Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 25: A Level Bowl of Water

“First.” Qi Xiu’s voice carried through the hall, steady as a drum. “Our old sect died of infighting, and infighting grew from unfairness. From this day forward, every disciple under Chu Qin’s banner stands equal. No inner, no outer—only brothers and sisters. Zhang Shishi and I will keep this bowl perfectly level.”

He Yu shot Zhang Shishi a puzzled glance. Zhang Shishi gave the tiniest shake of his head.

He Yu’s brow darkened; he dropped his gaze to the floor, lips pressed thin.

Qi Xiu saw it all. A pang twisted his gut, but this was not the moment to smooth ruffled feathers. He pressed on.

“Second. The new array favors water and earth roots. Zhang Shishi will schedule cavern time fairly. As for those the qi rejects—myself, Zhan Yuan, Pan Rong, Shen Chang…” His throat tightened. “If any of you feel your path ends here, I will personally escort you to South Chu City and beg Senior Chu Zhuangyuan on bended knee to find you a place within her sect. No hard feelings, no debts. You followed me across half the realm; I will not be the one to sever your hope.”

He looked straight at Pan Rong and Shen Chang. “But if you choose to stay, you stay as family. Same duties, same respect, same bowl of rice. Think it over. We’ll speak again when Zhan Yuan returns.”

The two young men exchanged a long look. Shen Chang’s voice barely rose above the wind. “We… we’ll think on it.”

Qi Xiu nodded. Cruel to force the question so soon, perhaps, but cruelty now might spare bitterness later. Every day the ones who could cultivate grew stronger while the others watched from the sidelines would plant thorns no apology could pull out.

“As long as I do right by them,” he told himself, “my conscience stays clean.”

“Third.” He drew a slow breath. “When Zhan Yuan returns, I head north to pay respects to Senior Wang Wan. I may be gone a long while. In my absence, Zhang Shishi acts as sect leader. Should anything happen to me, the position falls to him permanently.”

Silence. Then Qi Xiu leaned forward from his knees and bowed formally. Zhang Shishi pressed both palms to the floor and returned a full kowtow.

“I will not fail you, Sect Leader,” he said, voice rough.

It was done.

Afterward they hashed out the schedule. He Yu still received the lion’s share of cavern time—his talent demanded it—but Gu Ji, Qin Weiyu, and Huang He split whatever scraps remained. When He Yu wasn’t on duty, he could join Zhang Shishi and Yu Jing in the hall’s earth-heavy qi. Fair, if not equal.

Pan Rong and Shen Chang kept their heads down, silent. Qi Xiu let the meeting end.

That night he fled to his room, shut the door, and stared at nothing until his eyes burned. His own path looked as barren as theirs. Zhan Yuan’s choice still hung in the air like a blade. In the end he skipped evening meditation, burrowed under the quilt, and forced sleep to come.

For the next several days the peak buzzed with new rhythm. Chores were rotated without mercy: fetching water from the village, sweeping the hall, cooking, night watch. From the littlest—Gu Ji and Qin Weiyu—up to the sect leader himself, no one escaped. The bowl stayed level.

They even patched the gaping doorway into something resembling a gate. Qi Xiu climbed a ladder and carved two bold characters into the lintel—楚秦. No doors yet; it looked like a smile missing front teeth, but it was theirs.

Zhan Yuan returned on the seventh morning, robes dusty, eyes bright.

Pan Rong and Shen Chang dragged him off before he could even bow properly. Ten minutes later the three reappeared together.

“I’m staying,” Zhan Yuan announced, simple as that.

Relief flooded Qi Xiu so hard his knees nearly buckled.

Pan Rong and Shen Chang slipped away again. When they came back an hour later, their faces were calm for the first time in days.

“Sect Leader.” They knelt in unison. “After much thought, we choose to remain. Useless bodies though we may be, please keep us.”

Qi Xiu hauled them up before the foreheads touched floor. “Good… wonderful…” His voice cracked. Tears threatened again; he was turning into a watering pot these days. “You, me, Zhan Yuan—we’ll carry the sect on our backs together.”

Pan Rong laughed through glistening eyes. “Senior Brother Zhan Yuan put it best: the Chu Clan in the east never thought much of us anyway. If we’re going to be looked down on, better to do it beside family while we build something new.”

He stressed the word new like a battle cry. Shen Chang nodded hard enough to rattle.

Qi Xiu could only repeat, hoarse with gratitude, “I’m proud of you all.”

Later, alone with Zhan Yuan, he listened to the report.

“Soldier’s Rest Market is clean,” Zhan Yuan said. “Qi Yun territory—nobody dares act wild. Even White Mountain cultivators speak well of Wang Wan. Honest broker, keeps his word.”

Qi Xiu’s eyes narrowed. “Trustworthy?”

“I’d bet my life on it.”

A long silence. Then Qi Xiu’s gaze sharpened like drawn steel.

“Prepare gifts according to southern custom—nothing cheap, nothing that shames the sect leader’s name. I leave at dawn.”

Zhan Yuan saluted and strode off to the storehouse, steps light. After a week of watching prices like a hawk, he finally felt the old humiliation of the Black Wind Banner transaction slough away.

As the door closed behind him, Pan Rong and Shen Chang’s voices drifted in from the corridor—soft, steady, already planning tomorrow’s chores.

Qi Xiu stood alone in the quiet hall, looked up at the two fresh characters above the gate, and smiled.

The bowl was level.

The family was whole.

Tomorrow he would ride north and gamble everything on a stranger’s honor.

But tonight, for the first time since they had fled south, Black River Peak felt like home.