Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 166: The Slaughter of Immortal Grove Hollow

Forty-second day.

The Primordial Heavy Earth Array still rumbled—deep, steady, almost comforting now. The terror it once carried had dulled into background noise.

After that brutal night several days ago, the rogues outside had been reduced to one late-stage Foundation Establishment, one early-stage, and twenty-odd Qi Refining stragglers. Whether the rest died in infighting or simply fled, no one knew. What mattered was that this remnant lacked the firepower to break through.

Qi Xiu had assigned shifts to guard the array core. Everyone else rested when they could, cleaned the battlefield when they couldn’t. Routine held. Order survived.

“The decoy Azure Jade Spirit Tree is gone. Spiritual fields stripped bare. Especially the main field—Zhan Chou’s Black River water corroded it badly. Years before it recovers, if ever…”

The main hall and grass huts had burned to ash. Everything else looked like locusts had passed through—anything remotely valuable carried off. Even Yue’er’s refined residence had its roof torn half away. Listening to Bai Muhan’s quiet report, Qi Xiu surveyed the wreckage. His mood, strangely, was steady.

“Material things. Gone is gone. People are safe. That’s enough.”

“Spirit stones are running dangerously low…”

At that, Qi Xiu reached into his storage bag and produced a dozen-plus third-tier stones—the leftovers from buying the Hidden Sorrow Pattern, plus what he’d earned appraising and betting during the tournament. He handed them over.

“Collect whatever the others have left. Record every piece. We’ll repay them later.”

“Yes…” Bai Muhan accepted the stones with a soft sigh and left to handle it.

Yue’er came bouncing over, pouting, and wrapped herself around his arm. She leaned close, breath warm against his ear.

“All my little undergarments are gone from my room.”

Some rogue out there had that particular kink… Qi Xiu could only shake his head. Yue’er’s soft chest kept pressing against his sleeve, her orchid breath tickling. His hand moved on instinct—gave her backside a light smack.

“Your mother’s storage bag should have spares. Ask her.”

Right then Chu Wuying, Zhan Chou, and Qin Weiyu walked up. The three of them—still young enough not to fully understand—simply knelt in perfect unison. Qi Xiu’s face heated. He waved them up quickly. Yue’er skipped away, giggling.

“You three. When exactly did you come up with that combined strike? You kept it from me.”

Without Chu Wuying’s Multi-Shadow Pavilion fog, Zhan Chou’s Black Obsidian Purity Bottle flooding the field with Black River water, and Qin Weiyu’s Black Stem Marsh Orchid Array entangling everything, they never would have reaped so many low-tier lives.

“Back at Black River Peak,” Zhan Chou answered readily, “I filled the bottle with river water to prank Senior Brother Weiyu. We discovered the combination by accident. Later we added Senior Brother Wuying’s shadow fog. It just… worked.”

Chu Wuying stayed quiet. Qin Weiyu never talked much anyway.

“Good. Very good.” Qi Xiu looked at the three boys—pride swelling despite everything. “Go find Master Kong Wen. He’ll help you refine it further.”

“Yes, Sect Leader.”

They withdrew. Outside, the mortal men who’d taken refuge were working in the spiritual field—cloth pressed over noses and mouths—trying to scoop out the last of the Black River water. Luckily some old Fragrant Coix Pills remained; they kept them in their mouths to fight the stench. Qin Jì labored hardest alongside his two mortal brothers-in-law. Years of confinement had stripped away his former plumpness. Gaunt now, silent, eyes downcast. He spoke to no one.

Qi Xiu watched. A flicker of pity stirred. He almost stepped forward to offer comfort—then Shen Chang came sprinting up, gasping.

“Outside… outside…”

“What now?”

No need to ask. Trouble again.

Shen Chang led him to the mountain gate archway. A large group of rogues had gathered. Their leader—by build, the same late-stage Foundation Establishment who’d besieged them for weeks—had finally removed his black hood. His face was twisted with rage.

“People inside, listen! I never wanted to stoop this low. But ‘thieves don’t leave empty-handed.’ Pay a ransom in spirit stones and we leave at once! Otherwise—”

He gestured. Two Qi Refining cultivators shoved forward a crowd of fifty or sixty mortal subjects.

Qi Xiu’s vision darkened. He swayed. Shen Chang steadied him.

The old man at the front—Qin Ping’an. When they evacuated relatives, Qin Ping’an had refused to come inside. Said he bore the responsibility of a mortal lord—had to keep order outside. Qi Xiu hadn’t argued.

Now these monsters had found another lever.

“Look!” The late-stage rogue pulled several heads from his storage bag and tossed them. They rolled to the base of the archway. One face was unmistakable—the Mao family patriarch. A Foundation Establishment late-stage cultivator—reduced to this.

“Refuse, and I swear I’ll turn your Chu Qin gate into a wall of heads built from your own mortal subjects!”

“What do you want?”

Qi Xiu forced the words out. White Mountain rogues were perfectly capable of following through.

“You already know.” The rogue’s face twisted into a snarl through the barrier. “We want wealth, nothing more. Hand over a hundred third-tier stones and every magic treasure your people own. We walk. No second thoughts.”

