Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 46: Trespassers at the Gate

A faint groan.

Zhang Shishi’s eyes fluttered open to meet Qi Xiu’s; red-rimmed, soft with worry and something fiercer, like a mother hen who’d just fought off a fox.

“Sect… Leader…” Each word cost blood. “The lizard… everyone… cough—”

He broke into a fit that rattled his ribs.

Qi Xiu tucked the blanket higher, voice gentle as spring rain. “Lizard’s dead. Everyone’s fine. You slept seven straight days, kid. Yu Denou fetched a dismantler from Military Station Market; we even turned a tidy profit on the carcass. Rest. That’s an order.”

He spooned medicine between cracked lips, hummed an old lullaby from Qi Yun days, and stayed until Zhang Shishi slipped back into healing sleep.

Outside the tent the tenderness drained from Qi Xiu’s face like water from a cracked bowl.

Zhan Yuan was pacing, rubbing cold hands, worry etched deep.

“You’re here,” Qi Xiu said quietly. “Spit it out.”

Zhan Yuan stepped close, voice a harsh whisper. “Chu Youmin’s people. They’re swarming the riverlands now that the mist’s gone. Hunting spirit beasts in our territory, bold as brass. I argued; they laughed and said Black River has always been Chu land, that giving us one peak was charity enough. Told us to stay on our little hill and be grateful.”

Qi Xiu closed his eyes, the old helplessness rising like bile.

Seven days ago they’d nearly died for one lizard carcass. Word had spread west somehow. Now Chu Youmin cultivators poured in, friends in tow, harvesting what Chu Qin had bled to clear. Even unaffiliated rogue cultivators were sniffing around the breeding grounds.

“If we let them run wild,” Zhan Yuan pressed, “they’ll strip the place bare before the Black-Heart Lotuses even bloom.”

Qi Xiu had no answer. Strength too thin, back against the wall; what could he do?

They stood in silence, staring at the endless black swamp under a sky the color of dirty iron. Heaven and earth blurred into the same hopeless gray.

After a long while Zhan Yuan muttered, “What if we threw ourselves on Wang Juan or Elder Zhao’s mercy?”

“Idiot!” Qi Xiu snapped, then softened. “Betray Southern Chu Sect and we lose even this foothold. Besides; ungrateful dogs get skinned first. Never speak of it again.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Zhao won’t shield us. Wang can’t. Both are old men riding sunset. Southern Chu’s Sect Leader Chu Hongshang is barely eight hundred; two thousand years of life ahead. Under the three-generation non-aggression pact, not even super-sects with Spirit Severing patriarchs can touch her for another twelve centuries at least. We’re birds in a gilded cage. Only one path forward.”

“But watching them loot our future isn’t a path!” Zhan Yuan’s voice cracked. “When the lotuses ripen, do we stop them? When the pigs and fish fatten, do we stop them?”

Qi Xiu opened his mouth, closed it. He thought of Chu Youmin’s smirks these past months and felt his certainty waver.

A sudden image flashed; petite figure in yellow palace robes, bright eyes, a casual promise tossed over tea.

*Anything you need, come find me.*

Just politeness, surely.

Yet the idea took root and refused to die.

*Worst case, she forgot my name. I’ve already been laughed off bigger stages. Flesh doesn’t fall off from embarrassment.*

His face flickered through storm and sun before settling into resolve.

“I have a plan,” he told Zhan Yuan. “Beginning of one, anyway. Keep it quiet. The river’s clean for now, Shishi’s awake; no reason to linger. Tomorrow we go home.”

Orders flew. By next dawn the whole sect ferried Zhang Shishi back to Black River Peak in careful relay.

The breeding outpost needed no guarding yet; pig-fish fingerlings wouldn’t arrive until spring. A patrol every few weeks would suffice.

Peace; fragile, temporary; settled over the mountain once more.

While Chu Youmin cultivators and greedy rogue wanderers roamed the marsh like they owned it, Qi Xiu ordered his people to turn blind eyes.

Only when Zhang Shishi could stand unaided did Qi Xiu summon both him and Zhan Yuan to the Sect Leader’s chamber.

“I’m going to Southern Chu City,” he announced without preamble. “Extremely far. I’ll travel through Elder Zhao’s channels. Not a whisper to anyone; not even the disciples. Clear?”

Both nodded.

“Year’s end approaches,” he continued. “The migrant column is close. Zhan Yuan, ride out, greet them, ease their hardships. I’ve spoken with Wang Juan; he’ll house most. Pick ten honest, hardworking families Qin Ji recommends and settle them on our peak.”

Zhan Yuan accepted.

To Zhang Shishi: “If I’m not back by New Year, you’re in charge. Prepare proper gifts for Wang family, Chu family, and Elder Zhao; none may be slighted.”

Zhang Shishi’s pale face twisted. “Southern customs rot the bones. Wang Juan and the Chu both came from Qi Yun; Daoist sects once; now they grovel with the rest. Disgraceful.”

Qi Xiu almost laughed at the boy’s purity.

“Shishi, the world isn’t that simple. Watch Zhan Yuan on these matters. One missed courtesy can plant a dagger for later.”

Zhang Shishi dipped his head, resentment simmering. Across the table Zhan Yuan’s glance carried the faintest victorious glint. Their eyes locked; lightning with no thunder; then slid away, masks back in place.

Qi Xiu noticed nothing.

Arrangements complete, he wasted no time.

That very day he descended Black River Peak and set his face toward Beast Taming Sect, toward Elder Zhao Liangde, toward a yellow-robed girl who might; just might; remember a desperate man’s name.