Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 38: Joy in Calligraphy

The downhill path was still rough—just a beaten trail pounded into crude steps. The group picked their way carefully until they reached the mid-mountain terrace. The view opened wide: a long row of even cruder mud huts ringed the slope, future homes for the coming mortals. Further down, the mountain plunged into the zone once perpetually shrouded in black fog. For the first time they saw the naked rock beneath—bald, jagged, hideous.

“Don’t let the barrenness fool you,” Zhan Yuan said, sweeping an arm. “I tested it. Once the fog lifts in winter, trees grow fine. If mortals can really travel the river then, I’ll hire haulers from villages near Ninety-Three Market to bring cold-hardy pines and flowering shrubs. One season and this place will be transformed.”

Zhang Shishi frowned behind him. “We are daoists. We seek quiet inaction. No need to exhaust the people or beg favors from the Chu family just for ornament. Scattering a few seeds and letting nature take its course is more in line with the Dao.”

The rebuke landed like a slap—accusing Zhan Yuan of vanity and disregard for mortal labor. Zhan Yuan’s face heated; resentment flared, but he swallowed the retort.

Qi Xiu, oblivious to the undercurrent, nodded enthusiastically. “Shishi’s right about going natural, but tomorrow when I visit Senior Zhao I’ll grab some ornamental seeds from the Beast Sect side. Their flowers are loud—crimson, purple, huge blooms. Completely different from Qi Cloud’s restrained elegance. New mountain gate, new spirit—let’s make it bright and lively.”

No one argued with that. Garish color suited their hunger for a life utterly unlike the old sect’s gloom.

They continued down to the array’s edge where a brand-new gateposts stood: stone plinths, twin logs for pillars, a raw wooden lintel waiting for its name. Rougher than the gilded arch of the old peak, but twice as bold.

Zhan Yuan, still stinging, kept the introduction short. “Sect Leader Senior Brother, the plaques and this lintel still need your brush. Once the characters are carved we can seal the wood.”

“Leave it to me.” Qi Xiu’s eyes lit up.

Ten years of seclusion had stagnated his cultivation, but it had honed his calligraphy to something fierce. Empty plaques had been teasing him for weeks. Now he could finally scratch that itch on the very bones of the home he’d built with his own hands.

Visitors would land at the foot of the mountain from now on; the gate was Chu Qin’s new face. After a quick discussion they settled on a few final tweaks, which Zhan Yuan noted down.

Back in the main hall, Qi Xiu shooed the disciples to claim their courtyards, then shut himself away with brush and ink.

Chu Qin Gate – for the arch.

Hug Essence Hall – main audience chamber.

Clear Peace Hall and Virtuous Auspice Hall – east and west wings.

He even composed couplets: upright, nothing flashy, but every stroke carried the wish to inherit the past and open the future.

Twenty small courtyard gates received elegant two-character names: Kindwater, Silent Hope, Subtle Fragrance…

Finally, the little tantric temple was officially christened Chu Qin Temple – three bold characters that seemed to ring like a bell when the brush left the paper.

When the last sheet was done, Qi Xiu’s wrist ached and his heart soared.

He handed the stack to Zhan Yuan, then turned to Zhang Shishi. “Everyone rest. Tomorrow I’ll confirm the planting schedule with Senior Zhao, then we move.”

Seeing Zhan Yuan already hurrying off to start carving, Qi Xiu called after him, “You too—sleep! It can wait.”

Zhan Yuan’s shoulders sagged in gratitude and he disappeared toward the storehouse.

One by one the disciples drifted to their new homes. The once-crowded hall fell suddenly, shockingly silent. A dropped needle would have clanged.

Qi Xiu stood alone under the vaulted ceiling, a pang in his chest he couldn’t name.

“Children always leave the nest eventually…” he murmured, then shook his head and went to bed.

Next morning he flew to Zhao Liangde again.

Same endless queue, same swift dispatch, only the beauty fanning the old man was new—equally stunning, different flavor.

Zhao Liangde’s tiny eyes curved into crescents the moment he spotted Qi Xiu. Ever since the storage pouch changed hands, the boy from the Blackriver had become “quite likable.”

“Back already, little Blackriver friend?”

Qi Xiu stated his business. Zhao Liangde snapped fingers; a Qi Refining disciple was summoned and given orders.

“Three days. My people will come sow the Blackheart Lotus and build the enclosures. Pay the seed fee and next year’s fry deposit to them when they’re done.”

Half done.”

Qi Xiu bowed, snagged a pouch of flashy flower seeds while he was at it, and was dismissed in under half a keemun.

Walking out beneath those eternal golden clouds, he couldn’t help a stab of envy.

One day, may Chu Qin Sect also boast lines of petitioners at our gate, may we be that prosperous, that powerful.

He laughed at himself, summoned his Wind Array Spirit Boat, and flew west.

Back home he tossed the flower seeds to Pan Rong and company. “Scatter them by paper kite wherever the wind takes them. Let nature decide, as Senior Brother Zhang suggested.”

Then he called Zhan Yuan over.

“Buy two more Wind Array Spirit Boats from Ninety-Three Market. You, Zhang Shishi, and I will escort the Beast Sect crew north to start the pig-fish farms.”

Zhan Yuan hesitated. “Didn’t we decide to avoid the Chu family whenever possible?”

Qi Xiu waved it off. “You’re exhausted. Two days nonstop flight to Wang Wan’s is too much. A quick trip won’t kill us, and spirit boats aren’t exactly rare treasures they can gouge us on.”

Zhan Yuan thought a moment, then brightened. “Actually, when I was scouting mortal villages I met a Baishan loose cultivator who smuggles goods between the markets. Says Wind Array boats are made in Baishan—prices are lower. He’s honest, got squeezed hard by the Chu family just like us. Want me to ask him?”

Qi Xiu’s eyes lit. “Reliable?”

“Should be.”

“Then invite him here. I’ve mapped east, west, and north these past months. I still need someone to brief me properly on the south—Senior Kan Lin’s too senior to grill for gossip. Bring the fellow; let’s talk.”

“On it!” Zhan Yuan saluted cheerfully and dashed off.

Qi Xiu watched him go, then looked up at the golden clouds drifting lazily above the new halls.

A small sect, twenty scattered courtyards, a handful of hopeful kids—and yet, for the first time in his life, the future felt wide open.

He allowed himself one quiet, satisfied smile before turning back to work.