Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 169 The Fourth Battle for Tianyin Mountain

Qi Xiu stood alone at the summit of Tianyin Peak, dressed in a plain red robe, gazing out across the scarred landscape. He had fought in three previous wars here, yet this was the first time he’d set foot on the very top. The view stretched wide and merciless.

Midsummer, yet not a blade of grass survived on these slopes. Bare rock everywhere, some patches stained a dull, permanent crimson—blood long soaked into stone, refusing to fade. The whole mountain wore the aftermath of slaughter like a shroud.

“Brother Qi, long time no see.”

An old man approached with soft steps and took up position beside him. Mu Xun, head of the Mu Family, late Foundation Establishment. He glanced around casually.

“What are you staring at so intently?”

Qi Xiu recognized him at once and offered a respectful salute. “Just looking at the desolation. The blood that won’t wash away. It leaves a certain… feeling.”

Mu Xun nodded slowly. “Indeed. Between the Wei Family, the Artifact Talisman Alliance, and the old Tianyin Sect before them—how many lives have bled out for this place? The flood dragon alone, Nan Kun, Lu Shiluo… three Golden Cores gone. The stains run deep. The grudges deeper still.”

He sighed, voice dropping with memory. “I came here once, years ago. The peak stood several zhang taller then. Green as far as the eye could see—peaceful, almost paradisiacal. A true immortal retreat.”

A few more wistful words, then his tone sharpened. “Funny thing, though. During the last loose cultivator uprising, when your sect’s signal flare never went up, my people and I assumed the Chu Qin Sect had fallen too. We even set up a mourning hall back home. Shed quite a few tears.”

Qi Xiu’s expression didn’t flicker. Thick-skinned as ever, he let the jab slide past like wind. “I was a little busy at the time—surrounded and fighting for our lives. Didn’t notice much else. Still… your concern does you credit, Brother Mu. My thanks.”

Mu Xun gave a short laugh and dropped the subject. Then, eyes fixed on the distant horizon:

“What do you make of this southern campaign?”

“Ruo Family in chaos. Wei Family driving the wedge. Clever move.”

“Mm. Clever for them. Leaves the rest of us sitting on this rock with nothing to gain.”

There it was—the real reason Mu Xun had sought him out.

The Wei Family’s southern sweep promised easy spoils and low risk, yet they’d stationed the Chu Qin Sect, the Mu Family, and most of the western Mountain Capital clans here on the eastern front—at Tianyin Mountain, a place offering zero merit, zero profit, zero chance for glory. Mu Xun was clearly stewing.

Qi Xiu felt a flicker of irritation himself, but he had no intention of cozying up to the Mu Family. They loomed like a storm cloud north of Xianlin, growing stronger by the day. Better to keep his distance.

He feigned mild surprise. “Peace and quiet isn’t so bad, is it?”

Mu Xun let out two dry chuckles, made a bit of small talk, then excused himself.

Qi Xiu watched the old man’s retreating back and gave a silent snort. The Mu Family pressing like a mountain range to the north—better to guard against them than scheme with them against the Wei.

He returned to the Chu Qin encampment.

Some disciples were in seclusion behind closed doors. Others were out visiting friends. Qin Siguo and Zhao Yao were sparring in the open square. Qin Siguo’s sword met every technique with calm precision—he held the upper hand for now. Zhao Yao bounced and darted, sweat gleaming on her brow, but she was being methodically pinned down.

Kong Wen watched from the side, smiling like a fond uncle. He’d heard Wei Yuan would be stationed here and pestered Qi Xiu until he was allowed to come along. “Everyone has their nature,” he’d argued. “No need to cage them too tightly.” Which explained the current relaxed atmosphere.

This posting looked safe enough. Besides, Qi Xiu had never been much of a drillmaster. Easier to let Kong Wen handle the philosophy.

He hadn’t brought many people this time. Only those who volunteered—Kong Wen and Mao Maolin—plus nine promising disciples: Zhao Yao, Qin Siguo, Xiao Zhan, Qin Weiyu, Qin Sizhao, Chu Wuying, Bai Guangyi, Qi Zhuang, and Mo Jianxin. Min Niang had come along as camp support. Thirteen in total, counting himself.

Midway through the spar, Zhao Yao suddenly sheathed her weapon. “Enough, enough! I’m not feeling well today. We’ll finish this later.”

Qin Siguo laughed and conceded.

With nothing pressing, Qi Xiu practiced his Remote Reach Movement Technique in the square—stretching limbs, loosening joints. He asked Kong Wen and Zhao Yao for pointers. A first-grade lower-quality movement art was child’s play for a Foundation Establishment cultivator; within minutes he had it flowing smoothly. Satisfied, he returned to his temporary quarters.

Min Niang had gone to chat with some Wei acquaintances, so he sat cross-legged and cultivated.

Using the Wubei密纹 as his guide, he circulated the Six Senses Scripture through full cycles. The foundational patterns of his own Qi Xiu密纹 were already more than half complete. This was only the first step on the Foundation Establishment path: finish weaving the base patterns, then—and only then—could he claim true perfection at the first layer.

Tianyin Mountain sat atop a thunder-element spirit vein. The local spirit land graded upper second-tier. Threads of lightning Qi seeped into the body—not just tempering flesh, but refining Spiritual Qi to greater purity. Even the speed of pattern-weaving increased noticeably. Small wonder the Wei Family had bled rivers to hold this place. Strategic value, spiritual value—everything aligned.

