Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 153: Deciding Alone

The main hall had been swept clean of everyday clutter. A simple sound-isolating array shimmered faintly around the perimeter—thin enough to breathe through, thick enough to keep secrets inside.

Bai Muhan, Zhang Shishi, Yu Deno, Mo Guino, Yu Jing, and Shen Chang were already seated when Qi Xiu and Bai Xiaosheng walked in. Six pairs of eyes lifted at once. The air felt heavy, expectant.

Yu Deno rose first. “Sect Leader Uncle—it’s time to make the call.”

“Yes. Time to decide.”

“The Wei clan has pushed too far. Nothing left to cling to. Decide.”

One after another they spoke, voices overlapping in quiet urgency. All gazes locked on Qi Xiu.

“Decide what?” he asked mildly, feigning confusion.

“The secret pact with the Luo clan,” Bai Muhan answered. “Like we discussed before.”

Qi Xiu leaned back slightly. “How do we even contact them? What exactly goes in the agreement? When do we run? What about the thousands of mortal subjects in Immortal Grove Hollow—how do we keep them safe during the exodus? And if the Wei clan wins, will the Luo keep our little treason under wraps?”

Five questions in a row. Crisp. Precise.

The room went still. People traded glances. No one spoke.

Finally every head turned toward Mo Guino.

Qi Xiu felt a small, cold jolt of realization. He kept his face neutral, but inside a thread of wariness tightened.

Zhang Shishi, Yu Jing, Shen Chang—loyalty there was ironclad. Little Zhanqiu was safe at Black River Peak; Bai Muhan and Bai Xiaosheng would never move against him. Yu Deno was too old, too timid to plot anything this bold.

That left Mo Guino.

The man already carried one betrayal on his record—from the Scripture Pavilion raid years ago. Back then he’d turned on the very raiders who wanted to sack Immortal Grove Hollow, but the fact remained: when push came to shove, he chose survival over sentiment. His calculations always started and ended with his grandson Mo Jianxin’s future. The sect itself? Secondary at best.

And he’d spent years rubbing elbows in Artifact Talisman City. Connections like that didn’t vanish. If anyone had quietly opened a channel to the enemy side, it would be him.

The others’ reactions only confirmed it: while Qi Xiu had been away, Mo Guino had quietly become the linchpin of the “secret pact” faction.

Qi Xiu let none of it show. As Mo Guino stood to answer, he silently activated an old talent he hadn’t used on disciples in years—See Human Nature.

The man’s aura rippled under the invisible brush of scrutiny. No deception. No hidden knife. Just a grandfather doing what grandfathers do when the house is burning: saving the only thing that matters.

Mo Guino cleared his throat. “There’s a cultivator I knew years ago in the eastern Feng clan sector. He’s already gone over to the Luo quietly. I don’t know his exact method, but contact won’t be a problem.”

“As for the pact itself—the Luo have already made public promises: safe passage for defectors, no reduction in population or territory. That alone meets our minimum needs. There’s even room to bargain for more.”

“If Heaven-Attraction Mountain falls, the Luo will sweep in. Chaos everywhere. No one will have the bandwidth to chase down a tiny sect slipping away. Whether we formally defect or simply switch flags on the spot—both have high odds of success.”

“The Wei clan’s fate hangs on Wei Xuan alone. Mountain Capital lacks strategic depth. If they lose, they lose fast. They won’t have time—or motive—to slaughter our mortal subjects. One, they’re not that cruel. Two, they still need living commoners to repopulate and farm after the war.”

“Even if the Wei win, it’ll be a pyrrhic victory. Remember: three Golden Cores from the Artifact-and-Talisman Alliance are still missing somewhere in White Mountain depths. The Luo haven’t even taken a scratch yet. Neither side faces existential threat, so our pact won’t leak to the Wei. And why would the Luo expose us later? Blackmail material is far more useful kept in reserve.”

Mo Guino’s voice hardened at the end. “We cannot delay. If Heaven-Attraction Mountain collapses and we’re still sitting here, the Luo will already hold all the cards. We’ll be begging for scraps. And given how shaky the front looks right now—I wouldn’t be surprised if defeat news arrives tomorrow.”

