Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 56: Zhao Liangde Comes Knocking with a Marriage Proposal

Yu Denuo’s role had long been settled: he would stay on the peak and take over Zhang Shishi’s former duty as instructor; especially to He Yu. Qi Xiu’s private instruction was blunt: “Be strict with the boy. File down those sharp edges.”

Zhan Yuan, Shen Chang, and Pan Rong were permanently stationed at Black River Market. They rarely returned to the peak now; an arrangement that conveniently kept Zhan Yuan and Zhang Shishi from breathing the same air too often. The market paid better than mountain seclusion; call it hazard compensation.

Zhang Shishi didn’t mind yielding the teaching post. Instructing He Yu had become an exercise in humility; half the time the student ended up lecturing the master. At least now there was another senior to consult. Zhang Shishi still harbored dreams of the Great Dao; unlike Qi Xiu and most of the others, who had quietly buried such ambitions years ago.

Spring slipped away. Unknowingly, Chu-Qin had spent a full year beside Black River. Many things had happened; none earth-shattering, none trivial. Building the market, the breeding ponds, sheltering the immigrants; all just the chores of survival. Life was better than it had been on old Mount Chu-Qin. Harder on the body, perhaps, but freer. Prouder.

Only the rift between Zhang Shishi and Zhan Yuan gnawed at Qi Xiu like a splinter under the nail. He understood neither Zhan Yuan’s petty jealousies nor Zhang Shishi’s guarded heart, and every attempt at mediation fell flat.

Summer crept closer. The market finally began to breathe; foot traffic on ghost-market nights, a handful of overnight guests at the inn, Zhan Yuan’s network widening by the day. Revenue trickled upward. At this rate they might even clear Zhao Liangde’s loan before the pig-fish harvest.

He Yu broke through to the fifth layer of Qi Condensation as effortlessly as stepping over a threshold. A year ago he had arrived at the third layer; Kan Lin’s personal attention and the Water-Spirit Profound Scripture worked miracles. Credit also went to the boy’s own sweat and the hidden water-aspected spirit vein at the mountain’s foot.

The season for releasing pig-fish fry drew near.

Qi Xiu flew once again to Zhao Liangde’s sprawling compound; he had lost count of how many times he had waited in that same restless queue. The place was as busy as ever, yet when Qi Xiu finally stepped forward, Zhao Liangde’s reaction was entirely new.

The man’s small eyes lit up. He waved the attendants away, hooked an arm around Qi Xiu’s shoulders like an old uncle, and steered him straight past the gaping crowd into the private back hall.

“Sit, sit!” Zhao Liangde beamed.

Qi Xiu perched on the edge of the offered chair, spine stiff as a sword.

Zhao Liangde poured tea with his own hands, still grinning.

“Relax, nephew. From today on we’re family; no need for all this bowing and scraping.”

Qi Xiu nearly dropped the cup. “…Family?”

Zhao Liangde sighed theatrically, the picture of a doting elder.

“It’s that little she-devil of mine. Mortal kin; I spoil her rotten. Last year she went roaming and somehow set her heart on your Qin Ji. Came home wailing that she’ll die if she can’t marry him. I’ve tried everything; reasoning, scolding, locking her up; nothing works. I was going to visit you myself, but here you are, delivering yourself to my door. The heavens are kind!”

Qin Ji?

Memory flashed: Zhan Yuan once laughing about a wild girl on a giant goose, clad in furs, serenading Qin Ji with bawdy love songs that made the mortals blush scarlet. Qi Xiu had dismissed it; Beast Taming Sect was famous for loose manners. Only now did the pieces click; no ordinary mortal girl could ride a prized spirit goose wherever she pleased.

“You… can make the decision for Qin Ji, yes?” Zhao Liangde asked, voice still warm, eyes suddenly sharp.

“I…”

One heartbeat of hesitation; and the temperature in the room plummeted.

Zhao Liangde’s smile remained, but his gaze turned predatory.

“Or are you perhaps… unwilling?”

Sweat prickled Qi Xiu’s back. Two fears warred inside him.

First: Qin Ji’s own wishes. Forcing the match would be simple; Qin Ji was only mortal, and Qi Xiu was sect leader. But Qi Xiu had no desire to become that kind of tyrant.

Second: Wang Huan’s gossip about “two suns in the sky.” If Zhao Liangde truly stumbled in the coming power struggle, tying Chu-Qin to him might drag the entire sect into the abyss.

He already had everything he wanted: a quiet little corner, a peaceful sect, a future he could see clearly. Why gamble it all on a marriage alliance?

“Senior,” Qi Xiu heard himself say, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched his knees, “this involves a man’s lifetime happiness. Allow this junior to return and consult Qin Ji himself. I cannot make such a choice for him lightly.”

The silence stretched, cold and heavy.

Then Zhao Liangde snorted; once, like a tiger clearing its throat.

“Fine. I’ll give you time. But think carefully, Qi Xiu. In Black River, offending me is… expensive.”

A casual flick of the hand dismissed him like a buzzing fly.

Qi Xiu fled without another word. The pig-fish fry were forgotten.

Back at Black River Peak he summoned Zhang Shishi, Zhan Yuan, and Yu Denuo; the three people he trusted most; and spilled everything.

Zhan Yuan spoke first. “We have to accept. Chu Youguang can slap Zhao Liangde around, but we can’t. And even if Zhao falls in the future, who’s going to bother avenging a mortal girl’s dowry?”

Yu Denuo nodded slowly in agreement.

Zhang Shishi, miracle of miracles, sided with Zhan Yuan. “A mortal marriage is trivial. By mortal standards the girl is marrying beneath her. Refusing outright was already the insult; you should have agreed on the spot.”

Qi Xiu looked at the three faces; not one of them had even mentioned asking Qin Ji what he wanted.

Something inside him hardened.

“I will still ask the man himself,” he said quietly. “If the girl is hideous as a yaksha or flighty as a wild goose, forcing him would ruin his life. I won’t do it.”

For the first time in a long while, the sect leader’s voice carried iron.