Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 57: Qin Ji’s Calculations

Qi Xiu’s spirit vessel had barely crossed the settlement’s boundary when he spotted it: an enormous winged eagle perched atop the ancient tree at the village gate, feathers glinting like burnished bronze. His heart sank.

He hurried to the manor. Sure enough, a Beast Taming Sect cultivator lounged in the seat of honor, sipping tea as though he owned the place. Qi Xiu recognized him; the same Foundation Establishment fellow who had helped dam the breeding ponds last time.

The man looked up and flashed a triumphant grin. “Sect Leader Qi, you’re late to the party.”

Qi Xiu’s gaze swept the hall; no sign of Qin Ji. Dread coiled in his gut. “You… forced him?”

“Force?” The man chuckled, utterly at ease. “How could we mistreat the future husband of our little princess? No need for rough stuff. The boy agreed all on his own.”

The words struck like a slap. They had gone straight over Qi Xiu’s head and cornered a mortal lordling. Of course they had. Beast Taming never lacked for speed or ruthlessness.

Qi Xiu pushed past into the inner courtyard, ears straining.

Old Qin Bo’s anxious voice drifted through the screen door. “Young master, shouldn’t we at least wait for Sect Leader Qi’s opinion?”

Qin Ji answered, calm and cold. “I’ve thought it through. The Zhao clan is powerful. Marrying into them gives us an outside blade we can point at Qi Xiu’s throat. Otherwise the old Qin house lives entirely under another family’s roof; no strength, no voice. One day when the Qi bloodline branches and swells, even our status as ‘retainers’ might be stripped away. I won’t gamble on their kindness.”

The words punched the air from Qi Xiu’s lungs. His face drained of color.

So that was it. All his careful protection, all his sleepless nights; they had been guarding against him.

A bitter laugh rose and died in his throat. How ridiculous he must look, playing the benevolent lord while they sharpened knives behind his back.

Fine. Let them have their schemes.

He retreated on silent feet, not sparing the Zhao cultivator another glance. The spirit vessel carried him away before anyone noticed he had come at all.

The return journey was too far for his second-layer cultivation without rest. Grief and exhaustion dragged at his limbs; halfway home the world tilted, went black, and he fell from the sky.

When consciousness returned, he was lying on the soft bed in the sect leader’s private chamber. Kan Lin sat beside him, two fingers pressed to his wrist, brows gently furrowed.

“Senior Kan…” Qi Xiu tried to rise.

A firm hand eased him back. “Overwork and pent-up frustration. Nothing serious. Rest, and more importantly; let go of what weighs on your heart.”

Disciples poured in the moment they heard he was awake; even Zhan Yuan and the others had raced back from the market.

“Sect Leader!” Zhang Shishi gripped his hand, eyes red. “You scared ten years off our lives!”

Warmth flooded Qi Xiu’s chest; real, uncomplicated concern from people who shared his surname in spirit if not blood. His own eyes stung.

He sent them out with gentle words, then asked Kan Lin to stay.

The whole sorry story spilled out: Qin Ji’s cold calculation, the hurt that had followed him like black smoke.

Kan Lin listened without interruption. When Qi Xiu finished, the older man was quiet for a long moment, then smiled; small, sad, and kind.

“Mortal entanglements are not my specialty,” he said. “But I can tell you this: you drown because you keep trying to trade sincerity for sincerity in a world that rarely reciprocates. You pour out true heart and secretly hope for the same measure back. Disappointment is the natural fruit.

“We who walk the Dao should have seen through this long ago. These past months I’ve come and gone from Black River Peak; after the first few lectures you stopped sitting in. You chase the Great Dao only when you believe you have talent; that is the lower path, the path of profit.

“The true seeker asks even when the heavens stay silent. Geniuses fill the history books, yes; but plenty of ordinary talents have climbed higher than any heaven-chosen. Talent is wind; the heart that keeps asking is sail.

“Pick up that childlike heart again, Qi Xiu. Win or lose the Dao, when you look back from the far shore, today’s troubles will seem like dust on a summer road; not even worth sweeping away.”

The words cracked open something inside Qi Xiu’s chest; cool, clean air rushed in where smoke had choked him for months.

He remembered the decade of exile after being driven from the old sect; a crumbling hut, one tiny finger-monkey for company, days spent in empty meditation while the world forgot him. He had been poorer then, but his heart had been lighter.

Now he wore the sect leader’s robe and spent every waking hour scheming for mortals who thanked him with suspicion.

Even the Golden-Silk Heterochromatic Monkey he had bought in Qi-Nan City to be his lifelong cultivation companion; the moment he discovered their fates didn’t align, he had tossed it to Gu Ji like a child’s toy.

No wonder his Dao Heart was coated in dust.

Qi Xiu slipped from the bed and performed a full disciple’s bow, forehead touching the floor.

“This junior receives your teaching.”

Kan Lin laughed softly. “I’m only an outsider who sees clearly because the mess isn’t mine. And don’t sell yourself short; in one short year you dragged a dying sect out of barren swamp into daylight. That is no small thing.”

After seeing Kan Lin off, Qi Xiu stood a long time at the palace doors, wind tugging at his robes.

Zhang Shishi approached. “While you were unconscious, Beast Taming officially sent the betrothal gifts. The wedding date is set.”

Qi Xiu only nodded, calm as still water. “You will represent Chu-Qin at all ceremonies. I’ll plead lingering illness and stay home.”

Zhang Shishi hesitated, then added, “They also reminded us the fragrant-reed pig-fish fry are due in two days.”

“Good. Accept everything graciously. Marrying into their family changes nothing of substance. We remain courteous, we remain distant, we remain ourselves. From today forward, the most important matter in Chu-Qin is cultivation; mine first of all. Strength is not just power; it is the spine a cultivator must never surrender.”

Zhang Shishi’s eyes lit with rare joy. For once the sect leader spoke his language.

“Yes, Sect Leader.”

Far below, spring clouds drifted across the black waters, unhurried and untouchable.

Qi Xiu watched them for a long time.

Then he turned, walked back into the quiet hall, and closed the doors behind him.

It was time to begin again.