi Xiu never came back, the transition would be smooth, his family looked after, the power handover clean. That, at least, let him sleep at night.

“You go make your money,” Qi Xiu told Li Tan with a faint smile. “Don’t waste a trip flying empty.”

The boy flashed a grin and bolted toward the docking clerks. A handful of Spirit Stones changed hands, paperwork was stamped, and suddenly Li Tan was bellowing like an old hand:

“Shandu Mountain run! Shandu Mountain! First-tier Wind Lizard Crane—five second-tier stones a head! Ten passengers and we lift!”

He had takers within minutes, already haggling like a seasoned ferryman.

Qi Xiu shook his head, half amused, half proud. Where had the soot-faced kid nicknamed Charcoal gone?

He left Li Tan to it and strolled into the market alone.

Luoshan Market belonged to the Luo Clan—a Golden Core family whose territory sat squarely on the main southern artery out of White Mountain’s north. Second-tier beast ships from Artifact City and points north all stopped here to refuel and swap crews. The skies buzzed with traffic: cargo haulers, passenger shuttles, private flyers—voices shouting destinations rose and fell like waves.

“Second-tier flying shuttle—full arrays—to Bomu City! Half a third-tier stone for a private cabin—only three left!”

“Freighter to Artifact City—room for a few loose passengers, price negotiable!”

Qi Xiu ignored the barkers. Those were the rogue operators—cheap, risky, no schedule. He was chasing a once-in-a-lifetime Foundation chance, traveling alone; he wasn’t about to gamble on some cut-rate hauler. He asked directions, paid for a proper ticket at the Luo family’s official inn, and secured the last remaining cabin on a third-tier shuttle bound for Bosen City in three days.

Bomu, Bolin, Bosen—the three cities formed the points of a triangle controlled by the Spirit Wood Alliance, a power roughly equal to the Connected Rivers Alliance back home. Past Bosen lay the true deep White Mountains: lawless, crawling with high-tier rogue cultivators and savage spirit beasts. No man’s land.

Even with heavenly guidance tugging at his soul, Qi Xiu refused to charge in blind. He rented a modest cave dwelling inside Bosen City, settled in, and began asking quiet questions. Plan first, move second.

Inside one of the city’s hiring halls, wooden placards hung row after row.

“Deep White Mountains—spirit herb gathering. Need one Wood-affinity Foundation cultivator.”

“Deep White Mountains—hunt second-tier ferocious beast. Flat fee, no loot split. Foundation only.”

“Escort caravan—deep edge territory, low risk. Qi Refining late-stage or Foundation, must be registered with Spirit Wood Alliance shadow roster. Pay negotiable.”

Almost nothing for Qi Refining cultivators. Almost everything involved venturing into the deep mountains. Details were sparse on purpose—serious talk happened face-to-face.

Qi Xiu was scanning the boards at a leisurely pace when a voice drifted over—familiar in the worst way.

“I’ll pay every stone I promised, no shorting you! When this scores big you’ll get a bonus—trust me!”

He froze. Turned slowly. Peeked toward the speaker just as he reached the door.

A Qi Refining late-stage cultivator was all smiles and bows in front of a Foundation expert. The posture, the oily arrogance in the voice, the sharp, cutting cadence—every bit matched the masked “Third Brother” who had once led the raid on Chu Qin’s Scripture Pavilion years ago.

Qi Xiu’s blood went cold.

That bastard had been an inner disciple of the Artifact & Talisman Alliance. The Wei family swore they’d hand him over for punishment after the attack. Yet here he was, alive, free, and still running his mouth exactly the same way.

If he recognized Qi Xiu…

No time to linger. Qi Xiu slipped out, returned to his rented cave, packed his single bag, and left the city under cover of night. He had already mapped the rough area his insight pointed toward. Foundation chance or no, the sooner he put distance between himself and old enemies, the better.

He kicked off into the dark sky, flying south alone—toward whatever waited in the deep mountains.