Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 32: The Man Called Zhao Liangde

“Zhao Liangde?”

Second time Qi Xiu had heard that name. Kan Lin had dropped it in passing, but a wandering nobody like Kan Lin couldn’t possibly know the man the way Wang Wan did.

Zhao Liangde. Mid Foundation Establishment. Deacon of the Imperial Beast Sect. Never founded his own sect, yet his family’s influence sprawled across the westernmost fringe of the sect’s territory—everything east of the Blackriver still counted as Imperial Beast Sect soil.

In a superpower like the Imperial Beast Sect, deacon was normally a Golden Core job—overseeing one slice of the sect’s vast bureaucracy. Everyone knew the Southern Border enclave played by different rules: titles got inflated by half a realm. So a Foundation Establishment cultivator could wear a deacon’s badge and no one blinked.

Zhao Liangde’s portfolio? Breeding second-tier flying mounts: Silverback Carrier Rays. Massive, flat-backed creatures shaped like manta rays. One beast could haul a small mountain and still outrun most peers in the sky—fast, steady, obscenely expensive to feed. The sect rented and sold them by the hundreds. Lucrative didn’t begin to cover it. And the taming method? Locked tighter than a dragon’s hoard—Imperial Beast Sect secret, no exceptions.

Thanks to his real authority and a breeding ground barely a few days’ flight from the Blackriver, Zhao Liangde was, without question, the single most powerful Foundation Establishment cultivator for a thousand li in every direction.

So why did Wang Wan say the only path to steady income for Chu Qin Sect was to “beg” this man?

Simple.

Zhao Liangde was greedy as a starving ghost.

He was thirty years Wang Wan’s junior, yet already past one-hundred-fifty and still stuck at mid Foundation Establishment—his own Great Dao long dead. Unlike Wang Wan, who chased reputation, Zhao Liangde chased cold, hard spirit stones. His reputation for avarice had spread so wide even transient loose cultivators like Kan Lin knew the stories.

The man’s defining trait: he only respected wealth. Grease his palm enough and a few crumbs of the Imperial Beast Sect’s profits would “accidentally” slip through his fingers—enough for every small fry and minor faction in the region to lick the plate clean.

Exaggeration? Hardly. Half the loose cultivators and tiny forces clinging to the western edge survived on Zhao Liangde’s leftovers. Even Wang Wan’s fortified caravan stop wasn’t exempt. Every year Zhao bought mountains of spirit grass from him to feed the rays, and every year Wang Wan quietly sent “thank-you gifts” in return.

Because of that, Wang Wan couldn’t quite look the man in the eye.

He admitted it freely—Imperial Beast Sect cultivators were always treated half a realm above their actual level; no shame in bowing a little.

Now that Blackriver belonged to Chu Qin Sect and shared a border with Zhao Liangde’s domain, going to pay respects was, in Wang Wan’s words, “only natural.”

“Old Zhao’s greedy, sure, but he keeps his word. Take a fat enough gift and he’ll toss you a bone. Plus, he’s one of the higher-ranking deacons in the Southern Border branch—sees circles I’ll never touch only in my next life. Just getting his advice is worth the trip.”

Wang Wan spilled everything on the flight home, leaving Qi Xiu stunned at how thoroughly the old man had sold out his “friend.”

Qi Xiu drilled him on every detail of protocol. Wang Wan answered without holding back.

By the time they descended, Qi Xiu had the gist. He took a steadying breath. “Soon as I settle things at Blackriver Peak, I’ll pay Elder Zhao a visit.”

“Good. Your sect shelters under Southern Chu’s banner, but they haven’t lifted a finger for Blackriver in years—obviously they see no profit in it. Too few people, too little profit. We daoist sects obsess over spirit fields and mines; the Beast Sect walks a different road. Who knows—they might actually have ideas for that black cesspool.”

They touched down outside the caravan stop. Parting imminent, Wang Wan offered one last piece of advice.

“If that’s true, nothing could be better.”

In mere days the kindly elder had showered Chu Qin Sect with favors. Yes, he never hid that he wanted a future favor for his descendants, but the blunt honesty felt refreshing—almost endearing. The obvious love he bore his worthless offspring moved Qi Xiu more than he expected.

“This humble sect’s petty affairs have dragged Senior across half the border. This junior is overwhelmed and ashamed. Chu Qin Sect will remember your great kindness day and night and seek every chance to repay it.” Qi Xiu bowed deeply, sincerity ringing in every word.

Wang Wan laughed, waved it off, summoned his escape light, and vanished northward. Qi Xiu remained bent at the waist until the streak of light shrank to a speck and disappeared.

“That Wang family debt… won’t be easy to square.”

He sighed, summoned his Wind Array Spirit Boat, and wobbled southeast toward home.

One full month away. He left the verdant riches of Qi Cloud Nation behind, flew a day and night above the stinking black river, until the faint yellow haze of the Yellow Sand Illusion Array shimmered into view around Blackriver Peak.

Yu Jing, on watch outside the main hall, spotted the descending boat first. “The Sect Leader’s back!” he bellowed the boy, voice cracking with excitement.

Familiar figures poured from the hall.

“Welcome back, Sect Leader Senior Brother!” Zhang Shishi led the disciples in formal salute.

One month apart and Qi Xiu found himself oddly glad to see them—steady Zhang Shishi, quick-witted Zhan Yuan, mischievous Gu Ji, even honest-to-a-fault Qin Weiyu. Each had their own charm.

“Rise, rise.” Qi Xiu grinned, hands lifting the air. “Anything major while I was gone?”

Zhang Shishi, acting sect leader in his absence, answered promptly. “Aside from Senior Kan Lin and a few passing cultivators, Senior Chu Youmin dropped by once with instructions. Nothing else of note.”

“Chu Youmin came himself?” Qi Xiu’s brow twitched. That cold fish personally visiting Blackriver? “What instructions?”

“Nothing much. Said the mortal migrants led by Qin Ji will arrive by year’s end. Then he left.”

Zhang Shishi paused, then added, “Looked extremely annoyed the whole time.”

Qi Xiu snorted. Compared to Wang Wan’s warmth, their so-called parent sect’s attitude stung. “Forget him. Migrants are still months away, but we need to start surveying the whole river for livable spots. Can’t have them show up with nowhere to sleep.”

“Understood,” Zhang Shishi acknowledged.

Off to the side, Gu Ji had already locked eyes with the Golden-Eyed Monkey riding Qi Xiu’s back. The boy’s face lit up like festival lanterns. Qi Xiu laughed and deposited the creature into Gu Ji’s eager arms. Moments later Gu Ji and Qin Weiyu were tearing around the peak with the monkey shrieking in delight between them.

Zhang Shishi produced the sect leader token. Qi Xiu waved it away. “Keep it for now. I need a few days’ rest—then I’ve got business elsewhere. Call everyone back to the peak. I have announcements to make.”