Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 60: A Blood-Soaked Warning

“Master Kan!”

The moment the crimson terror vanished, every restraint shattered like ice under spring sun. He Yu hurled himself at the crumpled form of Kan Lin, tears cutting tracks through soot on his cheeks.

The rest nursed singed skin and ringing ears; nothing fatal. Only Kan Lin remained unconscious, blood threading from the corner of his mouth.

Yu Denuo knelt, fingers pressed to the man’s wrist. “His life isn’t in danger, but a Foundation Establishment body doesn’t fall unconscious easily. I dare not say more.”

“I’ll fetch Wang Huan,” Zhang Shishi said, already turning.

“Hold!” Qi Xiu’s voice cracked like a whip. He swept his gaze across the stunned disciples. “Not a word of what happened today leaves this mountain. Not to anyone.”

Then, softer, to Zhang Shishi: “If Wang Huan asks, invent something believable. The truth stays buried.”

No one argued. Mortal servants crept from hiding places, whispering about fire-rain from heaven. Qi Xiu let them gossip; better that than the truth.

He Yu refused to leave Kan Lin’s side. Yu Denuo sidled up to Qi Xiu, voice barely a breath. “That woman…?”

“If we’re not mistaken,” Qi Xiu answered, just as low, “South Chu’s Nascent Soul ancestress; Chu Hongshang herself.”

Yu Denuo’s face drained of what little color the heat had left him. “A Nascent Soul’s wrath… White Mountain is finished.”

A colder thought struck Qi Xiu. “The book came through our ghost market. Get to the square; now. Bring Zhan Yuan and the others back. Leave no one behind.”

Yu Denuo paled further, bowed, and shot away on sword-light.

Minutes later Zhan Yuan, Shen Chang, and Pan Rong stumbled through the broken gates, bewildered and protesting. The square had been packed; Yu Denuo had simply seized them by the collars and flown.

“Sect Leader, what in the nine hells;?” Zhan Yuan began, then saw the roofless hall, the charred beams, the scorch marks black as old blood. His voice died.

Qi Xiu gave them the short version. When he finished, Zhan Yuan looked ready to vomit.

“White Mountain idiots writing bedroom tales about a Nascent Soul… they really thought they’d live?”

“From now on,” Qi Xiu said, iron in every syllable, “we vet every scroll, every pamphlet, every scrap that crosses our ghost-market tables. Nothing; nothing; leaves our hands without knowing exactly where it came from.”

They nodded, pale and obedient.

Cleanup began amid anxious silence. A day and a half crawled by. Zhang Shishi should have returned by now, Wang Huan or no.

Then the gongs sounded.

South Chu Foundation Establishment cultivators descended in a storm of crimson robes, banging a massive bronze gong.

Clang… clang… clang…

“By order of the ancestress; all cultivators within fifty li assemble at Black River Square to receive judgment!”

Qi Xiu’s vision darkened. Extinction; it had come after all.

But no; the summons was for everyone. Small mercy.

Kan Lin still hadn’t woken. They left him under Gu Ji’s tearful watch and were herded onto South Chu flying shuttles like cattle.

Black River Square had become a human sea. White Mountain rogues, Beast Taming disciples, even Qi Yun passers-by; thousands packed shoulder to shoulder, watched by grim-faced enforcers perched on every roof.

Zhao Liangde stood among the crowd, face gray. Chu Youmin looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else.

A Golden Core elder of South Chu rose into the air. One pulse of his aura and the square fell deathly still.

Two disciples dragged a man from the largest shuttle.

Fortyish, scholar-pale once; now a shredded ruin of blood and cloth. Skin flayed, bones showing in places. They propped him like a broken doll.

At the square’s heart stood a newly raised stone pillar.

The crowd watched in horrified silence as iron chains tipped with barbed hooks were driven through the man’s collarbones.

A wet, animal scream tore loose; then nothing. Bai Xiaosheng; Hundred-Knowing Scholar; hung limp, pinned like an insect, blood pattering onto the stones.

The Golden Core’s voice rolled out, amplified until it rattled teeth.

“Let this be a lesson! This wretch dared slander our ancestress. From today he lives nailed here, healed only to suffer again. Let his agony be the price of loose tongues!”

Chu Youguang shuffled forward, knees filthy, a fresh handprint blazing across his wrinkled cheek.

“You,” the Golden Core said, “will tend him. Torture daily. Keep him alive. Understood?”

“Y-yes!” The old man dropped to his knees.

“Begin.”

Chu Youguang’s face twisted into something feral. He drew a short iron ruler and laid into the unconscious man with all the hatred of ten lifetimes.

Crack; flesh split.

Crack; teeth scattered across the stones.

“I told you to write, didn’t I? Write now! Write!”

Blood painted the pillar red. When the old man tired, he smeared healing salve over the wounds and forced a pill down the ruined throat. Flesh knit before the crowd’s eyes; ready for tomorrow’s round.

Qi Xiu stared, stomach turning. Whatever Bai Xiaosheng had deserved, this was beyond vengeance; it was a monument to terror.

The Golden Core swept the crowd with cold eyes.

“Let this be the fate of any who speak ill of South Chu. Dismissed!”

The square emptied faster than water down a drain.

Qi Xiu found Wang Huan and Zhang Shishi, clasped their arms wordlessly, and fled into the sky.

Behind them, in the heart of what had once been their quiet little market, a man hung bleeding beneath the summer sun.

And every cultivator in Black River knew: the ancestress was watching.

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