Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 55: Yu Denuo Officially Enters the Sect

Chu Youguang’s rampage did scatter crowds; no denying that. Yet his iron oversight also forced the Wang, Chu, and Zhao shops to follow actual rules for once. The old man wasn’t stupid; he still had quotas to meet for South Chu City. Every shop, including the landlord Chu-Qin itself, now paid hefty yearly rent. Driving everyone away would leave his own purse empty, so the stronger White Mountain sects like the Artifact-Talisman Alliance were allowed to stay; everyone else got the boot.

Chu-Qin vanished into the background. Unless you spent the night at the inn, you’d never guess the market even had an owner. Exactly as Qi Xiu wanted: keep your head down, earn quiet coin, and focus on real strength.

Spring arrived in full glory. Last year’s carelessly scattered flower seeds exploded into riotous color across Black River Peak’s lower slopes; crimson, indigo, and sun-gold against the drab swamp. Mortal servants had cleared wide terraces halfway up the mountain, planting hardy grains and vegetables; enough to feed the few dozen mouths on the peak without disciples playing courier anymore. The saplings from last autumn now wore fresh green, screening the summit halls behind a living curtain. Only the upturned eaves of the main palace still caught the light.

On an auspicious day scented with peach blossoms, Qi Xiu ordered the formal initiation of Yu Denuo.

Chu-Qin had always been a closed sect. Aside from a handful of hired guest elders, proper disciples were raised from infancy within the sect’s own mortal villages; Qi Xiu and his nine peers were all “house-born.” Offering Yu Denuo full discipleship instead of a cushy elder seat or a loose guest contract was deliberate: real belonging, real responsibility, but no extra authority that might upset the balance.

The two men had long since sized each other up and approved. Three ritual invitations from Qi Xiu, three ritual refusals from Yu Denuo; the classic dance of “the ruler begs, the worthy demurs.” Then the deal was sealed.

Dawn of the ceremony.

Yu Denuo, looking every day of his fifty-plus years, donned Chu-Qin’s signature crimson robes. Escorted by a beaming Zhan Yuan, he began the long walk from the mountain gate; no flying, no shortcuts. One measured step at a time, all the way to Embracing-Origin Hall.

Qi Xiu waited at the hall doors with Zhang Shishi and the rest lined up behind him. Wang Huan occupied the seat of honor beneath a hastily raised pavilion. A scattering of rogue cultivators who owed favors to Yu Denuo or simply liked free food filled the benches; enough for a lively buzz.

A late-stage Qi Condensation cultivator kowtowing to a second-layer sect leader thirty years his junior would have been laughable anywhere else. Here, hierarchy was hierarchy. Yu Denuo knelt, forehead to stone. Qi Xiu raised him with both hands, delivered the ceremonial words of welcome, then led him inside.

Four ancestral tablets waited on the high altar. Yu Denuo prostrated again.

Qi Xiu’s gaze drifted to the rightmost tablet: Qin Siyin, Fourth-Generation Sect Leader.

The willful boy who had vanished into the night.

Zhang Shishi had once suggested erasing the name entirely; the man wasn’t dead, only embarrassing. Qi Xiu could simply claim the title himself. Qi Xiu refused. Word from the southern immigrants said Qin Siyin had formally married into the Huang-Hou branch and now answered to An Siyin. The old identity was dead; a tablet was fair. More importantly; had that boy not pressed the sect leader’s token into Qi Xiu’s palm in front of dozens of witnesses, Qi Xiu would never have had the legitimacy to sit this throne. Erasing him would be erasing the very foundation of Qi Xiu’s own authority. That, he would never allow. He intended to die in this seat.

The rites were dignified but not endless. Yu Denuo greeted every new fellow disciple by rank, then stepped outside to bow to the guests. The old rogue played humble to perfection; not a hint of late-stage arrogance.

Half a lifetime drifting had taught him what he wanted: a final harbor. Chu-Qin’s atmosphere pleased him, the sect leader was mild enough not to bully elders, and South Chu’s shadow promised no one would kick him out again. Zhan Yuan had become a true friend, and; though he’d never say it aloud; Yu Denuo quietly looked forward to knocking some manners into that proud little genius He Yu.

Ceremony concluded, a dozen mortal girls no older than thirteen glided in with fresh tea and spring pastries. The solemn air dissolved into easy chatter.

Wang Huan, as usual, became the center of gravity for every Qi Condensation cultivator with a tongue and a dream. He loved these gatherings; repaying Qi Xiu’s market gift with gossip and goodwill.

Inevitably talk turned to Black River Market.

“Old Zhao took a real beating from that Chu Youguang,” a young rogue snickered. “Practically spat blood.”

“Serves him right,” another muttered. “Who does Chu Youguang think he is, humiliating a Beast Taming deacon like that?”

Wang Huan stroked his beard, eyes twinkling.

“You youngsters don’t understand. Chu Youguang is direct disciple to Chu Duo; the same Chu Duo who’s one step from Nascent Soul and famous for holding grudges. Zhao Liangde is strong, but even he won’t cross a man who once single-handedly exterminated an entire White Mountain sect just because someone looked at him funny. Soul-searching arts, too. Get on Chu Duo’s bad side and you don’t even get to reincarnate.”

Hiss; every rogue sucked in a breath.

Qi Xiu’s ears pricked despite himself. Chu Duo currently held the life and death of every vassal sect under South Chu’s banner. The more dirt he collected, the better he could dance to the man’s tune.

Wang Huan, warmed by flattery and wine, kept going.

“And speaking of Zhao Liangde; he’s got his own troubles right now.” A dramatic pause. “Ever heard the phrase ‘two suns in the sky’?”

Blank faces all around; except Qi Xiu, who remembered overhearing fragments once at Beast Taming’s compound.

Wang Huan’s grin turned positively childish.

“Beast Taming’s southern enclave has always been run by a single Golden Core ancestor. Two, three years ago the old one decided he was too ancient, wanted to found his own sect, leave something for his descendants; perfectly normal. He requested retirement. Headquarters sent a new Golden Core to replace him. Except the old ancestor suddenly changed his mind and refused to leave. Now two Golden Core ancestors share the same territory; one who won’t abdicate, one who won’t yield. Two suns, same sky.”

Laughter and gasps rippled through the hall.

“Poor Zhao Liangde,” Wang Huan sighed theatrically. “Side with his master and he’ll be abandoned the day the old man finally dies. Side with the new one and he’s branded a traitor. Either way his position crumbles. So tread lightly around him these days, lads. The man’s a walking thundercloud.”

Qi Xiu hid a smirk behind his sleeve. You’re poking the thundercloud right now, old fox.

The gossip flowed until dusk, followed by an impromptu trade meet in the main hall. Only Yu Denuo’s closest new friends stayed behind, and talk turned to cultivation insights; an informal sermon that lasted until sunrise.

By the time the last guest flew away on drunken sword-light, Yu Denuo’s initiation had been celebrated with all the warmth and noise a tiny sect could muster.

And Chu-Qin was, for the first time in years, just a little bit stronger.