“Sect Leader Immortal—don’t agree!” Qin Ping’an suddenly surged forward, shouting with surprising strength. One of his captors, furious, struck the back of his neck. He crumpled.

“Don’t try to bluff us,” the rogue continued. “We saw plenty of good items last time you fought. We remember every one. Not a single piece missing!”

Qi Xiu felt strangely relieved. He raised his voice.

“Hand over our treasures and you turn around and slaughter us anyway? And my sect—”

“Don’t give them information!” Bai Muhan arrived running and cut him off quietly. “If they know how few stones we have left, they’ll never leave.”

“No bargaining!” The rogue chopped downward. Qin Ping’an’s head parted from his body. Another mortal was dragged forward. “Will you pay or not!”

The bound subjects broke. Cries rose. Some voided themselves in terror. Others fainted outright.

“Immortal masters—save us… save us…”

The man they held trembled violently, repeating the plea like a mantra.

Behind him the wailing swelled to a tide.

Qi Xiu felt rage and grief twist together. But his mind stayed cold. Trusting these animals would be suicide. He hardened himself, turned away. Better not to watch.

Word spread inside. Chu Qin’s few major surnames were tightly interlinked—many had relatives outside. Some rushed to the gate, begging for mercy. Yu Jing barked them back.

By nightfall a pyramid of heads stood before the archway. The beasts weren’t finished. They dragged forward more captives—killing one by one.

Screams carried into the mountain gate. Pierced every heart.

“Sect Leader…” Yu Denou approached. Stopped. Sighed. “Never mind.”

He shuffled back toward the pavilion.

Past midnight Shen Chang ran up again—eyes bloodshot.

“Sect Leader—they… those animals…”

Qi Xiu followed him to the parapet. Young women—some barely grown—had been bound and dragged into small arrays the rogues had set up. When they were thrown back out they were naked corpses—bodies marked by every kind of cruelty. Some had breasts mutilated, lower bodies ruined. Indescribable.

The pile of female corpses grew. Lit by campfire glow, it faced the head pyramid in silent accusation. Blood everywhere. The scene reeked of horror.

“Beasts!”

The curse didn’t come from inside the gate. One of the rogues—the early-stage Foundation Establishment who’d stood apart until now—ripped off his hood.

“I’m ashamed to stand with you animals. I’m gone.”

He summoned his sword and flew away. The Qi Refining cultivators who hadn’t joined the atrocities exchanged glances—then followed suit. Weapons flashed. Half the force vanished into the night.

Outside, only the late-stage leader and seven or eight rapists remained. They stared at each other awkwardly.

“Sect Leader Uncle! We can take them!”

Yu Jing’s eyes blazed. Many of the murdered women had been maids from his outer estates—girls he’d known for years. Like losing family dogs. Now only a handful of enemies remained. He wanted blood.

“Yes! Perfect chance! Let’s go!”

The others joined in. As immortals they were supposed to protect their kin. Nothing—not poverty, not danger—had ever humiliated them like this. If not now, when?

“Careful—it could be a trap…”

Bai Muhan started. Kong Wen cut in with a low “Amitābha.”

“Even Buddhas have wrathful forms. I can’t endure this anymore.”

Everyone looked to Qi Xiu. He clenched his jaw.

“Fine. Muhan—set the assault formation. I’ll probe first. Wuying—with me!”

He left Chu Wuying behind the barrier, leapt out alone.

The rogues—clustered, arguing over next moves—flinched at the sudden appearance. Qi Xiu tossed a storage bag toward the late-stage leader.

“Now that your people have scattered, take this and leave Chu Qin in peace. Deal?”

The rogue opened it. Empty. Fury twisted his face. He stabbed with his sword.

Chu Wuying’s Multi-Shadow Pavilion swallowed Qi Xiu and pulled him back inside.

“Formation ready. Awaiting your command!” Bai Muhan had assembled every cultivator—juniors clutching swords, ready to charge.

Qi Xiu exhaled.

“Stand down. Hold the gate. It’s a trap… We wait.”

The disciples erupted in protest.

Qi Xiu only shook his head.

“Coward…” Wei Chengqian—quiet for weeks—chose that moment to sneer. Qi Xiu slapped him flat. He stayed down.

Discipline held. The disciples subsided. Kong Wen gave Qi Xiu a complicated look, then sat and began chanting sutras for the dead outside.

Days passed.

The rogues outside grew impatient. Attacked again. The early-stage Foundation Establishment who’d left in disgust reappeared—from nowhere. His followers too. More arrived daily. Chu Qin finally understood: the earlier walk-out had been a ruse—a delaying tactic.

Qi Xiu hadn’t guessed. He’d simply swept Humanity-Seeing over a few Qi Refining rogues when he threw the empty bag. That glance told him everything.

Finally—when every last spirit stone inside was nearly spent—the sky over Shandu Mountain lit with fireworks.

Wei Xuan—one man, one sword—swept through Immortal Grove Hollow and surrounding lands. Every lingering rogue fell.

Nearly seventy days of chaos—the White Mountain rogue uprising—ended in a single night.