Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 146: Begging for Life Is Never Easy

Duoluonuo’s expression softened at the offer. The flying sword in his hand flickered once and vanished, though the spirit lion at the chamber exit stayed coiled, eyes glowing faintly.

“Fine. Let’s speak plainly—no more games. According to little friend Qi, once that body leaves the Soul-Dispersing Coffin, it’ll start aging naturally. You’re so dead-set on claiming it alone… you already have a buyer lined up, don’t you? Someone ready to move the moment you walk out?”

Shen Gu gave a soft, derisive snort. “Takes one to know one. Why spell it out?”

Duoluonuo huffed through his nose. He reached down with spiritual sense, pulled the tossed storage pouch into his palm, and rifled through it. His face flickered—surprise, calculation, bitter resignation. After a long internal war he waved a hand. The spirit lion dissolved into motes of white light and scattered.

He turned his back on Shen Gu, shoulders rigid, face dark as old iron. Not another word.

“Thank you for your generosity, Brother Duoluo.”

Shen Gu understood instantly. Even with Foundation Establishment cultivation, the tremor in his voice betrayed raw elation. He shrugged off his outer robe, wrapped the naked, priceless body inside like a parcel, kicked off the ground, and shot toward the tunnel mouth. One more leap and he was gone—swallowed by the passage, vanishing into the deep mountains, never to cross paths again.

“Pfft…”

The moment Shen Gu’s aura faded completely, Duoluonuo’s held breath exploded out of him. Grief carved deep lines into his rough features. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back. Tears glinted at the corners—silent, stubborn. A big, brutal man, crying like a child who’d just lost everything.

Qi Xiu watched and felt an echo of the same hollow ache. Years of scheming, waiting, risking death—only to watch the prize slip through your fingers at the last second. He didn’t dare speak. Instead he busied himself scanning the chamber floor for the Illusory Moon Spirit Sword.

The room wasn’t large. He spotted it soon enough—lying quietly a few paces away. When he picked it up, though, the weight felt wrong. Dead iron. The yin winds had drained every scrap of spiritual power during the brief clash; even the illusory moon properties he could never use were gone. No wonder it hadn’t flown back.

Up top, Kuai Liangshu and the others still lay in shallow graves he’d dug himself. Leaving the ruined sword here felt wrong. His storage pouch was long gone—taken by Duoluonuo—so he simply gripped the useless hilt and held on.

A tired sigh escaped him.

Another trip into the deep mountains. No sign of his Foundation chance. Every last coin and treasure spent or stolen. Even his final flying sword reduced to scrap.

Yet he was still breathing.

That alone put him ahead of most who came here. The despair sat heavy, but not crushing. Not yet.

He pulled himself out of the funk, turned to offer some clumsy comfort—only to find Duoluonuo staring straight at him.

Their eyes met.

And in that gaze Qi Xiu saw something naked and unmistakable.

Greed.

A cold jolt ran through him.

What could he possibly have left to offer? He was penniless, weaponless, barely clinging to life.

Then he followed the older man’s line of sight—back and forth between himself and the open Soul-Dispersing Coffin.

The realization hit like a blade between the ribs.

The coffin. His own body—single-treasure, single-spiritual-root. Perfect compatibility.

Duoluonuo had planned this from the start.

The loophole clicked into place. When the three of them signed the soul contract, Qi Xiu had no leverage to negotiate terms. The agreement treated him and Duoluonuo as one side—mutual non-aggression between the two parties, but nothing protecting him from his own “ally.”

The trap had been set the moment ink met paper.

Qi Xiu’s legs buckled. The ruined sword clattered to the stone. He dropped to his knees.

“Senior… mercy… spare me…”

Words tumbled out—desperate, practiced. This was the second time in his life he’d begged like this. The first had been back in the soldier’s station market, years ago. The shame burned hotter than the fear.

Duoluonuo regarded him calmly—too calmly.

“Spare you? What do I gain from that? Better you make one final contribution to my path. I’ll promise to look after your sect and your family afterward. Go in peace.”

The voice was flat, almost gentle. Each syllable rang in Qi Xiu’s ears like a death knell.

“Wait—please, hear me out!”

The Mind-Knowing Heart spun at frantic speed, clawing him back from blind terror. No weapons. No cultivation advantage. Running was impossible. Fighting was suicide. All he had left was his mouth—and the sliver of hope that reason might still matter.

He forced the words out, loud and clear.

“I’m already fifty years old! Even if you succeed in Possession, what are your odds of reaching Foundation? What are your odds of advancing further? That’s one!”