He drew Spiritual Qi into fine threads, tracing the intricate, esoteric patterns in his sea of consciousness one careful stroke at a time. Buddhist mysteries were vast and deep; an outsider like him could never truly comprehend them. Fortunately he didn’t need to. He copied mechanically, chasing only the shallow external benefits.

Everything progressed smoothly—until a hoarse, thunderous voice exploded directly into his mind.

“Wei Xuan, you little bastard! This old man is back! Come out and face me, you little bastard!”

The shout rang again and again, shaking the mountain, piercing straight through protective formations. Qi Xiu’s brushstroke veered wildly, scorching away a section of already-completed pattern. A wave of weakness rolled through his dantian; his cultivation slipped backward a fraction.

Furious, he rushed outside.

High above Tianyin Mountain floated the green-robed elder—unmistakably the same late Golden Core loose cultivator who’d been driven off last time.

Disciples poured from their rooms, staring upward in shock.

Mao Maolin’s face drained of color. “He wasn’t—”

Before he could finish, a second-grade Golden-Clawed Winged Lizard shot out from the mountain. Atop it stood Wei Gao, one of the Wei Family elders assigned to guard Tianyin this time—late Foundation Establishment. He flew straight toward the intruder, roaring:

“Defeated dog! Didn’t you crawl into the Artifact Talisman Alliance for protection? What are you doing back here?”

“Hmph!”

The green-robed elder sneered. “I took Lu Family lands—true. Those lands now belong to the Alliance—also true. But I never joined them. I’m a lone man with nothing left to lose. So I’ve come to settle things with your Wei Family. What of it?”

He swept an arm. Far on the horizon, a second-grade beast boat appeared, funeral music drifting faintly across the distance. Two enormous white banners snapped in the wind—one reading “Vengeance and Retribution,” the other “Irreconcilable Enmity.” Both characters dripped crimson.

“Today I bring the surviving remnants of my old friend Lu’s clan to demand blood! Wei Xuan! Get out here, you little bastard!”

The boat drew nearer. Mourning figures crowded the deck—genuine mourners, dressed in sackcloth and filial white.

Wei Gao doubled over laughing. “You’ve lost your mind, old man. Our family just gained another Golden Core, and you show up with… this? For revenge? Ha!”

The green-robed elder flushed with rage. A streak of sickly green light shot toward Wei Gao. The Wei elder hastily retreated behind the mountain formation and bellowed back:

“Green-robed cur! The Wei Family will take your head!”

Qi Xiu frowned from inside the perimeter. The green-robed elder was a loose cultivator through and through. Last time he’d only helped Lu Shiluo for profit. With Lu dead, no conflict of interest remained. Why did Wei Gao have to burn that bridge so thoroughly?

The two kept trading insults overhead. Qi Xiu soon lost patience.

He turned to Mao Maolin. “What kind of man is this Wei Gao?”

Mao Maolin shook his head. “Not sure. He’s from Wei Tong’s direct line. That branch has always kept a low profile since arriving in Mountain Capital. But he’s still one of the seven great elders. Never heard anyone call him… well… this reckless.”

Above, the argument suddenly reached an agreement.

“Done!”

“Agreed!”

The green-robed elder didn’t leave. He flew to a nameless peak outside Tianyin and directed his people to begin setting up formations—clear preparations for battle.

A Wei Family messenger soon arrived, summoning everyone to a meeting.

Qi Xiu walked slowly, deliberately dragging his feet.

Inside the main hall, shouting already filled the air.

Mu Xun’s furious voice carried from far off: “Guard duty! Guard duty! Explain to me what those two words actually mean! We came here to hold Tianyin Mountain for your Wei Family—not to die for your personal temper tantrum!”

“You didn’t even consult the Ancestor before making a private verbal pact with the enemy! Do you think you’re a Golden Core cultivator now?”

Stepping inside, Qi Xiu saw Mu Xun red-faced and leading the charge, berating Wei Gao without pause. Behind him, a crowd of collateral sect leaders glared. Even most of the Wei clansmen stood back, arms folded, offering no support.

Wei Gao faced the storm alone and didn’t flinch.

“You people understand nothing! Against a man like that, you can never show the slightest weakness—or he’ll walk all over you forever!”

“The Ancestor has always listened to me. Just wait and see!”

Silence fell like a blade.

Wei Gao turned. Wei Yuan sat quietly at the head seat—white spirit beast cradled in his arms—having arrived unnoticed. The elder’s smug expression finally cracked into awkwardness. He shut his mouth.

“Ancestor, listen—” Mu Xun rushed forward to complain.

“Ancestor!”

Wei Gao cut him off, striding forward and dropping to his knees.

“That green-robed fool is obsessed with revenge. I’ve already arranged it: three days from now, soldier against soldier, general against general—a proper battle outside the mountain. What do you say?”

Wei Yuan seemed barely interested. He stroked the beast absently and murmured, “Fine. Do as you like.”

“What?!”

“Ancestor! We hold the mountain and borrow its formation. Simply defend—we’re unbeatable! We—”

Mu Xun’s protest died as Wei Yuan vanished in a flicker of movement. The old man nearly choked on his own rage, chest heaving.

Wei Gao—square-faced and thick-browed—managed to look like the smuggest rat in the granary.

He swept a triumphant gaze across the hall.

“What are you all standing around for? Go prepare! Three days from now—we fight!”