Old-fox logic. Measured. Ruthless in its pragmatism.

See Human Nature confirmed every word: no lie, no scheme. Mo Guino wasn’t trying to sell the sect out—he was simply unwilling to die with it.

Qi Xiu found himself without an easy counter. He closed his eyes, pretending deep contemplation, buying time to swallow the embarrassment of being outmaneuvered in his own hall.

Right now he would have given anything for Chu Duo to show up out of nowhere and whisper in his ear like the old days. Anything to avoid having to think.

“Excellent. Truly excellent.”

Bai Xiaosheng clapped once, grinning wide. “Nephew Mo, that was razor-sharp. You’ve cleared the fog for me. Ten years of reading couldn’t match one conversation with you. You’ve been hiding your light far too long.”

He swiveled toward Qi Xiu. “Well, great Sect Leader? Any more objections? Let’s do this thing.”

The others murmured agreement. The chorus grated on Qi Xiu’s nerves like sand in a wound.

No more stalling.

Fate Calculation Technique was useless here—too many overlapping fortunes, too much chaos. See One’s Own Heart spun up instead, mercilessly illuminating his own resistance.

The fact that he hated the idea so much… told him everything.

He opened his eyes. “My decision is made. No pact. No secret agreement.”

Bai Xiaosheng practically levitated out of his seat. “Why?! Mo laid it out crystal clear! Give us one good reason! What are you even thinking?!”

*This man is insufferable,* Qi Xiu snarled inwardly. Normally his word was final in this hall. Now this Foundation Establishment guest elder—untouchable, unfireable—had turned the whole place into a debating society. And whose brilliant idea was it to drag him here in the first place? The Wei clan’s, obviously.

Qi Xiu took a slow breath, forcing calm. “Mo’s analysis is solid—on pure profit-and-loss terms, on battlefield math. But the Wei clan’s outrageous behavior this time doesn’t justify throwing away our loyalty over a pile of spirit stones. Betraying one’s lord is not a small matter.”

“The Artifact-and-Talisman Alliance is a loose coalition. Multiple heads, divided interests. They can share prosperity, but they fracture under pressure. Their control is notoriously lax. At most they’ll bring seventy percent of their strength to bear.”

“The war’s been raging for days now. The Luo clan is still hesitating, still calculating gains, still dreaming of pies falling from the sky. That kind of half-hearted strategy and morale won’t withstand a single thunderbolt from the Wei.”

“And look at the power imbalance. If the Alliance wins, the Luo will be swallowed. Who among the surrounding sects wants to see that? Years ago, when they hunted the lost infant, a dozen Golden Cores from multiple major sects assaulted Mountain Capital together. They all wanted the Wei weakened. Yet this time? Not one has come to help. Many people—many powerful people—do not want to see the Wei fall.”

“The Wei clan is the opposite. Orders come from Wei Xuan alone. Decisions are swift. Execution is clean. A good portion of their fighting force are former Beast-Taming Gate disciples brought in by Wei Tong—already half a step stronger than average. I saw the losses with my own eyes in Mountain Capital. Mourning, yes. But discipline held. Operations continued. They sang dirges for the dead and kept marching. Their will to fight hasn’t cracked.”

“And Wei Xuan himself? In my lifetime I’ve met few minds sharper. Top three, easily. He hasn’t even played his real hand yet. I refuse to believe this is all he has.”

“So—no. A black-and-white pact on paper? Absolutely not.”

Silence settled. Most heads bowed. Mo Guino kept his lowered, expression unreadable.

Only Bai Xiaosheng kept pushing. “This is too arbitrary! Why not put it to a vote? Everyone states their position. Majority rules. What’s wrong with that?”

“There are no elders in this sect right now,” Qi Xiu said coldly. “Decisions rest with the sect leader. That’s the rule *you* helped write. Or have you forgotten?”

