Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 40: Sowing Seeds and Sealing the Gap

The silver ray circled low over the chosen valley, wings beating slow and silent.

At the beast’s tail, the Zhao clansman upended a massive storage pouch. Blackheart Lotus seeds, each cloaked in faint azure wood-aspect qi, poured out like liquid night, vanishing into the black fog below.

“Watch closely,” he instructed while still pouring. “These seeds are tough, but even with our sect’s secret blessing, maybe one in a hundred takes root here. Quantity is everything.”

Just tipping a bag and chanting the release formula; nothing fancy. The Beast Sect pouch used different activation seals than Qi Cloud’s, but Qi Xiu’s trio picked it up fast. Soon Zhan Yuan took over the sowing while the Zhao cultivator led Qi Xiu and Zhang Shishi to the only open gap in the surrounding hills.

“Pig-fish love to burrow. Soft bodies, slippery as eels. That gap has to be sealed with fine-mesh spirit silk.”

He produced another pouch and drew out the end of a snow-white net, handing one corner to Qi Xiu, the other to Zhang Shishi.

“Fly to opposite ends. Hold tight. When I give the word, let go.”

They shot apart. The net unspooled for li after li; most of it still coiled inside the pouch.

When they reached position, the Zhao cultivator stripped off his outer robe, revealing the classic Beast Sect loin-wrap of scaled hide. Bare-chested, he roared once.

Behind him bloomed the phantom of an enormous tree, trunk thick as a tower, branches clawing the sky. Upon those branches coiled a second phantom: emerald vines thick as pythons.

“Dual natal gifts!” Qi Xiu thought, pulse quickening.

Two streaks of verdant qi lashed out. The vines turned into living serpents dozens of li long, snatched the net corners from the two men’s hands, and dove straight into the swamp.

The silk vanished beneath the muck, dragged deeper and deeper. The Zhao cultivator’s forehead beaded with sweat, but he held steady.

Finally the serpents stilled. Far below, the net had been stretched into an invisible wall, sealing the breach perfectly.

The phantom tree winked out. The man swayed, panting, but grinned.

Gap sealed.

They flew back to the ray. Zhan Yuan had just emptied the last seed.

“Terrain set, seeds sown. We’ll know next spring if they took. Come midsummer we drop the fry. I’m wood-aspect; taming isn’t my forte. Someone else will bring the pig-fish then.” He wiped his brow, accepted the agreed spirit stones without ceremony, then muttered a few words to his surly colleague.

The silver ray banked south and ferried the three Chu Qin disciples home.

Before leaving, the Zhao cultivator tossed one last warning over his shoulder.

“Pig-fish are delicacies to many predators. Very few creatures live in the Blackriver, but the few that do are hungry. Clear the surrounding area before summer, or your expensive fry become someone else’s dinner.”

The ray vanished into the horizon.

Zhang Shishi frowned. “So now we have to hunt apex predators too? What if there are actual spirit beasts down there?”

Zhan Yuan snorted. “Even mortal shepherds guard against wolves. You think we can just let our investment get eaten?”

Zhang Shishi sighed. “Should’ve never taken this job…”

Qi Xiu’s patience snapped.

“Enough!” His voice cracked like a whip. “Zhang Shishi, you are enforcer and instructor. South Border is not gentle Qi Cloud. Yu Denuo’s story should have taught you that. Cultivation alone won’t keep us alive. From today, every disciple learns at least one offensive or defensive spell suited to their natal spirit root. If anyone awakens a natal gift, all the better. I want visible progress before the migrants arrive at year’s end. We are cultivators, heart and will come first. A little hardship and you wilt?”

Zhang Shishi flushed crimson, bowed deeply. “This disciple understands. I’ll begin immediately.”

He left to carry out orders.

Qi Xiu turned to Zhan Yuan. “Pick the most reliable disciple and dump the remaining chores on him. Tomorrow you leave: Wang’s caravan stop, Ninety-Three Market, Yu Denuo, everywhere. Buy low-tier artifacts that match our disciples’ natal roots. Every extra ounce of combat strength counts. We have to stretch our stones until the pig-fish harvest the year after next. Show me what you can do.”

“Yes, Sect Leader!”

Alone at last, Qi Xiu sat cross-legged and turned inward.

His own natal gift, Crimson-Rumped Horse Monkey, refused to manifest. The golden-eyed monkey from Qi Nan City had chosen Gu Ji instead; another failure.

Alchemy, weapon-forging, all hopeless.

But talisman crafting…

During his decade of seclusion he had once, by sheer stubbornness, succeeded in making a single type of obscure first-tier talisman. In peaceful Qi Cloud no one wanted it; he’d shelved the skill.

Here in the savage south, that forgotten talisman might finally find its market.

Qi Xiu rose, rolled up his sleeves, and walked toward the west wing that would soon become the talisman workshop.

If the sect was going to fight beasts, then by the heavens he would arm them himself.

One stroke of cinnabar at a time.