“My cultivation is Qi Refining Perfection—far less compatible than that Qi Refining layer one body you just let walk away. You could find another young vessel easily. Why choose the difficult path when the easy one is still out there? That’s two!”

“I carry the Red-Buttocked Horse Monkey bloodline. In this world there are no matching dual-cultivation partners to be found. Any path forward will drown in endless complications. That’s three!”

“I am sect leader of a branch under Southern Chu, son-in-law to the Wei family of Shandu. Kill me here and it’s easy today—but the fallout tomorrow? The inquiries? The grudges? That’s four!”

He rattled them off like a string of firecrackers, then looked up—pitiful, pleading. Begging for life had become a skill he never wanted to master.

Duoluonuo threw his head back and laughed—long, hollow.

“You talk a good game, little sect leader. None of it answers my question. What do I gain by letting you live? I just watched a priceless treasure walk out the door. My mood is… foul.”

What do I gain?

The question echoed.

Qi Xiu’s mind raced. He licked dry lips.

“Senior… you forgot. I am a sect leader. Spare my worthless life, and everything Chu Qin Sect has saved in Black River Market—I offer it all to you. The Spirit Stones aren’t many, but there are still unsold second-tier Ice Chalice Flowers—fifty third-tier Spirit Stones’ worth at market, easy.”

“And your nephew—Duoluo Xin. He fell in seclusion in Qinan City. Surely he left belongings behind. No one’s come forward to claim them. I still have some face in Qiyun City. Let me act as guarantor. I’ll take you to retrieve them personally…”

Duoluonuo raised a hand. The killing intent that had filled the chamber vanished like smoke.

“Enough.”

His voice cracked on the name.

“Xin’er…”

A long, shuddering sigh.

“That’s why I spared you in the first place—because of the incense tie between you and him. Fine. Fine. I won’t kill you this time. Take me to recover his things.”

The words landed like a lifeline. Qi Xiu collapsed fully—relief and terror crashing together until he couldn’t move a finger.

Duoluonuo glanced down at the crumpled sect leader with open contempt, then turned to practical matters. He closed the Soul-Dispersing Coffin lid with care, stored it away, swept the chamber for traces, erased every sign of their presence. When he was satisfied he flew back to the surface, did the same at the spring’s edge—tidying graves, smoothing dirt, leaving no story behind.

Finally he returned.

“Get up. Groveling like that only makes people despise you more.”

Qi Xiu thought bitterly: Easy for you to say—you’re the one holding the knife.

He dragged himself upright using the broken sword as a crutch. Duoluonuo said nothing more—just summoned his flying sword, wrapped Qi Xiu in its protective aura, and shot away from the secluded spring, arrowing north toward Bosen City.

Qi Xiu sat motionless on the blade, wind roaring past his ears. Far below, the tiny dirt mound he’d made for Kuai Liangshu and the others shrank, then vanished into the green sea of forest.

A handful of Qi Refining cultivators—gone without a ripple.

And that woman in the coffin—another nameless low-tier cultivator who’d once struggled just like him. Trapped for decades in slow soul-dissolution, only to end as someone else’s spare parts.

Fortune and disaster, cause and effect—all reduced to one brutal truth: strength decides everything.

When would his own road of desperate survival finally end?

“Tell me about Xin’er.”

Duoluonuo’s voice cut through the wind.

Qi Xiu snapped back to the present, searched his memories, and began—carefully embellishing where it counted.

“I first met Brother Xin at the Black River Market arena. Among a hundred elite White Mountain rogues, he fought his way through every round—unstoppable. The way he carried himself that day… it’s still vivid in my mind.”

He piled on praise—justice, kindness, unmatched talent. Anything to stroke the raw wound.

Duoluonuo—shrewd, ruthless Duoluonuo—had no defense against it. He drank in every word, sinking deeper into reminiscence, eyes distant.

By the time Bosen City appeared on the horizon, he suddenly halted the sword.

Qi Xiu tensed.

Duoluonuo bound him with a restriction, hid him in an out-of-the-way grove outside the walls, then flew into the city alone.

When he returned he held another soul contract scroll.

“Heh. Past the Death Marsh we enter your territory. I’ll feel better once your name’s on this.”

Qi Xiu read it carefully. The terms were simple: hand over Chu Qin’s Black River savings, help recover Duoluo Xin’s belongings. This time—miraculously—there was a clause guaranteeing his safety, so long as he harbored no ill intent.

He signed without hesitation, terrified Duoluonuo might change his mind.

Only then did the older man release the bindings.

They entered Bosen City, boarded a northbound passenger shuttle, and left the deep mountains behind—flying toward whatever waited next.