Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 147: The Traveler Returns Home

A faint fish-belly white crept along the eastern horizon.

In Immortal Grove Hollow, not far from the sect gate, a certain manor compound stirred slowly under the first pale light of dawn.

Early-rising servants clustered along the clear little stream that wound through the estate. Some drew water, others scrubbed laundry, a few washed faces and rinsed mouths, while stable hands led horses down to drink. Small groups stood together, trading quiet laughter now and then.

Everyone wore neat, decent clothes. Faces were bright, corners of mouths habitually curved upward. Even in the middle of chores they found time to flick water at one another and giggle—the casual playfulness of people who had never truly known want.

A cart loaded high with water barrels creaked away from the stream and rolled toward the imposing main gate at the center of the compound.

Flanking the entrance stood a pair of lifelike stone immortal cranes. Above the doorway a wide plaque hung, two bold characters carved deep and black: **Yu Residence**.

The carter, a young man barely past twenty, stepped forward and rapped the door-ring three times—polite, restrained knocks. A gatekeeper soon appeared, but he didn’t open the grand doors. Instead he led the cart around to a discreet side entrance at the rear, waved the youth through, then shut the small gate behind him.

As they walked, the gatekeeper couldn’t resist grumbling. “Why isn’t Old Wang handling this run? You really don’t understand propriety—water-delivery carts don’t use the main gate, boy.”

The young carter tugged the reins, keeping his head lowered. “My little sister got married yesterday. Father drank too much celebrating and he’s still sleeping it off. I had to cover his shift. I didn’t know the rules—forgive me, sir. Next time I’ll remember. Please, be magnanimous and let this one mistake slide.”

The gatekeeper gave a satisfied grunt. The apology had been properly servile; he let the matter drop and helped unload the barrels, tipping each one carefully into the enormous cistern tucked in the corner of the kitchen yard.

Inside the wide, brightly lit kitchen five or six full cooks moved with practiced efficiency, while another seven or eight assistants chopped vegetables and fed fires. No one bothered looking up when newcomers entered.

The young carter stared, openly envious. “Good heavens… this kitchen alone is bigger than my whole house. If I could live like this…”

The gatekeeper snorted. “Keep dreaming. You’d need green smoke rising from your ancestral graves and an immortal cultivator popping out of the family tree before you’d see days like these.”

Just then a strikingly beautiful girl of fourteen or fifteen appeared at the kitchen doorway. She wrinkled her delicate nose at the smell of grease and smoke, refusing to step inside. Instead she raised her voice, sharp and spoiled.

“Is the hot water ready yet? Dragging your feet like this—if I get blamed because the master’s in a foul mood today, I’ll go straight to the steward and have your hides peeled!”

“Coming, coming!”

A cook who looked like the head chef hurried over, head bowed. He accepted the exquisite jade basin from the girl’s hands, laid a spotless towel on the counter first, then ladled a precise mix of hot and cold water. Only when the temperature was perfect did he present the basin with both hands.

The girl dipped slender, pale fingers into the water, tested once, gave a curt nod of approval—and simply turned on her heel, swaying gracefully away without taking the basin back.

The cook bowed even lower and trotted after her, cradling the vessel like a sacred relic as they headed toward the front courtyards.

The young carter clicked his tongue. “That young miss has quite the temper.”

This time even the kitchen staff chuckled. The gatekeeper reached over and rapped the boy’s forehead with a knuckle. “Miss? That’s just a personal maid to the madam, you blind fool. Your father really didn’t teach you anything, did he?”

After passing through two more courtyards the girl finally took the basin back, dismissed the cook with a flick of her wrist, and continued toward the main residence.

Just outside the last gate she saw an older man and a younger one kneeling on the stone steps before the entrance hall. Both wore fine brocade robes; the elder was dressed in the full regalia of a scholar-gentry patriarch—high cap, broad belt—yet dew from the night had soaked them through. They had clearly knelt there since evening, yet neither dared breathe too loudly. Teeth clenched, they simply endured.

The girl lowered her gaze, stepped past them without a word, entered the hall, passed through beaded curtains—deliberately exaggerating the sway of her hips a little—and knelt the instant she glimpsed the hem of scarlet robes. She raised the jade basin high overhead and held it steady until the sound of washing ceased. Only then did she rise, backing out slowly, eyes never once lifting to meet the face above.

The man in scarlet finished cleansing his face, accepted a soft towel from the dignified woman beside him, wiped roughly, then tossed it back. His voice carried barely restrained fury.

“Your relatives really have no sense of boundaries. Those words—are they even allowed to speak them?”

The woman’s eyelids were puffy, tear tracks still visible. She tried to placate him. “They’re just children spouting nonsense. Why lose your temper over it? They’ve already knelt outside all night. Patriarch Bai is still your senior martial sister’s blood kin, and he’s no longer young. If something happens to him… for the sake of face, if not affection, let them rise, please?”

The scarlet-robed man spat. “The sect leader’s fate is uncertain, so Chu Qin Sect will belong to the Bai family from now on—is that something a child could possibly know? Could possibly understand? They heard the adults talking and came running out to parrot it! Who knows what schemes the whole clan is brewing behind closed doors!”

The woman’s lips pursed; her own anger finally rose. Her voice lifted despite herself. “Why are you so stubborn? Our Bai family has a Foundation Establishment immortal above and the future sect leader below—plus little Zhanqiu with his peerless talent. What thicker thigh could you possibly hug? If you keep pushing like this and something really happens to the sect leader—”

The slap cracked across her cheek before she finished. Five crimson fingerprints bloomed instantly. She stared at him in stunned disbelief as tears poured like floodwater.