Bai Xiaosheng flushed. “You—”

He hadn’t expected his own argument to boomerang. Embarrassment twisted into anger. “You keep going on about Wei military strength this, Wei Xuan’s genius that. What—so everyone else here is blind and you’re the only one with eyes? Or is it just that the Wei can do no wrong in your book? Because of Min-niang, maybe? Love the house, love the crow?”

“Father!”

Bai Muhan’s sharp warning cut across the room.

Qi Xiu felt the line snap inside him. “Even if it is love the house and love the crow—so what? My vision is certainly clearer than yours, after ten years of being locked up for running your mouth.”

The words came out sharper than he intended. Foundation Establishment really had loosened his tongue.

“Sect Leader!”

Bai Muhan snapped at him now.

Bai Xiaosheng’s face drained of color. That old wound—the decade of confinement—was still raw after all these years. He rose slowly, unsteady. “You’ve changed,” he muttered, voice cracking. “You’ve changed…”

He stumbled out.

Bai Muhan looked between them, torn, then hurried after her father.

Qi Xiu regretted the barb the instant it left his mouth. But he’d just broken through—he wasn’t about to eat public humiliation. “Meeting adjourned. No private contact with the Luo clan. Anyone who disobeys will be punished severely. No exceptions.”

He flung the words like a door slam and strode out.

Back in their quarters he told Min-niang everything.

She scolded him roundly for losing his temper with Bai Xiaosheng. He sulked right back. Eventually they both gave up arguing, sat in mutual silence, and turned to cultivation instead.

Only then did it hit him: he still had no suitable technique for Foundation Establishment. No matching companion artifact either.

Irritation flared. He rummaged through his storage pouch, pulled out his talisman-drawing kit, and began grinding ink. See One’s Own Heart spun quietly in the background while he traced one Destiny Concealment Talisman after another.

By midnight the table was littered with failures.

At least the repetitive motion had calmed him down.

When he finally lifted his head, Min-niang was still sitting beside him—quiet, patient, simply there.

Warmth replaced the earlier frustration. They apologized to each other in soft voices, patched the small fracture, and were just leaning in when Qi Xiu sensed someone approaching.

With a sigh he rose to answer the door.

Bai Muhan stood outside. Her face was pale, tired.

Qi Xiu’s heart sank. “Did something happen to your father?”

She gave a short, wry laugh. “My old man’s skin is thicker than city walls. He’ll be fine in a couple days. No—it’s Mo Guino. He wants to see you.”

Qi Xiu started walking. “That’s all? You look upset.”

“He brought Mo Jianxin with him.”

Qi Xiu stopped dead. A long, weary sigh escaped him.

In the main hall, grandfather and grandson were already kneeling on the floor.

Qi Xiu looked at them and felt only exhaustion. “You’ve made up your minds?”

“Yes,” Mo Guino said.

“And Jianxin?”

Mo Jianxin started to rise, mouth opening—only for his grandfather to press him back down. “Yes.”

Qi Xiu exhaled. “Go, then. I’ll take care of the people of Immortal Grove Hollow. If you ever want to come back for them… the door remains open.”

The two broke into sobs.

“Thank you for your great kindness, Sect Leader. If fate ever grants us the chance, we will repay you even at the cost of our lives!”

They kowtowed again and again. Blood smeared the stone where forehead met floor.

Bai Muhan hurried forward, helped them up. Supported each other, the grandfather and grandson walked out into the night, weeping as they headed south.

Qi Xiu watched their silhouettes disappear. Then he simply collapsed onto the nearest cushion.

Bai Muhan handed him two storage pouches. “Everything’s been handed over. I checked. They basically left with the clothes on their backs.”

Qi Xiu reached inside one—and his fingers closed around the second Moonshadow Mysterious Ice Sword Mo Jianxin had ever forged.

The memory of He Yu flashed through him, sharp as a blade.

“I hate Moonshadow Mysterious Ice Swords,” he said quietly.

Bai Muhan—whether by accident or design—murmured, “There won’t be any more spirit-plant cultivators in the sect now.”

Another old wound opened. Huang Shao-neng’s face flickered in his mind.

“I hate spirit-plant cultivators,” he said.

The words hung in the hall like smoke. Neither of them spoke again.