Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 58: Sowing the Pig-Fish Fry

“Can these little things really survive Black River?”

Gu Ji delicately pinched a finger-length creature between thumb and forefinger. Translucent skin, no scales; pink organs visible beneath. Webbing stretched between tiny limbs and torso. Only the button snout bore any resemblance to a piglet. Eyes still sealed shut, it squeaked and squirmed like a newborn mouse.

“Don’t be fooled by its size,” the Zhao clan cultivator said cheerfully. “Feed it Black-Heart Lotus root and it’ll thrive in any hell. The problem is everything else wants to eat it. Lazy things; eat, sleep, repeat. But your swamp is perfect; miasma keeps predators out. Guard them carefully when the fog lifts in winter and you’ll be fine.”

The man was all smiles; new in-laws deserved courtesy.

One basket after another came down from the silver-backed ray’s broad back. Each disciple took a basket, boarded a spirit vessel, and scattered across the breeding ponds like dragonflies over summer water.

Peak summer. The black mist rolled thick and vicious, stench thick enough to chew.

Gray robes with wind-shielding charms, mouths stuffed with Fragrant Job’s-Tears Pills, wet cloths tied over noses; every defense known to low-level cultivators. Still useless. The rot slipped through every crack. Ten fry planted, then rocket skyward for one clean breath. Ten more, rocket again.

Gu Ji retched over the side of his boat, face the color of old parchment.

Qi Xiu landed beside him. “Rest on the ray for a while.”

The boy shook his head stubbornly and dove back into the fog.

Good kid… Qi Xiu rubbed his aching back. Leaning far over the gunwale to set each tiny fry precisely into a lotus heart had turned his spine to fire.

Thirty years old and already creaking like an old man. Is this what waits for me; Yu Denuo today, Qi Xiu tomorrow?

They worked without words. The stench killed appetite anyway; cultivators could skip meals for days. By sunset the last basket was empty. Ten exhausted bodies sprawled across the ray’s back like corpses, tongues lolling.

Qi Xiu forced himself upright and passed around detox pills. The miasma’s poison was strange; inhale a lungful and you’d live, but let it seep in slowly and it rotted you from the inside. Better purge it now.

The Zhao overseer was delighted. “Three days’ work in one! I’ll be sure to praise you when I report back.”

He ferried them home and left with a wave.

“Whew.” Zhang Shishi spat, trying to rid his mouth of the lingering taste of decay. “Back on old Mount Chu-Qin none of us could have lasted an hour.”

Yu Denuo flopped dramatically. “If every day was like this even I might run away.”

Laughter rippled; tired, honest, and warm.

Qi Xiu smiled. “Once a year, that’s all. And every year the Black-Heart Lotuses will thin the fog a little more. One day children will play here without masks.”

Zhan Yuan’s eyes lit. “Why stop at the ponds? Blanket the whole river in lotus. The market earns enough now; budget a yearly expansion.”

“Excellent!” Yu Denuo slapped the deck. “Then we’ll never wait a full year for new roots when we want to enlarge the pig-fish pools.”

Qi Xiu glanced at Zhang Shishi; no objection. “Approved. Maybe in my lifetime I’ll see green return to Black River.”

“It will happen,” everyone answered at once, and the ray’s back rang with tired cheers.

Pig-fish sown, the sect threw itself into Qin Ji’s wedding.

Qi Xiu stayed away, pleading lingering weakness from the miasma, but he made certain the gifts were lavish and the ceremony grand. Zhao Liangde would accept nothing less.

The chosen day arrived. Zhang Shishi led Yu Denuo, Qin Weiyu, Gu Ji, and the rest down the mountain in crimson robes and solemn procession; dowry chests, spirit cranes, bolts of cloud-silk; enough to empty half the sect’s coffers.

Black River Peak fell strangely quiet.

Qi Xiu sat alone in the meditation hall until moonlight silvered the floor.

Near midnight the sect leader token pulsed against his chest. He stepped outside.

Yu Denuo, dead drunk, was bouncing off the mountain ward like a moth against lantern glass, sword wobbling beneath him.

Qi Xiu lowered the barrier and caught the man before he brained himself on a pine.

“How much did you drink?”

“Grand… grand wedding,” Yu Denuo slurred, eyes unfocused. “Hundred… at least a hundred cultivators… brought gifts… pair of first-grade flying geese for the couple… beautiful… beautiful beasts…”

He sagged. Qi Xiu half-carried him to the guest room.

“If I could ever… give my own mortal children… a wedding like that… wouldn’t have lived in vain…”

The words trailed into a snore. The old rogue curled into the quilt like a child and was gone.

Qi Xiu stood a long time in the doorway.

Zhao Liangde really does dote on his family… Poor are the hearts of parents everywhere.

He tucked the blanket higher, closed the door softly, and walked out beneath the stars.

Somewhere far below, music and firecrackers were still going. Red lanterns bobbed across the water like schools of crimson fish.

Qi Xiu watched until the last light winked out.

Then he returned to the empty hall, sat cross-legged on the cold stone, and began to cycle his qi.

Slow, steady, unhurried.

Like lotus roots pushing through black mud, one inch at a time.