“The sect leader senior brother enjoys heaven’s boundless fortune! He turns danger into safety, disaster into blessing every time! You venomous woman—do you actually intend to curse him to death so your natal family can feast on the spoils? Let me tell you—if you really enrage me, I’ll divorce you first!”

He was shaking with rage. After shouting he kicked over several chairs and tables to vent, then stormed through the curtain and out into the courtyard. He didn’t spare the two kneeling figures a single glance. A spiritual boat appeared beneath his feet; he shot skyward, streaking toward the Immortal Grove Hollow sect gate.

As the mountain gate came into view another streak of light wobbled into sight from the east—clearly someone flying while heavily intoxicated. When the two boats drew close enough to recognize faces, the scarlet-robed man laughed.

“First thing in the morning and you’re already sloshed. Which family’s banquet did you crawl out of this time?”

The other cultivator—also clad in scarlet Dao robes—waved a careless hand, grinning blearily. “The Mu clan up north. You think I like drowning in wine? That little dwarf Mu—you’ve seen how he gets. Grabs your sleeve and won’t let go till you drink yourself under the table. I’m actually one of the lucky ones; Old Yu passed out cold right there. Still snoring in their guest room last I checked. Sigh… different fates for different men. You, Yu Jing, are a celebrity these days. Everyone in Immortal Grove knows your name. Every clan has to bow and scrape when you pass. Me? Shen Chang? I spend my days running around delivering gifts, offering congratulations, mourning their dead. My cultivation can’t compare to anyone’s, so I bow and scrape and smile through gritted teeth. Damn it all, I’m sick of it.”

Yu Jing gave a wry smile. “You think I enjoy hobnobbing with these vulgar mortals? I know my own bitterness. If we could trade places, I’d happily take your life of endless banquets and freedom.”

“Heh.” Shen Chang grinned, considered it, then shook his head. “Nah, forget it. Four Qin families alone make my head hurt. I heard Left Hill Qin and Right Hill Qin are fighting again?”

“Just a pack of over-energetic brats squabbling over lion-dance competition prizes. Nothing serious.”

The two boats passed through the sect gate. Yu Jing didn’t want to dwell on family squabbles, so he let the topic die.

The moment they landed, a boy of about ten came sprinting over, voice still carrying childish treble.

“Senior Brother Luo pays respects to the two senior brothers! Quick—hurry to the main hall! Sect leader senior brother has returned!”

Both men’s eyes lit up. They exchanged a delighted glance, clasped arms, and hurried toward the grand hall. Only after stepping inside did they slow down, take proper measure of the figure seated in the host’s place, then drop to their knees in unison.

“Disciples respectfully welcome the sect leader senior brother’s return to the mountain.”

Qi Xiu chuckled softly and rose to help them up. “Get up, get up. You’re both pushing forty—no need for such heavy ceremony.”

His voice sounded listless, drained of energy.

Shen Chang caught the tone at once. He shot a questioning glance toward Bai Muhan seated off to one side.

Bai Muhan smiled brightly, blinking. “Nothing serious. You know how stingy the sect leader senior brother can be—old habits die hard.”

She turned back to Qi Xiu, tone coaxing. “All those Ice Chalice Blossoms sat unsold for years anyway. Letting them go is just… fifty third-tier spirit stones to buy your life back. Surely you’re worth that much? The sect will feel the pinch for a while, but we’ll manage. Give it two more years—the next batch will be ready. Look at you; anyone who didn’t know better would think some catastrophe had struck.”

Bai Xiaosheng, lounging beside Qi Xiu with five-year-old little Zhanqiu already in his lap being tickled mercilessly, chimed in without filter. “Heh! The characters hiding deep in White Mountain are the type who take your money and still want your head. The way I see it, you ran into a rare good sort. You should be burning incense in gratitude instead of moping.”

Qi Xiu could only laugh helplessly at father and daughter. He looked slowly around the hall.

Min-niang, Yue’er, Zhang Shishi, Shen Chang, Yu Jing… plus the grown-up Zhao Yao, Li Tan, and the younger generation—Chu Wuying, Qin Sizhao, and the rest—all sitting neatly in their places. A full house.

Like a weary traveler finally stepping through his own gate after long years away, seeing everyone still safe and whole, warmth gradually seeped back into his chest. The bitter sense of having lost both money and face on this trip began to fade. He changed the subject himself, sharing travel anecdotes and odd sights from the road.

They chatted for nearly half an hour before he pleaded fatigue and dismissed everyone. With a meaningful glance at Min-niang he slipped into the private thatched study behind the main residence.

Kan Qin had been waiting there. Eyes red from days apart, she hurried forward to help him change clothes with gentle, practiced care.

Before long Min-niang followed. In front of others she had to maintain decorum; here she flew into his arms like a bird returning to the forest. They murmured the small tender things couples say after separation, then sat close together, speaking in low voices meant only for each other.

Kan Qin quietly withdrew, leaving husband and wife alone.

“I could tell from what you said earlier that you weren’t telling the whole truth. You’ve come back wearing that worried frown again—it hurts me to see it. You don’t have to shoulder everything alone. Let your wife share even a little of the burden.”

Min-niang nestled against him, ripe and soft, gazing up with limpid phoenix eyes full of concern.

Qi Xiu sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you—it’s that I truly can’t. Don’t ask. This trip… I walked right up to the gates of hell again. Not only did I miss the Foundation Establishment opportunity, I burned through years of savings. The sect bled heavily because of me. That’s all. I’m just feeling low, that’s all. Don’t worry too much. I’ve weathered storms and hardships for years. Give me a little time. I’ll be fine soon.”

Looking down at his virtuous, beautiful wife, gratitude welled up until his eyes stung. He cupped her face, kissed her gently. His thoughts drifted; his hand began to wander.

“Annoying…”

Min-niang’s protest lacked conviction. Her arms tightened around him instead.